I’m celebrating Labor Day by making my ophthalmologist come to work on a federal holiday. See how dedicated and socially conscious my right eyeball and I can be? The hospital visit promises quite a bit of hurrying up and waiting. So I can’t help wishing that I was one of the fortunate writers who can craft on the go. Alas, I’m the kind who gets distracted by music, by people talking, even by the sight of Nature doing her thing outside my window.
At the moment, this is the only view I can gaze upon without getting diverted from my writing purpose:
Perhaps because everything in the display is as familiar to me as the click-clack of my keyboard is inspiring: the piano quilt conjures the image of my husband playing for me, the cover (um… camouflaged hat) I wore on the day I finished The Crucible reminds me of the things a body can do when the mind wants something badly enough… the typewriter and my first prints of G. G. Márquez’s Cien años de soledad (One Hundred Years of Solitude) and Lord Tennyson’s “Locksley Hall” are eye-candy for my soul; never distracting.
I wonder if I’m the only one who is nearly restricted to writing in familiar places… Oh well, I should stop whining and be extremely happy to have a spot where to write my tales, right?
Please link one of your poems, regardless of theme or format or date of publication. Then visit other word lovers. And if you have a photo of your favorite writing space, I would love to see it.