Oh To Have A Writing Nook



credit: www.helsington.co.uk

 I was reading about some different "rituals" that writers have and it got me thinking, not for the first time, how much I would enjoy having my own space to write.  I am a romantic.  I have romantic ideas and long for the creative ambiance I imagine I would love to have.  My nook would be straight out of the nineteenth century, found readily in Jane Austin's time with a wall of books and windows with a view that reaches clear to tomorrow.  I imagine that it would be in a converted attic, small, cozy, and charming.  I would have a fireplace to light on chilly mornings or evenings and the floors would be hardwood with a lush shag carpet that felt like heaven under my feet.  I would have a small but adequate writing desk and an incredibly comfortable chair without arms or wheels so I could sit in a semi-meditative position.  It would be small but functional and above all, it would be quiet except for the sound of water rushing and birds chirping.

Instead I sit in the makeshift "lounge" in our garage with the back door open to hear the fountain and the birds.  There are a few books present as this is also a semi-secluded and often cool space where the children will bring a book to read.  I sit in a comfortable camping chair with my laptop on my knees and pretend I can't see either the car or the garbage cans.  On a winter's day I am holed up in my oddly shaped furnace room/laundry room/office with its ill-thought out addition of a large window that overlooks my backyard and beyond that, the unimaginative back of my neighbour's homes.  I at least think my laundry room/furnace room/office would be passable if it were something that could be found in an issue of House and Home. 

The only problem I have with the oft-imagined perfection of my writing space is the lack of writing I could see taking place there.  I think what I earnestly long for is a space of my own; one which would allow me to refresh my sense of self; clear my head and free fall into relaxation before moving on with my day or night. In reality I have sat and left to get breakfast, sat and then tidied, sat and then readied Aaron for a birthday party, sat and then visited with Hunter.  Would I indeed accomplish more if I had nothing but time on my hands?  Or do I accomplish more knowing that I only have a certain amount of time to devote to something for myself? Like seizing the opportunity because it only presents itself in small doses? 

Perhaps my own ritual is that I cannot have too much time on my hands but must make the most of whatever time I can take and therefore appreciate it all the more.  I don't believe I will ever stop daydreaming about my little room in the attic that belongs only to me, or the time when I can relax and refresh my thoughts.  Although, if I want to label it, maybe this time, right here, right now, is doing exactly that.  And my real life awaits for me to return, relaxed, refreshed and renewed once again; because now it is time to get lunch ready and Hunter needs a bath.