Anyone coming into my apartment for the first time will notice one thing – well, maybe two. First – books, books, books. My shrink once said I use them as a wall to keep people out. So? I love books. Some people…not so much.
The second thing would be the cats – not a herd -only three and one great big fluffy yellow one usually lounging on the little dining room table behind my desk – so he can be near me. Another one lies on the back of the sofa against my desk, his foreleg and paw next to the mouse (not a real one – computer adjunct mouse). The third lies at my feet. They’re my muses – well, at least they think they are.
My “dining room table” is stacked with papers and a notebook with my latest book, along with the big fluffy cat because I don’t “dine”. You see, it’s just me and I eat while I read emails or blogs or research, so I’m eating at my desk. Yeah, I know – not that healthy. But the cats eat well.
My young friend, Olivia, was so happy when I got a small desk to use in my small dining room and got my laptop off the “dining room table”. I guess in her mind, I was moving toward being “normal”. Hey, Liv – I’m a writer, I’m not normal. I couldn’t write in the second bedroom where I’d set up my desktop computer. I felt like I was locked away in a back room. I wanted to be in a more open space – hence the move to the dining/living room area where I can see the action outside my patio door.
This is a writer’s environment – not a big mess but definitely not OCD material either. If I’m researching, I want those books and notes at my finger tips. I’m usually reading several books at once, so they’re also nearby. Thank Goddess for the Kindle or I would have even more books.
I’m thinking about this, because, you see, I will be marrying another writer next year – another lover of books, another person who goes from one thing to another, someone else who has a lot of interests. Our biggest task will be to combine all of that.
It should be fun.