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I’m starting to believe it helps to have nice things to look at while writing.

That’s putting it simply, or at least making it sound a bit trite –shouldn’t I be able to write anywhere, any time, provided I have free hands, the right tools, and nobody screaming in my ear or bleeding to death in front of me?

Well, yeah. And I often do. But you can’t deny the setting counts for something. It’s a big part of why my desk is tricked out with stuff (besides the fact that this is just my decorating style, that is: you should see the living room.), and my office is full of bright colors.


Pretty much perfect, for me, anyway. I know that some writers prefer the spartan, and I understand this in theory, but in practice the virtue of the white space pretty much eludes me unless I happen to be looking at it on a computer monitor or a notebook page. If I can’t fill it up with words, there’d better be something else there already, or I may try regardless of consequences.I can’t help myself. I would have made a lovely grafitti artist if I’d grown up somewhere less rural.

(My parents found this out the hard way when I was a teenager: one day me, my maddeningly stupid flower wallpaper, and several different colors of fabric paint combined in a way that became fairly famous at my high school, but did eventually depreciate the value of our house by about $1200.00.)

My office window looks out onto  another building, sadly. It’s a pretty building, but it’s about 30 feet thataway, leaving me the choice of staring at the alley 2 floors down or into the window of somebody else’s apartment. I’ve gotten decent material from both views (apologies to any of my neighbors, who I hope don’t read my blog), but look at this:



I’m seriously trying to think of a way to get my desk into the living room right now.