MindsBase

Well, I’ve seen a few posts, floating around the blogiverse, about what is inside women’s purses, and what those contents say about them. I wonder what to think about this little trend, since I don’t carry a purse. Does this mean I have nothing inside me worth revealing? No little mysteries that make up the collage that is ME?

On the other hand, I’ve seen some very interesting (to me, anyway) pictures of writers’ writing spaces, and what they say about the author. To that idea I say: I likey! So, without further ado, I present my work desk, and some of the little mysteries that make up my writing self:

Okay! Points of interest:

1. Eyeglasses on the printer, rather than on my face, in spite of being THIS CLOSE to me. I guess I’m determined to be blind. Note that they are not tucked into their case three inches away, either. I live my life in the gaps between.
2. Left corner, two phones, both probably holding unheard messages from poor people that will not get a prompt callback, while I instead plunk those noise-canceling cordless earphones onto my ears and listen to podcasts. I prefer recorded people to live people.
3. Downstage right, sustenance, need I say more? Who quits for lunch, honestly. If you stop to eat, it’s just an excuse to avoid writing. REAL WRITERS power through. (If you know me, you’ll get the irony.)
4. General paper-messiness. This comes from having research materials, idea scraps, important notices from kids’ schools and tax documents all sharing space in my head as well as my desk. Can you believe I never (knock on nice cherry wood desk) am late with my bills? I thank Quicken. Heartily.
5. Nice cherry wood desk. Better give a shout-out to my husband for this lovely desk, which matches the one in the kitchen and is so much better than I deserve. Apparently I just need more linear feet of it. By the way, I noticed several years ago that an environment with lots of speckle in, say, wallpaper or draperies made me feel less relaxed than the lovely woody, smooth surroundings you see in this pic. Thank goodness my husband built such a house for my persnickety muse. Isn’t the clutter of papers a problem? Not so much.
6. Crumpled paper towel in front of speaker. Can you say: too lazy to get a proper box of tissues during allergy season?
7. Bright white reams of paper serving as footstool for short-legged writer. I may be pathetic in so many ways, but I am determined to send out (at least during manic phases) crisp, clean, lovely copies of my work to real live industry mavens. Heaven help me.

This is a challenge to all my lovely writer friends to write me a comment with a link to your own desk photo. I want a glimpse into the genius that is you! No straightening up first, either.