There is no
Place to go
To compare with your imagination
So go there
To be free
If you truly wish to be
Thanks to the glory of the World Wide Web and its greatest tool, free Wi-Fi, I’ve written parts of books in places and spaces around the world. I couldn’t even begin to imagine this blessing when I first hammered out my stories on an old Underwood typewriter in a single-wide trailer back in the Twentieth Century. Decades later, I pound the keyboard the same way (mercilessly) when the fever of a plot exposition hits me like a plague. My day job colleagues say they can hear me typing from down the hall.
In town, I do most of my prep work and research at Starbucks and McDonalds (re: free Wi-Fi). My partner in crime, Cassidy Carson, is a most patient person, knowing that I need secluded space to do the heavy lifting of final drafts and edits. When we moved into our current home, she set up a cubbyhole in the basement, but I suspect she grew weary of being alone in this big house while I cursed at the computer in my diabolical underground lair. She moved me to another cubbyhole on the first floor where I am surrounded by Cubs memorabilia and such. The move was timely: the basement flooded soon after the transition, and I would have lost many, many things had I stayed.
But for all its strengths, the first floor has weaknesses that appeal to my short span of attention. It’s connected directly to the living and dining rooms, and there’s this TV to my left with its thousand channels with nothing to watch. There is so much to take me away from writing (think of Dug, the loyal friend in “Up” who was easily distracted by squirrels and clouds). Cassidy finally got weary of me not working and kicked me upstairs.
There, I have found my last writing home, the one in the picture above. I am comforted by, and connected to, my past in many ways: the rocker in the corner, the cat doorstop on the table in the center, and the dolls on the bed. There is no TV. There are no books, except the ones I sneak-read on the Kindle. The room is not overlarge, and the ceiling is slanted on both sides. It’s just the right size for my imagination. The door closes behind me and I am alone with my words, my worlds, my imagination.
Dear reader whom may be a writer, I suggest as a fellow professional that you find this kind of place in your life:
- One with minimal distractions where you can relax and let go of the Now, and
- A space that can hold your body, yet be big enough to build your dreams, and
- A place where you can find your universe and new adventures today.
Lyrics above from “Pure Imagination” by songwriters Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse
© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, Taradam Music, Inc