My first thought when I saw this antique desk in a historic hotel last weekend in Prescott, Arizona was that if I owned this desk I would surely become a successful writer. The stained glass lamp, heavy chair, solid wood, would all conspire to help me write better and smarter and maybe even faster This looks like the desk where the great writers such as Mark Twain or Virginia Wolf would write.The words written at such a desk would change the world.
My desk and office lacks the same perfection and brilliance. Mine looks much less serious and important, much like my writing feels at times. My office doesn't look like where I imagine a book would be written that would be remembered through the ages. Or win any groovy monetary prizes, either.
Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for my office, but on days when I'm having a particularly difficult time writing, when each word is like pulling out a tooth, I would like to change where I write. Not just my desk, but my entire office. I want to move it to a place where I would be more brilliant and successful.
Maybe if I wrote in a room like this surrounded by books. This was the library of the retreat center I visited last fall in Oregon. All those books would be inspiring and perhaps through osmosis I would be able to channel all those wise and witty writers into my own work. On the other hand, I might never get any writing done because I would plop myself into that chair and just read, forget about writing entirely.
Maybe when I looked out the window of my office and saw this rainforest scene I would be inspired. This was the view of the jungle from my hotel room in Costa Rica. Surely I would write lovely stories with this out my window rather than what I have today.
This is my non inspiring view That mobile does make a pretty sound when the fan hits the bells, but it's not like the gorgeous symphony of sounds the birds sang in the rainforest. However, the rain forest has a lot of bugs, some big enough to feel snug in my size 10 shoe. As much as I was in awe of the jungle, the desert where I live has way less bugs and that's okay with me.
Sure there are times I think if I lived in a bright yellow house with pristine white curtains all by myself by the ocean, like this hotel in Costa Rica where we stayed, I would write and write and write and never be tempted to clean out my closet. Eventually, I would have to do laundry and sweep so that is unrealistic, too. Life always interrupts writing, but is up to us to decide how much we will let it intrude.
There's no perfect place to write. Wherever I go there I am. It's my butt in the chair, whether the chair is rickety or solid. I could be looking at a brick wall or a volcano. What matters is what happens between my mind and my fingers on the keyboard. As pretty as this shot of a volcano was that I photographed, it wasn't perfect for long. The next day it was pouring rain and foggy. Life is perfectly imperfect.
The following saying has nothing to do with writing, but I saw it in Nosara Costa Rica on a wall and had to share. Wait. Maybe it does have something to do with writing. If I expect good things for my writing and I desire to write...I will write and respect myself. I admire people who write. All of you. Wherever you write. Just write. I will mirror you.