Inner Space

I have been silently hopping around to various writer's blogs recently. I noticed that many writers write about the physical environment in which they create. Most environments seem important to the writer, and most are favorite offices, nooks, desks, chairs, etc. This makes perfect sense to me. I like an environment that feels comfortable, and my physical surroundings are generally very important to me. So, with this realization, I have attempted at various times, to create a writing space for myself. Though I am quite skilled at creating pleasing and nourishing indoor environments, I have not been successful in creating a writing space.

My first official attempt was taking up a spot at the kitchen table. I have also tried my desk, a private corner of my bedroom, an assigned place in the back of the living room, and various other places I carved out of my home from time to time. None of these spaces stuck with me. The majority of my fiction has been written on a laptop while flopped on the couch in an environment which was usually a bit noisy. I realize now, that I already have a special writing environment, it's just not physical. It is an inner space where outside factors cannot intrude.

This realization is very important to me. I often use the metaphor of 'clearing the deck' to describe the breaks I used to take from writing when I had to get caught up on any chores. I see now, that my 'deck' is also, for the most part, an inner space. At least my current deck is. For months now, I have had the goal of clearing the deck by clearing my to-do list, but today's revelation has made me see that my deck, like my writing space, is located in here. It's on the inside. The deck is the hallway that leads to my inner writing space. I wish the obstacles on my deck were as simple as laundry, cluttered closets and procrastinated errands. They're not.

My writing comes mostly from my unconscious mind. I am not big on plotting. Of course, just about everyone plots to some extent, but I do not work from an outline. Usually, something just drops into my head and I start writing. Before long, I at least have a vague ending that becomes mostly conscious, and I might have some half-formed idea for a point or two along the way to guide me there, but that's it. That's all. Everything else writes itself. It still confounds me that I end up with a coherent and interesting story at the end. The human mind is amazing. The stories are already there, waiting for me in my inner space. I just have to make my way down the deck and walk through that door. That has been a problem. My deck cannot be cleared with mops. Nope. Here there be monsters. I have to clear my deck the hard way. With hand-to-hand combat and some help from various (mental) firearms.

My back is still slightly out of whack (literally), but I killed a dragon today. At least I think it's dead. During the next couple of weeks, I will have plenty of occasion to run over there and kick it, just to be sure. If nothing else, I KNOW it's not just sleeping; if it's not dead, it is very seriously wounded and it knows beyond a doubt who's in charge around here.