navel-gazing

[After the Guardian's feature on writer's rooms. Thanks to P for the link--and the opportunity to spend yet more time reflecting on my own state of non-writing. :)]

Working from left to right--the bay window, where our aloe vera and Christmas cactus vacillate between thriving and just barely ekeing out an existence; the bumblebee-and-silk-tulle curtains i made with the help of Jim's mom; Sprocket's papasan chair, which badly needs a new cover, and the window he looks out of the most; my desk, and the credenza where my printer and inbox live.

The phone sits in the far corner of my desk. I don't know why it's so far away. Above my desk hang two random objects of art. One is a mola given to me by M1ke F1nk3l. I hang onto it because he was the first writer I ever actively had to edit, but also because he sent it to me out of friendship--it was a completely unexpected gift from when he was reporting from Panama. I still remember seeing the 9x11 envelope he mailed it in jammed into the mailslot of my Astoria apartment--he'd shipped it flat, but the mail carrier obviously didn't care. It had been rolled up to fit through the mail slot.

Mike is also the first pro ever to tell me I could make a go at fiction: "You are a writer. I know it."

Next to it, on a slightly more elevated level, is a photo Lara took of the S1bers' farmhouse in 0t1sfi3ld, Maine. It was taken in early October, near Columbus Day weekend, the year that Lara and Roj left the U.S. They were only able to come up for barely an overnight, and it wasn't a typical Maine weekend in that there isn't so much to do there in October but relax, play Scrabble, read, and walk in the fields, but it was quite lovely and nice to have them up. I remember it being important to me, to share the experience with them.

It's not so much the house, the gorgeous foliage around it, the fine composition of the photo, or even the memory of a nice weekend, that made me hang it up. It's that the S1b3rs have, more than any of the other people who have wandered in and out of my life to date, taught me to treat my friends. I learned how to entertain from them; I learned what it means to share things with people. Their door was always open; generosity and free-flowing food and wine was their mantra. The house was always filled with music and good conversation. This house, even if it was just a vacation home, was always open, as well, provided the schedule worked.

That photo represents what might be my biggest, most tangible aspiration: to have homes (yes, several!) that friends feel free to wander in and out of; a place to share and encourage sharing, laughing, good games and great company. Everyone will have a key to my place. There will always be good music, good wine, great cheese, and good games. If there's a lake to swim in and a hottub to soak in afterwards, even better. Mountains to play in would be a nice addition, too.

On my desk itself is the first real piece of lighting I ever bought for myself. I love this lamp. It has a space below for rocks, of all things, which is the way it came, but I put the rocks someplace else and have been using the space for things like erasers, shorty pens, frequent flier cards, gift cards, and the 2nd place award from the PA Sprint race. Weird, I know. These things should go in a drawer someplace, and I should bring back the rocks. So I can throw them at things when I can't write. P's Ugly Dog is hanging off of my lamp. It makes me laugh to see it.

Stuck to my monitor is the origami elephant my brother made for my most recent birthday. His girlfriend Laura drew on the eyes "because I didn't know how to do them." Mmmhmmm. That's what a law degree will do for you.

Clustered below my monitor is a small collection of toys and random objects. They are mostly from Max. Max has excellent taste in toys. There is also, however, a set of ceramic rams that Jim brought back from China, the plastic dinosaur that P & K bought for my birthday one year that Evans had to put together for me, and a brass frog that Jonathan something-or-other, the former Associate Art Director at Audubon magazine, gave me when he left the company. It's supposed to bring in money. I think it's defective. I feel terrible for not remember Jonathan's last name, by the way.

There are, at last count, four notebooks on my desk. One is open to a blank page. It's so I can write down the name of the terrific beer I had with Noelle at Frontera. (Mediocre food, by the way.) In this notebook I'll also do a quick sketch of the beer label, if I can find it online someplace. I ought to have just peeled it off at the restaurant. Goodness knows that the service was slow enough that I could have peeled off every label within my reach and we still wouldn't have received our check.

The other three notebooks are mini notebooks. One is the Action Runner that Peter got me--it's there so I can tick off the items I listed "to do" in it, and add action items to it should I think of them. One of the other two is green. That's the Live It Green/ARFE notebook. In it I list random thoughts and items-that-are-not-actionable having to do with those two companies. The other is red. It's my writing and editing notebook. In it I log my billable hours for any of three different clients and jot down items much the same way I do in the green notebook.

On my desk is also an unfinished editing task. I'm procrastinating on that one. Duh.

On the far left side of my desk is a copy of this photo:

It's only there because I can't find a place to stick it up yet. It's a great reminder of a terrific vacation, and I need to actually put it on my wall someplace. My bulletin board (on the far right) is way too crowded with reminders of other things that make me happy. Mostof them are things I made, but there are some pictures up there that make me happy, too. I really need, more than anything, a second bulletin board. The year's forthcoming ARFE schedule really does not belong on a bulletiin board of things that make me over-the-moon happy.

Okay. Off to do some actual work, now. Have a happy day, everyone!