Is is not every writer’s dream to have a room with a view? A room just for writing needs not much more than a sturdy table, a comfy chair and a laptop . . . if it has a wide, bright window under which to place these three things, offering the writer the gift of time—time to simply look, ponder and conjure up clever characters and meaty plot lines.
I have such a room, as it turns out. It is not nearly so spare. It contains hundreds of tools to be used one day, and cherished items (reminders of past creative ventures), and notebooks upon sketchbooks upon sheaves of papers for projects begun or fantasized. It is a room for comfort, a room created for creating with efficiency, everything within reach for making any form of art, photography or writing I’m stoked to try.
It even has a view. A stunning view, as it happens, through two adjoining windows overlooking undulating hill country and protected canyonlands (a blessed sanctuary for two endangered bird species), and a Texas-sized expanse of changing skies.
Of course, it’s not the view I imagine. Nor the room I desire for writing. Because that room would be one that offers me some breathing room, without my trinkets and reminders and distractions. The room I imagine is whitewashed over plain pine plank walls, its floor a dark hardwood polished by decades of footsteps, its sole furnishings a sturdy antique farm table that’s seen plenty of suppers, and an overstuffed armchair pulled right up to it. My gleaming MacBook Air awaits me on the table, a simple complement, yet the only juxtaposition, to the ghosts echoing around my plain room, waiting to live new lives in the words I’m poised to find.
I’m mesmerized and steadied by the ocean view just outside my imaginary window. It’s right outside my room, so near that when I crank open my window, I can feel salt spray spitting at my forehead as I bend over my work. Day will become twilight will become night, and the panorama from where I sit will show me inspiration whenever I glance up. The words begin to flow.
I can be there, in my spare but inspiring room to write, whenever I summon up my room with a view. And only then can the magic can begin. ♣
Where do you go in your mind to get inspired?
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