Writing Is a Force

I have somehow managed to graduate from the late nights, the early mornings, and the stolen lunch breaks to full-time regular hours, writing in an office with a desk and books all around me.

I used to write in all sorts of places—coffee shops, a fold-out table in an empty room in my house, a desk at an office working a job I hated, in the dark in bed while my kids and spouse slept piled in a heap but now . . . now my work is done in my home office.

I have somehow managed to graduate from the late nights, the early mornings, and the stolen lunch breaks to full-time regular hours, writing in an office with a desk and books all around me.

This is my dream.

My office is a quiet space tucked in the farthest corner of my house. It is a room only for me—a place where my children are not allowed and my partner rarely enters. There is no television, scattered abandoned toys, unfolded laundry, or anything waiting to be cleaned. It is a big enough room for me to stand and pace or lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling. I even have a couch which I sometimes (a lot of times) take naps on.

The desk stretches an entire wall. I keep many things on top of it—books I’ve written, books I’m reading, a framed picture of my grandparents. My grandfather never got to see me published or even know me as a writer, but I think of him often. How he gave my family a ten-pound dictionary, how he loved to write as well, how he always believed in me. Also, and maybe most importantly, on the desk is my computer, complete with dual monitors. I use the screen on the right for projects I am actively working on—drafting, administrative duties, edits, edits, and more edits. And the left screen is mainly used for reference materials—outlines, edit letters, etcetera. I’ve written many books on this desk, with this computer and monitors, including my latest, Mika in Real Life. I drafted for eight weeks—days, nights and weekends. Hundreds upon hundreds of hours, which does not even include months of revision. All of it done in the same chair, at the same desk, in the same office. For me the consistency works; having a familiar space to slip back into novel eliminates distractions (not all but most).

Behind my desk are two pin boards where I outline stories. Also tacked up there is my kid’s school schedule. As much as I try to separate mom stuff from writing stuff, I find more and more they are intertwined—I am equally wrapped up in both. There is also a quote from Cheryl Strayed: Did I do the work I needed to do, and did I do it like a motherfucker? Most often, the answer is no. But that is okay. It reminds me that writing is a force and I should definitely reckon with it.

All this said, most of my work resides in my office, but writing is difficult to contain.

Often ideas strike at the strangest moments and I’ll jot down my thoughts into the notes app on my phone and then transfer them over when I am back at my desk, where I (mostly) write.