I’ve been using my study for real in the past two months. For real, as in,
I am the writer who lives in this house, and this is where I write.
How incredible is that sentence? I am still feeling it guys. The incredible, the doubtful, the incredulous. Yes. I am watering the plants regularly, and new leaves are unfurling as I sit. I am, yes, still finding the Easter Candy I hid on the shelves. I am still balancing my extreme candy consumption with protein-packed lunches. I have a writing space.
And I’m writing. I’m in it. Its’ been suggested that I should be able to do it with a house full of children, but I can’t. And I’m not going to apologize for that. The way in which my brain settles when the house is empty is an entirely novel experience, and I feel the weight of it. It is an entirely different brain that I carry at those moments, as if I am an entirely different creature. And I am.
I admit, I am not a perfect at-home worker. There are times I definitely struggle to focus on the work, and I dither in the kitchen or decide to do a grocery run. And if I’m freaking out and can’t function, I’ve watched tv. I mean, I hate when I do that and I judge myself very harshly. Daytime tv watching is for sick people or thirteen-year-olds watching soap operas after school. (this is not fair, and not appropriate to the covid era, i know.)
I’m not perfect, but here I am, in a writing space. In and out of doldrums and running like spring weather all around robin hood’s barn. I’m still in it. Watch me shake it on the dance floor, babes.
love love,
kate
Your writing space looks lovely. “A room of one’s own” is necessary for a writer, according to Virginia Woolf. I’ve been watching Extraordinary Houses on Netflix for my (Br)Lunch and Learn. Have been learning a lot about architecture and how a house needs to be senstively built into its environment to take advantage of the light and view to create an environment that allows for beauty and function to harmonize. Wonderful.