the view from on high

window

Where do you write? On the dinner table when everyone’s gone to bed? At a coffee shop with constant buzz and activity? At the library? At a desk in a repurposed bedroom of your empty-nest home? In a basement cubicle against a blank wall so there are no distractions? On the go, on your phone?

A recent post at the ever-interesting Carter Library blog lead to a nice conversation in the comments about the hows and whys of writing locations. I mentioned how my writing place (which you can see here, though much has changed since that photo), includes a window I can stand before to stare long distances. Above is the view from that window, at least right now in the spring.

That’s looking out the front of my house in suburbia. The pink-flowering tree is a dogwood. The reddish tree is a beech. To the right the bright green leaves are a river birch. And beyond that is a linden. My lawn is a scandal, at least by the standards of suburbia, but, obviously, I hardly care. Of course, you’re looking out my window at its best. In the winter the view is as bleak and lifeless as my black and withered heart. In late summer the heat and drought threaten to desiccate everything, just like the periodic dark nights of my own soul. Autumn is too brief and too obvious a reminder of the long, cold days ahead. So I usually just sit at the desk and try to work, rising to the window only to see what the dogs are barking at (generally a leaf blowing by).

I learned early on that I can’t do any creative work facing a wall. I don’t know why that is; perhaps it reminds me too much of the cubicle I sit in too many hours each week doing soul-sucking work for the man just to pay my bills. No, I have to be able to look up occasionally and gaze mindlessly to let the thoughts drift in order to enter (or remain in) the space where my stories exist.

In graduate school I worked at a folding table in the corner of my bedroom. The table was so wobbly that I had to wrap my leg around one of its legs just to hold it steady enuf to write on. Eventually I moved to the dining room table at the hub of the house. But with four active children and a parade of dogs, I found I had to rise very early to get a few uninterrupted hours of solitude. When the kids were finally gone (for good — a couple returned briefly), I acquired one of the bedrooms as my own space. And there I thrive. Or strive, anyway.

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Explore posts in the same categories: Rants and ruminations

2 Comments on “the view from on high”


  1. Beautiful! I have a view of the park and the not-yet-leafed-out Japanese maple to my left and the house opposite straight ahead. We’re on a bit of a hill, so there is also a lot of sky.

  2. donnaeve Says:

    I see you have that same conundrum as I do about working in a spot that’s a little too much like “corporate work environment.” Oh, and I’m jealous of your pink dogwood! (and I’m catching upon your blog posts)


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