A Change of Season

In a blog interview with Cheri LaClaire a couple months ago, I was asked about my writing routine: where I write, what I surround myself with, etc.  The thing is, I don’t really think of myself as having a routine, so it made me pause and think carefully about how each writing day starts for me.  The writing day is different from the rest of the day, simply because I also do things like laundry and cooking.  I would add housekeeping to the list, but that is something I try to avoid as much as possible.

I covered the basics in my interview with Cheri, but this spring, I find myself avoiding my ‘official’ writing space, which is in our basement.  It’s a good space, mind you, near the laser printer my husband gave me two Mothers’ Days ago (one of the best gifts ever!) and convenient to my books.  The basement, for the foreseeable future, is the only place in the house with room for my desk, printer, file cabinet and books.   But right now, I can’t stand to go near it.

Maybe because this last winter seemed to stretch on and on and on and on, with SO much more snow than usual, I want to spend as much time as possible near sunlight, and where I can at least see outside.  I’ve been working, to my husband’s dismay, on our dining room table.  I sympathize with him, since this involves clearing it off before dinner every night.  (We both agreed several years ago that since we have a dining room table, we should actually use it.)  But it’s so pleasant to work in a light-filled room, surrounded by furniture that came from both my grandmothers,  in the house that we raised our children in.

The view from our front window is an unremarkable front yard, but it has a tree and the sight of green grass.  With the dining room window open on temperate days, I can hear the birds that built a nest in the neighbors’ gutter.  Add flowers cut from our garden and I can enjoy the sights, sounds and scents of warm weather as I write.

Or I can sit under the tree in our backyard and write there.  The box that once contained a swing set now serves as a pleasant outdoor space with chairs and a table found on sale last year.  Bringing my laptop out isn’t practical, but a notebook and pen and my faithful thesaurus work great.

I know, I know — there will be days of humid 90-degree-plus heat, or thunderstorms and the occasional tornado.  And bugs.  And there will be meals to cook and vacuuming and dusting to do, and a teen with her TV and music once school is out.  But what is the point of writing romance if I can’t indulge in a good fantasy??