Your Perfect Writing Space

In my last blog, I wrote about making time to write our memoirs. Or rather, how we can’t actually make time and what we can do instead.

But assuming you might be trying mine and James Clear’s advice (and attaching your writing habits to other habits you already have) what about where we write? Is the space in which you write important to you?

Social media is full of idyllic writing nooks, beautifully decorated with antique chairs and throws but otherwise uncluttered with amazing views. But are those actually realistic? Not for many of us. A lot of people don’t have endless, or even spare rooms in their home. The memoirists I know write at the kitchen table, on the couch, at their kid’s computer desk when they’re asleep, in bed, and even in the car. Not while driving of course, but diligently, on their phones, in a quiet corner of a car park. Peace and privacy. We have to get it where we can.

(This car situation works if you’re going to write after aqua aerobics as mentioned in the previous blog)

My own office isn’t as streamlined and soothing as I’d like it to be. It’s in the garden, a summerhouse that I share with my husband – also a writer. Plus two dogs in various states of muddiness and exhaustion. And making it all fancy-shmancy keeps falling down the list as we work on the rooms in our actual house instead. I am a very sentimental person, so my corner contains three desks that have belonged to beloved family members. It’s rustic and they’ll stay even when we decorate. If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll know that my wall is adorned with a huge poster (two) of John Travolta. He’s also staying.

My imperfect space, as it currently is, works well enough. I keep it tidy and cute. I’m well organised. I crack on.

So what about your space? Where do you write? Does it have to be a certain place with a certain level of tidiness or clutter?

This week we’re having some landscaping done in the garden and a Verbena Bonariensis that planted itself between two paving slabs is going to have to move. I hope it survives. I applaud its tenacity. It didn’t care where it planted itself. It needed to grow so it put its roots down and did what needed to be done.

I hope you can be inspired by the Verbena.

You need to write. So, find your paving slab, wedge yourself in and do your thing.

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Dear Marnie