Every writer needs a little space and solitude to work in. Today I’ve been salivating over some other writers’ spaces and these too because when I walked into my office this morning, I saw that it had become the house dumpster. Computer parts, printer cartridges, kids books that have been read to shreds and need fixing, toys, bits of paper with varying scribbles, and to be fair, my own notebooks that have been drying out since the flood.
I was so irritated, I can’t even tell you.
I can’t work in a space that’s cluttered, or dirty or filled with other people’s things. Where I create needs to have a nice balance of my own stuff wherever I put it, along with MY OWN STUFF WHEREVER I PUT IT. And I have no idea how to impart this information on my darling family short of stapling it to their foreheads, or putting a lock on my office door.
Bottom line. It’s my office. Keep out.