Where I Write
I write in my room at my desk most days. If I am away from home I will scribble in a notebook, only rarely lugging my laptop about to work on. On gorgeous weekends I have been known to take my coffee, notebook and pen out of doors, to the back steps where I commune with nature. Communing means sitting in the garden, scowling and scribbling, looking up to say, "Wow. There are a lot of bees here," and then getting back to it.
But most days, I sit at my desk and tap tap away. My things are there: printer, reference books, all my other stuff that is strictly speaking unnecessary to my writing. Except this week it has been hot. Near or in the 90s for days. Muggy days that my window fan cannot hope to conquer. Days that make the back of my legs stick to my chair. I had to go downstairs to the dining room table yesterday to write. The heat upstairs was too much. I did okay, but my roommates were around and I found myself talking, which is not writing.
This is why you need a room of your own: to keep others out.
I know lots of people who cannot write at home, who instead write at libraries or coffee shops or anywhere but their houses. They find their stuff's nearness distracting. Me, I find it comforting. I like to be able to change my music, or turn it off as wanted. I like taking dance breaks. I like being by myself, feeling like what is in my head is what is around me. If I were in a space with others, I don't think I could achieve that singular focus. Besides, you try taking a dance break in the middle of a library.