Writer, not

With family, including teenagers and a dog, I live in a busy household. Writing space, not to mention time, is difficult to come by.

Years ago I read that George Lucas would repair to a small desk under the eaves of his house to do his writing. Here is my version of that theme, a small dormer in the attic. Sparse and not terribly comfortable, it is the best space I’ve found so far. I’m actually productive here.

Note the wobbly table, beat-up chair, inspiration posted on the wall, and the cans of caffeine.

I like it best here during rainstorms.  The rain pounds the roof above my head, and fills the whole attic with wonderful white noise.  I also like the space carved out by the dormer.  It’s just the right feeling of boundaries for me.  I just hope I can stand the heat when summer arrives.

What is your writing hide-away?  Can you stand to be alone with the rafters?  Or are you one of those souls who could write a sonnet on the subway?

(Somewhat) related posts:

1. I was never much of a writer
2. Feeling that day in history
3. Travelling