Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Where I Write

L.L. Barkat prompted us, invited us to share the 'place where we write'. It has been fun to picture in my mind's eye the place where my writerly friends do their creative best. Join in!

Loverby built a garden shed
where in seclusion and quietness
creations written or handcrafted
could be birthed. I tried. They couldn't
stand my isolation or maybe they were
curious, so comes the knock, knock, knocking
and peering in the window part. In
truth, I was lonely for them too. The thrum
of  family life was the missing fuel. Now,
scattered thoughts and fragmented pieces
of stories get written down by a window
in the middle of the mess. Center of life.

I look out upon sassy squirrels twitching
their tails at me while they steal unripe pears and eat them
defiantly. Sweetpeas, hops, kiwi, roses, lilies,
lupines, currants, hostas, ferns, evening primrose,
rhodies, hydrangeas, roses, and astilbe keep me
dreamy as I notice them change
in season and out. Being deliciously distracted is
part and parcel of it all.

I have a severe paper addiction. My journals are
a telling trail of the day. Grocery lists and guest
lists. Books and movies recommended to find.
People to look up and connect with. Deep thoughts
or silly. Scraps of paper everywhere to be lost and
found. Hopefully.

Tears on the page or coffee splashed on the keyboard.
Typing is easier than pen in hand, although pen on paper
satisfies a craving. Pencil is to pen what warm
scone is to cracker. Comforting soft lead has a
certain sound.

Birds having their morning toilette, vigorous
in their uninhibited 'joy de vivre' lure me out
and away from the desk inside to the swing outside.
My mind continues without a tool to story the lines
around me.

Sometimes my laptop is my bedmate both early
late. Loverby doesn't mind three in the bed.
Words and warm comforters go together.
Now you know.


Maureen said...

What wonderful scene-setting: the little writer's shed with eyes peering into windows, in a window seat amid the cacophony of family, in bed. (Did you know Barbara Cartland wrote all of her romance novels in bed, amid great bouquets of pink everything?) I think it's not true your mind is "without a tool". Your heart is everywhere evident.

L.L. Barkat said...

Kathleen, this is absolutely delightful! The list of flowers had me swooning. :) (Maureen, that is so cool about Cartland's bed of roses. :)

I loved the squirrel too. Reminds me of the one who stole my daughter's squirrel-proof bird feeder!

Hey, you could add this link to the French list at Green Inventions too. A two-fer. :)

A Simple Country Girl said...

Love this! Please, what is a kiwi flower? I only know it as a delectable fruit.

A paper addiction huh? Me, too.


Anonymous said...

I see you there, writing in the hum of life, wherever a moment can be stolen. :)

Craig said...

I love the last half of the first paragraph! It's written! PROOF! You miss us when your writing in the garden shed! Can I use it as my motorcycle shop then! :)

Glynn said...

Looking out at roses, lilies, sweet peas hydrangeas and lupines is a heck of lot nicer than looking out at the smoker's bench.

Nice one, Kathleen.

Anonymous said...

i liked hearing about all the places that you write.

Jeri said...

Enjoyed this. I, though, have had the opposite experience. In my household of six adults, including my elderly father, a son who works freelance and is either gone to another country or home on the sofa with his laptop, and a daughter who is looking for work and does some consulting from home, I find I NEED to hide out. There is NEVER no one in the house. I lost my study as more people moved in, and spent several months in the dining room. (Alas, not just accessible space, but between kitchen and living room and whatever shenanigans go on there.) Last month we moved me to our bedroom. Small corner, surrounded by books, unmade bed, and the laundry basket. Heaven! The door is open. Come find me if you need me, and make your joyful noises. But here there is space for focus and contemplation.

Loved, too, your celebration of the bits of paper. I do the same. Would add books, newspapers and journals to the list. Curt teased me about the book piles just last night. But I don't celebrate them. Just feel scattered and overwhelmed.


Marcus Goodyear said...

And this I like: "I have a severe paper addiction. My journals are/ a telling trail of the day."