This room is supposed to be my
Feng Shui room. My room uncluttered, bringing me peace and tranquility (I didn't use the actual idea of Feng Shui, just tried to keep it clean and not crazy making). Well, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't. It's hard to stay uncluttered with two kids a husband and a writer.
When husband is home, he sits at the desk on the desktop, I sit at the little table on my laptop. My laptop has become the official charger of the girls iPods so more often than not it has two long white appendages attached to it reminding me of something from the Matrix. Underneath my little table are two friend's manuscripts, yet to be read, and some months old magazines I don't know if I've read or not.
The desk is next to me, my coffee cup sits on it next to my credit card which was used to sign up for indoor soccer teams. The rest of the desk looks like a massive grave for sticky notes and USB cords. I have know idea what is written on all the paper strewn across it, nor what all the cords go to. Usually once a week I just recycle and put things in a cupboard until once again they pile up.
The printer is also piled with paper, these more important usually. My New World Order I have written up to get my kids to do their chores and homework. Bills, soccer fundraising papers, pay stubs, all sit awaiting filing, which I'm very bad at. I'm not a very organized person. I try, but usually it comes down to filingfail.
One wall is painted a teal green, the others white and are adorned with prints of an Asian variety, mostly because at one garage sale I had, my mother brought over a bunch of Asian stuff, as well as my sister, and I had some other Asian items which I will get to later. All these items combined gave me the idea of the Feng Shui room. They sat in boxes for at least a year until the room became actualized.
On the opposite wall from the desks is a futon. Underneath the futon lays (lies? who knows) a bag full of old manuscripts in need of editing. Manuscripts put aside for more manuscripts to be written.
And then there's my bookshelf. Books I've read, some I've not. Books I'm supposed to review. There's a shelf for mysteries. Mostly Harlan Coben. Dennis Lehane would be there too but it looks like all my Lehane books have disappeared.
My dad's book also graces that shelf. Next to that is a shelf of poetry books, Dickinson, Whitman, compilations. Next are the classics, Uncle Tom's Cabin, To Kill a Mockingbird, Lord of the Flies, among others.
The next shelf is devoted to my husband's Koontz books. I've only read two or three of his books, but I think Rusty's read about twenty or more. I also have shelves devoted to Stephen King (except he has to share with Michael Chrichton, half my King books having disappeared), YA, Harry Potter, cookbooks, natural and herbal books, and a couple mish mash shelves.
There's a shelf dedicated to my friend's books, mostly people I've met through the ABNA contest, Bill Loehfelm, Harry Dolan, Erica Eisdorfer, Scotti Cohn, etc. (a place saved for my friend Gae's book which comes out Spring of next year)
Then there's a shelf of all the books I want to read, but haven't had the time for yet. It includes titles like The Road, Water for Elephants, Long Way Gone, Eat, Pray, Love, The Memory Keeper's Daughter and MANY others.
Among these books are things my father in law, who I never met, who died when my husband was only about three, sent to his wife from Korea, where he was stationed, where he died. One is a beautiful vase with images of what looks like perhaps Asian magi or something. Then I have three porcelain Buddha's sitting crosslegged, smiling at one another. On another shelf stands another porcelain figure, this one a kind of creepy asian guy holding a staff in one hand, some undetermined round thing in the other. He's got a huge forehead and a long fu manchu.
That's it, my Feng Shui, non Feng Shui writing room, which, now that I've got a laptop with a working battery, I hardly ever write in because it's too dark. Now I often find myself at the dining table. I place where I can open up the curtains and let the sun shine in on me.
What's your writing space like?
