I don’t have a dedicated space, and I don’t need one. If there’s a flat surface, and hopefully a lack of interruption, I can write. An office would be nice. Maybe I’ll set one up once I get my new digs.
As it is, I lay on my bed and write with music going nearly all of the time, and this works for me. Wow. This has pretty much been my routine since my teen years, although I had a desktop computer back then. Writing really has been a life-long love for me, and I hope that one day I’ll be good enough to gain something of a reputation for it. Being a professional writer would be a dream come true for me, but it would be a dream come true for millions of others as well.
I spend a lot of time considering writing a memoir of my homeless days, but I’d have to say it was fictionalized – my parents would be horribly scandalized. My mother’s go-to saying with me is “At least you’re not addicted to meth” – meth was my drug of choice and the woman has no idea. That’s a blessing. I don’t have the same level of relationship problems some of my fellow addicts have with their parents. They do know I had an alcohol problem, but the drug portion of it is mostly unknown to them.
Everyday Inspiration – Day Six : The Space to Write