It had been ages since I’ve done anything with Blogging U’s Writing 101 course, yet there it sat in my inbox waiting for me. In fact, this particular assignment had been patiently waiting for me since September 13, 2015. A year ago, jokingly… and almost literally too.
‘The Space to Write’ it was called, and I read over the assignment as I pondered what I would tell all of you about the scene on the other side of your computers.
Where did I go when I wrote?
Outside on my second floor balcony of course. There I sit each morning with my laptop soaking up the soft rays of the morning sun. On the antique white metal cafe table with it’s tall chair like bar stools next to my laptop sits my white ceramic coffee mug filled with magically delicious coffee. The summer breeze occasionally blows past carrying the scent of lilies from off in the distance as my fingers tapped away effortlessly on the keyboard. Through the partially opened french doors I can see the sheer curtains blowing gently and hear the soft laughter of my children. Every so often the song of a nearby bird floats musically past my ears as I type away endlessly at the laptop that sits before me.
This is where I go when I write those glorious blog posts that you devour, and when I write the not so glorious ones too… but, it’s not where I really am.
Where am I, really, when I write?
I am sitting on my less than comfortable spring mattress that rests on it’s metal bed frame. Next to me sits a stand that is antique, but not in the fancy way of the cafe table. On that stand does sit my coffee, but it is less than magically delicious and is in a cheap, faulty travel mug that I had purchased from the dollar store. The real dollar store, where stuff really does only cost a dollar. Occasionally the fan that sits off in the corner of my room does send a soft breeze my way, but it never carries the smell of fresh lilies. More often it’s the smell of the cat taking a dump in it’s nearby litter box. You’d think I would have moved the fan, or the litter box, by now… but this is the real world, not fantasy land.
There are no french doors. No sheer curtains. Not even a second story balcony. And the sounds that I hear drifting through my thoughts from my children are rarely those of laughter as they play lovingly together.
The assignment was to write about where I wrote, and in a way, where I wrote was a matter of my own perspective. Just as your side of this computer screen is a matter of your own perspective. Which leaves me wondering only one last thing…
Where do you go when you write?