As I sit here this morning at my computer desk, I have to move aside dirty dishes, empty coke cans, and scribbled notes to get to my keyboard. I share my writing space with my family's computer pursuits. There is an open bag of mint chocolate chips my husband is snacking on, a disorganized rolodex, and my latest copy of Writer's Digest. It's a mess, and it's not just my other family members who created it.
Writer's Digest has profiles of different writers' spaces in their new issue. One thing I noticed in the pictures is that even the writer's space they say is messy looks pretty good to me. I used to think I couldn't write in all this debris. Now I'm not sure I could write without it. The t.v. is playing upstairs, the cats are walking on the keyboard, and my daughter is babysitting a three-year-old and six month old in the next room. And all of this seems perfectly normal.
But I have dreams. When I am a rich, famous writer, I will have an office all my own with bookshelves for reference books, a sleek computer with no fingerprints on the monitor, and a view that looks out on what passes for mountains in Missouri.
Anyone want to blog about their writing space now and the one they'd have if they had a million dollars?