The most amusing aspect of this photograph to me is that it includes the door to my balcony, the place I’d prefer to write, and where my imagination perhaps resides. But I don’t linger there much, although I do step out momentarily first thing in the morning.
People often ask me if I write, and the answer is no, not in the usual sense. The last time someone asked me that, in a bookstore in Nebraska, I replied that I am pretty sure I was supposed to turn in an essay a year ago. So no. Not even on deadline. I work. Day and night. I have a flexible lifestyle because I freelance, and the basic rule is that if I don’t have an event that requires my presence, I don’t have any particular obligation to stay in the country. But I often do because when my public relations projects are my whole life. And when I’m not doing specific tasks for clients, I’m often helping friends.
A glance at my kitchen table shows mounting evidence of things I am supposed to do, almost none of which are part of my day-to-day tasks. A pile of stuff from my friends at Featherproof, a stack of the t-shirts Two Dollar Radio made that are inspired by me, music by My Funny Detective for consideration for a future event, checks I haven’t taken to the bank. It’s not that I don’t need the money! Quite the contrary; I’m just busy.
Hanging on my doorknob are some children’s masks I bought in Edinburgh, on a long weekend I spent there last Thanksgiving. I went on a lark, it was nice, I was tired; all I remember is eating candy and watching television. I didn’t write like I thought I would.
Lauren Cerand writes about art, politics and style at LuxLotus.com. Writing Spaces is a series of posts dedicated to the desks, cafes, libraries and retreats where Fictionaut writers work, providing a window to the physical places where some of the stories on the site originated.