My Writing Space

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I am fortunate to have a writing space of any sort, much less a comfortable one.

Shack X

This is the shack that launched a thousand rejections…or something like that. It’s small, with a 10 x 12 footprint, and is getting crowded inside.  The photo was taken in August 2013, a few weeks before the interior was finished out. Note the inspector, Jackboy, with his ball.

Shack 1

The most important feature of the shack is the air conditioner. The bookcases are nice, too, but the heat would be unbearable without the a/c unit.

Shack 2

Books keep migrating here. I wonder why. The cattle dog spent many hours in the dog bed, but the Chihuahuas prefer the house.

Shack 3

I try to use the available space as efficiently as possible, hence the skinny book cases. The painting is by Stuckist painter Ron Throop, whose art and words inspire me.

Shack 4

The desk is usually messier than this…

Shack 5

Birds often smacked into the righthand window, until I added the little mobile fabricated from a piece of cedar and wooden bird ornaments.

Shack 6

Yes, that’s a stationary bike. The good thing about having such a small space is that I can ride the bike and reach over for a sip of beer without having to pause.

Shack last

I’ve been banging on that guitar for forty years. It’s a little worn, but then so am I. The broadside is a Galway Kinnel poem, “Little Children’s Prayer,” which joins a small group of signed broadsides in the shack, featuring poems by Jane Hirshfield, Arthur Sze and Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge. Alas, I’m running low on wall space.

 

 

177 thoughts on “My Writing Space”

  6. Delighted to see your studio in the garden – a bolt hole well away from the hustle and bustle of urban life.

    Regarding the cattle dog, we need to learn more about this character and companion.

    The chair with arms is great, solid furniture, no doubt comfortable too. And the wee Mac to broadcast with – what would we do without the wifi and wordpress blogs!

    This post reminds me of a photo feature on 40 writers rooms – Nigella Lawson’s study is almost perfection.

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    • It is a lovely bolt hole! Ah, Jackboy the cattle dog was my shadow. Or rather, I was his human. He died three years ago, and we still miss him. I’ve seen a photo of Nigella Lawson’s study. It is truly stunning!

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      • Fox, December 2002 – April 2013

        You taught me about heart
        the rush of happiness I’d feel before arriving home
        knowing you’d be there to welcome me.
        How wonderful to touch and be touched
        to hear your yips of joy
        to pat your head and stroke your coat
        as you stood against me on hind legs
        your whole being smiling in greeting.

        You had a beautiful face.
        A straight white line ran from your nose to the crown of your skull.
        You had four white socks
        an orange brown coat
        and a white tipped fox’s tail.
        You taught me about the wonder of life.
        The mere mention of a walk
        led to an outpouring of delight.
        You’d prance about and sing song whine,
        always excited to go out.
        When I took my coat off the hook
        or pulled up the zip of my boots
        you’d be straight out from wherever you’d been
        asking to come along,
        tailing me around the house.

        We traveled much of this island together.
        Me at the wheel,
        and you moving from the back to sit on my lap
        when I accelerated into fourth gear.
        You never forgot that you broke your paw in the backseat of my car
        the day I took you home from the pound.
        Your four strong litter had been taken from your mother the night before.
        You were a fluffy pup then
        who had to wear an illuminous green plaster of Paris cast
        and so I carried you around
        and gave you arnica and chamomile tea.

        You were with us a week before you made a sound,
        a large white and black dog wandered in and you took off.
        I thought you looked comical,
        a ferocious small downy coated thing
        trying to chase this visitor away
        with front right paw in psychedelic green cast suspended in the air.
        Yet it was then I really met your spirit.
        Your feisty protective bark and speedy three legged onslaught
        sent that wandering canine slinking off.

        Sheparding was in your blood.
        When cows arrived in the field beside us
        you’d corral them when you got the chance.
        Racing seagulls became your daily exercise
        after we moved.
        You chased them like the wind.
        You were as fast as a greyhound.
        mirroring their getaway soar on land.

        When I called you came.
        You’d always look back to see which way I was headed,
        and lay close to where I sat.
        I’d smile when you’d hide sausages in corners for later,
        sometimes leaving them sitting beside the wall in plain view.
        You were a gentle being
        who liked, quite literally, to lick me clean.
        You’d roll over onto your back,
        legs up
        when you wanted a tummy rub,
        knowing that I’d never refuse you.

        You taught me that loving someone
        means not holding on.

        I’d thought I was cried out
        after we’d both spent the night awake with your coughing.
        I looked into your brown eyes,
        and saw that you were tired.
        Your heart condition was worsening.
        I couldn’t let you suffer.
        You were having another bad day
        and the pressure on your lungs would build.

        The sky outside the window was pure blue
        as I held you in my arms
        before the vet came in to euthanise you.
        Your heartbeat filled the room,
        it was irregular.
        We wished that you be well, that you be happy and that you be free from suffering.
        We wished that you be well, that you be happy and that you be free.

        In the distance,
        high in the sky,
        I watched as two seagulls flew away from us.
        Not long after you exhaled a gentle sigh
        and your spirit flew.

        We returned your body to the holding of the earth at sunset
        Where-upon a blackbird sang the perfect hymn.

        © Jacinta Carey

        In imagining Jackboy, this is one of the pet loss poems I often return to – by Jacinta Carey

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  11. What a wonderful dedicated space! I immediately was reminded of Virginia Woolf’s shed. My own space tends to be the south end of our dining room table, near the tall bay windows, so I can distract myself with the birds’ and chipmunks’ and breeze-stirred curtains’ movements… 😉

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  12. I love your space – thank you for sharing. The rope bridge pic is a perfect example of opening up a tiny space with a big piece of art. And the way you have photographed it with the string hanging on the bike, it looks like the bridge comes right out into the room.

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    • That was the thought with that purchase. The small space needed opening up a bit, and Lissa and I both loved it. And I’m also interested in perception, so playing around with selfies in front of that poster has been quite entertaining.

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    • We’d considered buying a new, slightly larger house, but it was much easier and cheaper to build the shack. The guitar and I have come to terms over the years, and it has a pretty good tone for what it is. I played a Gibson for a while, but never liked it as much. So the old guitar is stuck with me, as I’ll likely wear out before it does.

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  18. Damn it if I wasn’t already attracted to you because of you’re writing. I sure am now. And why does everybody on this planet but me have a little writing haven. I know life isn’t fair but I might have to steal your bookshelves because you left me no other choice

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    • Stephen King wrote Carrie balancing a typewriter on a plank in his laundry room. The space produces nothing, The writer IS the room. I wrote my first book sitting on the floor at an old (1.3 foot high) lacquer table int he bed space of my tiny apartment in Osaka, Japan. I wrote my doctoral dissertation on my laptop while stretched out on my bed in an fully equipped apartment the size of a single bedroom in Toronto. My research notes were written on dozens of trains, in several Zen temple private quarters, on many many airplanes, in many hotel lobbies and restaurants in Japan, Korea.and China, and in more than one bathroom stall.

      Luckily the space can be anything, whatever facilitates the work. You’d be surprised at how much work you can get done when you make the world your writing space, as tying ourselves to “a room” my be the very thing keeping us from writing our best work.

      The first poem I ever wrote was on a pond-side park bench, sitting across from Kinkakuji in Kyoto… not saying I am a good or profound writer, but for me producing material is writing and revising/editing = the actual art of writing.

      We can :”write” anywhere. I’ll bet Okaji Sensei could write a brilliant poem on the wall in soap while taking a bath!

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    • Ha! I spent many years writing wherever I could, but finally decided that I was truly serious about writing, and that I could at last splurge and create that special space. I am lucky to have it.

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  21. Great to have your own place and relatively neat writing space, as we do tend unfold ourselves into our area provided, no matter what the size, but “There’s Room”, always for our pets.

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    • There was no particular inspiration. Budget played a big role, as did whimsy. Once the structure was built, the rest just accumulated over time. Design was a function of what I wanted (natural light) vs. what I needed (wall space), in combination with limited space, due to both funding and yard size. And air conditioning was a must. So I researched multiple options (pre-fab, on site building, etc., as well as available cooling options). The whole shebang, from first glimmer to setting foot into the completed shack and actually writing something, took about eight months. But I tend to move deliberately in such matters. 😀

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  29. That’s a great space! I set up a card table at the end of my bed. Aesthetically not pleasing. But we have 4 kids so I’ll take over whoever moves out first’s room. But I’ll have to share with hubby, guests and dogs. Maybe I’ll put a desk in the laundry room…no one goes in there.

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  33. Oh! Sweet! I love it when people share their writing spaces! Loved the intimacy in the pictures, that intimacy which allows you to peek a glance into another’s life, and more specifically, into the revered writing place. Loved the picture of the bridge and the git-tar!

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  35. So good to learn a little more about you, Robert. Love ‘the space that launched a thousand rejections’ 🙂 I really enjoyed reading this post and viewing your world. You’ve inspired me. Have a great weekend when it arrives.

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  43. What a fantastic space, Robert! My house has a small, detached garage that is almost cleared out after having moved in last summer. The plan is for it to be the library and writing studio. Currently I write wherever I happen to be: coffee shop, the bus, a park– but I look forward to having a quiet spot for my cluttered mind.

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