I got to thinking about this and I can't get it out of my head even though I've got about eighty other things to write.  So, to get on with my life, I give you a description of my Writer's Nest...

We were talking about what makes a workspace good for writing in my Advanced Writing class on Friday and my professor asked us what our idea of a Writer's Nest was. It was funny that all of us immediately knew what the professor was talking about even though we've never heard anyone talk about it before.  And it is funny that if you're a writer, you know what I'm talking about.  There is a perfect, hear the angels sing, setting in which you write at your best and it has many components that sound and look crazy to anyone looking on, but there is meaning in every cushion (or lack of cushion) down to the temperature and the type of drink sitting beside you as you sit at your desk / in your lazy boy / cross legged on a special rug on the creaky wooden floor / on the toilet / wherever else your inner writer feels most comfortable.

What makes a space conducive to writing?  What elements go into creating the perfect area for a would-be author to sit and put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) in the quest to smith words together in a readable fashion?

I would imagine every writer has different ideals, but here are mine.

First we have the space.  I prefer to write at home, generally in the living room of my small, two-bedroom apartment that is located above an antique store.  My husband has taken over our office, since his desktop computer demands more space than my highly mobile laptop, so “to write” generally I sit on my side of the love seat in the far corner of our living room.  

The space must be clean, or else there is little hope of me focusing on anything other than the dust bunnies or dirty dishes.  See, our living room is pretty much in the same room as our kitchen.  It is just one big, open space, the distinction being where the linoleum starts and the carpet ends.  From my spot on the love seat I can sense the dirty dishes in the sink and feel the clutter on our table (really a card table with a pretty blue table cloth and two folding chairs covered in fancy burgundy slip-covers) and with all of that going on in my psyche the delicate and sensitive writer in the corner of my brain is likely to get silenced by my inner merry maid.  

So ideally, I like to write in my clean living room.  I can almost always ignore messy other rooms in the apartment (all three of them) because I can close the doors to the bathroom, bedroom and my husband’s office, therefore shutting up my sense of responsibility to scrub them.  My house is never cleaner than when I’ve got a paper to write, but the same is probably true of an architect with a building to sketch or a painter with a portrait to finish.

I do not however, mind my own clutter.  The tools I consider useful to the writing process may look like a hodge podge of junk to an onlooker, but to me they are the instruments of my craft.  The papers, magazine clippings, box of Kleenex, tube of chap stick, and other items are right where they belong according to the neurotic inner writer I mentioned earlier.

Here are the items demanded by my mind which holds my writing muse for ransom and will only release her if all the demands are met:  chap stick (because I cannot hope to focus on anything with dry lips), lotion (because a typer – which is what I am – needs her hands to be mobile and dry skin on my hands is a hindrance), a box of Kleenex (lest I have a runny nose or the sniffles to distract me from creating literary genius), an espresso concoction in my purple thermos (I brew my own espresso on days when I am at home and I usually mix it with 1/3 espresso, 2/3 milk, or on sleepy days with deadlines to meet ½ espresso, ½ steamed milk), nuts (usually peanuts, almonds and macadamia nuts and the reason it is nuts rather than other foods is because nuts can be eaten at a keyboard with little risk of food debris damage), M&M’s (either peanut or peanut butter and I choose M&M’s for the same reason I choose nuts, they are easy to eat at a keyboard with one hand), magazines, my collection of magazine clip art, my cell phone and my bag of meds (because if I have to get up and walk 2 feet to get myself a Tylenol or take my vitamins, the muse will run away and I might not be able to get her back).

And of course my beloved laptop.  My laptop was purchased for me by my loving grandparents as a high school graduation gift.  That means I have had it since the summer of 2004, which means it was made at the very best in early 2004.  It isn’t perfect, now that some of the software is outdated and because I have clogged it with music, art and of course thousands of pages of writing, but it is mine and I love it.  We have an understanding with one another based on four years of close contact.  The last time my Acer laptop had a breakdown was when I spilt milk all over the keyboard (which if you are familiar with laptops you will already know, is situated right over the hard drive) back in 2005 and to make matters worse I reacted like an idiot by trying to wipe up the milk with a towel and in the process pushing every button there is.  First the screen flipped 90 degrees, then it hissed at me and shut down completely.  It was three weeks before Acer sent me my computer back and ever since then only lidded beverages are allowed around my laptop.

A recent addition to items required for writing, is my nice little zip drive.  I used to use 3 ½ floppy disks to carry my written work around from computer to computer, but in case you have fallen as behind as I did with the technology revolution, they don’t really make computers equipped to handle 3 ½ floppies anymore.  This is how my mother must have felt when they stopped making VHS players.  But all computers have a handy little USB drive (or seven) and that means all computers can communicate with my zip drive, which now acts as an archive of my written work from the past and in progress.  I carry it around because heaven forbid I be in the computer lab at school without it when I am suddenly posessed with the writing muse and inspired to add on to something I started, but left unfinished.

I like the air in my writing space to be cool so my writer’s uniform feels more comfortable.  Yes, that’s right, there is a uniform.  I have three pairs of pants that work for this uniform and several t-shirts, but the common thread is flexibility.  The three pairs of pants that work are a pair of blue jogging pants (with white stripes down the side), a pair of baggy jeans with extra pockets and on really lazy days a pair of gray sweat pants.  These pants allow for all of the writing postures I might decide to take at any given moment.  Sometimes I like to write sitting straight up, other times with my legs folded Indian style under me, while in the past I liked to lay on my belly and prop myself up on my elbows (the tube placed in my stomach and subsequent fistulas, like Prudence, have effectively ended that practice).  These days, however, if I’m not on my customary spot on the love seat I am in a consignment shop recliner, my legs propped up and ankles crossed.  I could not focus if my pants were too tight, nor could I focus if they were falling off or slipping down my backside, so these pants all fit just right and stay in place no matter how I may move.

On top I like to wear t-shirts, many of them belonging to my husband, and over the t-shirt either a hooded sweat shirt with a front pocket or a fleece vest of mine with pockets on the sides.  I like pockets.  They give me a place to keep my lotion, chap stick, cell phone, Kleenex and baggie of nuts and M&M’s.

It is a little neurotic.  I acknowledge that, but it isn’t like I’m sipping vodka while sitting on my head, I just like to keep my lips moisturized and be able to move freely.

Then there is the matter of music.  Most of the time I prefer to have some kind of music playing, and the type of music will vary depending on what I am trying to write, but there are also times that my inner writer just needs to be able to hear herself think and take in the silence.  But most of the time I have a series of playlists that I created on my laptop and transferred to my MP3 player, and rather than grouping music by genre, performing artist, or period in time the music comes from, I group music based on the emotion it evokes.  My collection has lists with titles like “Wistful”, “Hopeful”, “Cheerful”, “Light Hearted”, “Humorous”, “Energized”, “Angry”, “Vindictive”, “Melancholy” and so on.  Of course these songs might solicit different responses from different people, but at the same time these emotions feel differently to different people as well, so the important thing is that my playlists are constructed according to my version of hopeful, cheerful, humor and energy and because I am inconstant, songs are always coming, going and sometimes switching playlists.

I like to be near a TV as well because sometimes if I have to write one more word about a stupid topic a professor demands I slop 12 pages together about or sit for one more minute in front of a screen with the blinking cursor screaming at me about my inadequacies as an author I will either be driven mad by the fickle writing muse or have to kill myself.  The TV offers a nice distraction for times like that, but at other times it subdues or scares away the writing muse, so it is a delicate balance between distraction out of necessity and distraction because I am afraid of letting myself be taken by the writing muse.

I also prefer my writing computer to have the internet in case I need to numb my mind with facebook or offer my insights all of a sudden on obesityhelp.  There is also wikipedia, the ultimate evil and tool as well as ultimate source of sources, that both helps and stumps - mostly helps - when I am stuck.  And in the case that there is not a TV avaliable I can always click my way to foxnews.com to get my fix of headlines.  But the internet is like the TV, a help and a hinderance depending on how it is used.

Right now my writer's nest is calling to me because I have deadlines and often the best of my work is born out of necessity.  And now that I have gone into quite some detail, probably too much detail for anyone's taste but mine, about my writer's nest, I can hopefully get the writing muse to move on to a topic that is actually one that I need to focus on for a while.

If you need me, you know where I'll be.

I have read so many books in the past week.  Three on how the chocolate industry, past and present, is tied to slavery; one book that was a collection of food/booze essays; three books about Muslim women in the Middle East (one that was a general survey of how women fared in Muslim countries, one a field study done by an anthropoligist in newly-opened Oman and another about an American-born Iranian woman and her experiences as a hyphenated Iranian-American journalist living in modern Iran); and finally one book about the psychology of food/eating.  Why you ask?  It is a long story.

This semester has been dubbed "The Semester of Research Writing" because I have major reseach assignments in several classes that will require what I have estimated as at least a hundred reading-hours by the time this is all said and done.  The first, and the one I care about the most, is a 25-30 page (single spaced, 12 point font) exploratory essay I have tentitively titled "For All the Things You Are:  A Tribute to the Many Hats Food Wears in the American Conciousness".  You can pretty much guess what that one is about.  I have sections already finished, but since the goal of this essay is to present something professional and fit for publication, it needs bulk offered by my research.  Hence the book of essays about food and the psychology of eating/food.  I have several more books to go on that subject, but thankfully I have until the second-to-last week of classes to present a finished product, so it is on the back burner while I get the more pressing assignments completed.

The research assignment due the soonest (well, there are 2 due the same day, but the other one has pretty much written itself...you'll see) is for my Imperialism in Africa and Asia class.  For that class I was allowed to choose any topic I could think of that would have something to do with Imperialism in Africa and/or Asia.  It has to be 12-20 pages, double spaced, 12 point font.  As a complement to my Food exploratory essay, I decided to write that research paper on how the chocolate industry past and present is tied to slavery.  I have been tossing around titles, and I think I like "Dirty Chocolate" or "Blood Chocolate" or something like that.  The three books I have read so far on the topic are fascinating and makes you really think about where my drug of choice comes from, however I will probably still eat chocolate...I'll just have more guilt invovled...sssshhh, don't tell anyone.

The research assignment that will write itself is a genealogy project that requires a concise history of my family's migration patterns (12-15 pages, double spaced, not including a required 3 maps and other images).  Not terribly hard considering I've already done most of the foot work (and really a lot of the foot work was already done for me by family genealogists past and present).  The hardest part will be creating the maps that show the migration patterns.  My family was crazy and restless when it comes to migration, for example, we have one ancestor who was born in Ontario, Canada, had children in Illinois (where he was also married) and died in Washington state.  What kind of a pattern is that?  And when everyone else was moving West, I have szome family members who were born in Washington and California but died in Illinois and Ohio.  So my maps will be a little chaotic, but my family was chaotic so it fits.

The fourth research project is for the same class the genealogy project is for, and I haven't even started on this one.  It is a project on Jewish immigrants to America and it requires 10-15 pages, not including at least 7 primary images (photos, contemporary post cards, cartoons or other propoganda).  I have collected 7 images, though I would like to gather some more (we can have more, but the minimum is 7).  It is a daunting task, and thankfully not due until May, so I've got some time to devote to the more pressing projects.

The fifth (yeah, there are five of them) is a 15-25 page research project for my international human rights class.  I got to pick any topic I wanted as long as it was tied to the issue of international human rights.  My thesis revolves around the recent speech given by the British archbishop of Cantabury, where he said that in the name of tolerance the United Kingdom will inevitably have to start recognizing Sharia Law and allow Muslims to set up their own judicial system.  That would be a disaster.  To prove that thesis (that honoring Sharia Law in a western country, like Britain, would be a disaster) I am researching what it is like in countries that already have some degree of Sharia Law (specifically Iran, Saudi Arabia and Egypt) and incidents in western countries (like the United States, Britain and France) where the philosophies of Sharia Law have already caused devastation.  It is a huge project.  Huge-er (is that a word?) than I thought it woud be when I set out.  But I've got until the end of the semester to complete it (it is due the last week of classes) and I have already read 3 books on the subject, so I'm going to be okay.  

In an effort to get as much read as possible over my spring break, therefore making it a studious break, I have been keeping long hours huddled in my easy chair with peanuts, peanut butter M&M's and a tall thermos of my espresso concoctions (either 4 oz espresso mixed with 12 oz steamed 2% milk and 1 oz sf hazelnut syrup, or 4 oz espresso mixed with 10 oz steamed 2% milk and 1 oz sf vanilla syrup with a drizzle of sf caramel ice cream topping and a little bit of whipped cream).  Aside from needing an adjustment from the Chiropractor due to knotted shoulder muscles and an out of place neck (no doubt due to, or at least exasperated by my awkward position) I would say my break has been well spent.

Oh yeah.  And I'm not going to Rome.  I posted about going to Rome, but I later pulled the post when something big came up (out of a pool of smaller somethings that were threatening to come up anyway) and brought an untimely death to my European ambitions.  There is no money.  There is no family support (except for from Kyle).  There is no guarantee I'll be healthy enough.  And I can't fight it anymore.  So state-bound I'll stay where I won't have to fight about it anymore, and almost everyone will be happier that way, except me.  Boo.  I will content myself to limit my travels to the greater tri-state area, where my adventures will consist of exotic doctor visits, extravagant grocery shopping and this summer I might chance a jaunt to see my in-laws in Ohio.  That's way better than Italy could ever be.  If you sensed sarcasm, that is because there is a lot of bitterness, but it will fade with time and chocolate.  Maybe I could find some European chocolate...yeah...that's appropiriate and much tastier than these sour grapes.  I will travel to Belgium, France, Germany, Italy and all over the European Union on waves of flavor and cocoa.  

I'll save my trips abroad for after my keyboard makes me rich.

Now back to the easy chair, I've got some serious research to do.   

This is word for word, with the ephasis added being mine...

“The events in question occurred on the territory of Iraq , which is not a State Party to the Rome Statute and which has not lodged a declaration of acceptance under Article 12(3), thereby accepting jurisdiction of the Court.

I have a staph infection.  The fluid my surgeon and the resident drew out of Prudence was sent to the lab and the lab results show a non-aggressive staph infection.  The fact that it is non-aggressive is my saving grace, but I am still terrified.

I'm a little sick of feeling like I am about to die.  When Dr. Baker called me yesterday afternoon to tell me the news I was dumb struck and then I about had an anxiety attack.  People die from staph infections.  Like they are walking around, talking, making merry one minute and the next minute they are going into cardio arrest to never wake up again.  

Could I just get on with my life?  Is that too much to ask?  I have all these awesome opportunities right now and in the back of my mind I have to wonder if I am going to live long enough to make them happen...or at least be healthy before they pass me by. 

So I have to take off school on Monday to make ANOTHER trip up to La Crosse (I was just there Thursday) and get this thing looked at.  Dr. Baker wanted me to wait until Wednesday, and at first I agreed, but no.  I am not going to die from this.  I did not survive last semester's hell to die from an infection.  I don't care if IT is non-aggressive, I am going to be aggressive about getting it treated.  And besides, from what I understand, it only takes 48 hours for it to go from non-aggressive to a full blown, drug resistant staph infection.  That is not going to happen to me because I am not going to SIT here and let it.  Dr. Baker doesn't know I am coming on Monday because by the time I got my wits about me and decided that I'm not waiting until Wednesday, it was 5:30 (he called me at 4:45) and there was no way anyone was in the surgery clinic to take my call.  So I'm going to show up on Monday and make him or one of the other surgery clinic doctors work me in to their schedules.  Dr. Baker doesn't have to be there, he just has to tell the other guy what he was going to do on Wednesday.  

So there.  

And if anyone is curious...here is Prudence...