Distractions

Right now my youngest son is pacing back and forth behind me. If he doesn't stop, it's only a matter of time before I say something unkind to him. In his defense, this place is small. It might be nice for a couple but not for a family of seven. He stopped. Whew. Now let's hope my oldest doesn't start. Pacing is something they inherited from me.

I would like to have a quiet little writer's lair. Some place where I can write (and maybe pace) without being in anyone's way or having someone else bug me. I'd have a bigger desk and some handy shelves to store stuff on or maybe some drawers instead. I do have a window with a view. I'd keep that. It's dark out right now. During my writing time I would be conveniently unavailable except for real emergencies. I can dream can't I?

If you're a writer and you don't have that wonderful little writing space, do the best you can. Maybe someday you'll strike a modest payday that will give you that writing spot. Until then write anyway.

By the way the two of them elected to have a spat I had to break up as I finished this.