When Tom and I moved back to Oakville (ON) from Vancouver after I'd graduated from UBC we moved into my parents' basement. My plan was to save on rent, wait tables and begin my career as a serious writer. You know, one who makes faces like this. The space was a top secret cubby hole where I could make lots of these faces in utter privacy but in the end it wasn't what I needed.
When Tom and I moved out of the basement two years later I got a new writing space. This one had a desk against a great big window that looked out on to the street. It was a great space for day dreaming and so in other words it was great for ideas, but after a while this space started to look like this. Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad but Tom and I lived in an apartment with one closest so after a while we started running out of places to put things and so my imagination became blocked by stacks of mail and book towers acting as coasters and places for mittens or sunglasses.
In LA, I live in an apartment with six closets. SIX! (And that's not including the kitchen cupboards). There are two great big windows in the front room of our second-floor apartment and now I'm writing at a beautiful dining table we bought off craigslist for $100, from a girl who partied too much on it. It needs to be refinished but my mind doesn't pick up the stains.
Because when I'm writing my view is of these big tree branches and a park across the street. Sunlight crashes through this window every day like a superhero making an entrance. I actually feel like I could get something done here. And I'm grateful for that.
When Tom and I moved out of the basement two years later I got a new writing space. This one had a desk against a great big window that looked out on to the street. It was a great space for day dreaming and so in other words it was great for ideas, but after a while this space started to look like this. Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad but Tom and I lived in an apartment with one closest so after a while we started running out of places to put things and so my imagination became blocked by stacks of mail and book towers acting as coasters and places for mittens or sunglasses.
In LA, I live in an apartment with six closets. SIX! (And that's not including the kitchen cupboards). There are two great big windows in the front room of our second-floor apartment and now I'm writing at a beautiful dining table we bought off craigslist for $100, from a girl who partied too much on it. It needs to be refinished but my mind doesn't pick up the stains.
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It's beautiful Can! I love picturing you there with a tea, dreaming of magical lands. Amazing.
ReplyDeleteAwww Thanks Meg! Can't wait to have you out here so you can see it for yourself (and lots of other things too of course!). Love ya.
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