My Space

Sitting here in my white cotton (modest) Victoria's Secret jammies, looking at my desk space. Zowie, what a collection of "stuff." My Space is L-shaped, with built in dividers such that it is like a tiny but open room. I look over the waist high divider across the room to bookcases. An old pottery bottle of dyed little yellow flowers from the 70's shares space with the cable modem box and a little bronze fox sitting amid some small rocks, one of which is fossil and the other fools gold. I have an old 70's Wall All on the right. They sell for big bucks now. Mine is original. Found another in good shape at the Wellesley dump a few years back.

On the desk top to my right is a cool rattan lamp with a brown burlap shade. Pencils and pens are jammed into a Grossmutter's Holunder marmalade can. There's little wood tray from India that some nice people I worked with gave me when they left. It holds three tiny weird fuzzy characters that sat on my terminal for years at work, as well as a miniature track shoe from Significant Other's old team, complete with cleats. There is a brass stamp to seal wax on envelopes. The telephone dominates the end. These items all sit on a raised wooden platform, if you will, and under it is an old wooden cigar box (Havana) from the "21 Club" in New York. It hold addresses I uses all the time and absolutely must not misplace. Next to that is a brass Smith College letter holder that I got an a garge sale. Holds envelope's and bank deposit envelopes. Then comes scratch paper and Kleenex, and note cards and hand lotion. An antique compass in a leather case is temporarily jammed in there. I was using it on maps to figure out how far a plane could fly on one tank of fuel.

Still on the desk top to my right. An empty cn of Herren Konfiture holding more pens, pencils and the indispensable scissors that I found by the railroad tracks in Lawrence, MA many moons ago. A tiny white cream-colored Wedgewood bowl holds paper clips, and a teakwood holder offers yellow stickies. Within easy reach is my coffee mug, which rests on a San Adams beer coaster.

Naturally my cool Samsung flat screen is in front of me. In front of the screen is a big blotter that is usually obscured by a haystack of papers. I keep current folders of That Which Must Not Be Misplaced to my left on the blotter. Speakers are on either side of the terminal. To my left on the desk top is an extra drive for storage. Way in the corner is my laser printer, an ancient HP which has printed many copies of 4 books. Beside that is the manuscript (now 325 pages) of Festival Madness.

The lower part of the "L' contains a stacked inbox with important stuff, and in front of that if a little teakwood tray with cards and letters to be sent or hung onto for the time being. Next to the inbox is another inbox (leather) for financial stuff and things I don't need right away but can't be filed quite yet. In front of that is some writing advice and more "stuff."

We ain't done yet. Under the "L" is a two drawer filing cabinet with writing group files. Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, writing advice, Burning Man photos and memorabilia. Next to that is one of those cool leather boxes with handles (wine-colored) where my research for the current WIP resides.

By my left foot is the computer, in a stand with a paper box on top. The keyboard and mouse are where they should be.

To my left on the wall are 3 shelves with writing and computer books, CD's from software, diskettes, taps for files. Calendar. This year it's Cezanne. Wintry blue watercolor of Montreal painted by man with the same birth year.

What a bunch of clutter! Yet it's all necessary.

I look at another painting by Karin Sanborn. Love her art. I need some beauty, some quirkiness to contemplate, as well as the writing tools.

Welcome to My Space. There's a comfy down Dunbar sofa (rebuilt 3 times) to my right, along with my parents Lane walnut end table, a Danish rocking chair, and more book cases. There's a CD player, tape player and even old turntable in the corner. Plants, lots of plants in Art Nouveau pots. Lots of lamps, some funky, some sixties, some traditional from Vienna.

I could go on and on. I look at stuff that reminds me of my parents, S.O.'s parents, paper holders my kids made in second grade. The file cabinets behind me are piled with research and more stuff that I need to clean up. Now that's a good project for this morning.

Tomorrow I'll tell you how I came to write the Molotov cocktail scene, how I researched it, and my concerns.

Alors,

Grapeshot