This post was originally published at Novelicious.com and is now at WritingTipsOasis.com. WritingTipsOasis.com acquired Novelicious.com in June 2022.
I wish I had a writing room.
In my mind, as an author, I should have a snug, filled with comfy chairs and cushions and a desk. The lighting would be perfect. I’d be surrounded by all my favourite books and there would be large windows overlooking some incredible country or beachy landscapes and because of this I would be inspired to write moving and wonderful pieces of literary brilliance. My smoking hot, endlessly patient husband would bring me little cakes and frequent cups of tea and maybe even massage my shoulders for me when I had been writing for a long time.
In reality, I write whenever I get the chance. I work long hours, up at 5am most mornings and don’t get home till 7pm most nights. There is a lot of driving in my job, a lot of sitting on the M25 car park watching the non-moving traffic in front of me so a lot of my planning time happens here.Sometimes, at lunch time, I write on scrap bits of paper, a notebook, the back of a diary and then type it up when I get home.
My laptop is a gorgeous tiny little thing, which fits in my handbag, or suitcase if I’m working away from home. So my writing room tends to be wherever my laptop is. I write wherever the mood takes me, sometimes on my sofa, sometimes in my bed. I try to write for at least an hour every day, but it doesn’t always work out like that.
If I have a few spare hours to write, I write in my conservatory. The lighting is far from perfect, sometimes it’s so bright I can barely see my computer screen. But I have the comfiest chair and the view over the garden is lovely.
During the day, I sit with the doors open, the breeze coming in and watch the fat squirrel gorge himself on whatever food I’ve left out for him. At night I can look through the glass roof at the stars. I’d like to say I’m inspired by the tranquil twinkling canopy or the antics of the fat squirrel but in all honesty it’s just another way I can distract myself. The ability to write comes and goes, depending on my tiredness, the lighting, the hunger, what’s happening on Facebook or Twitter or most recently an app where I can zombify myself.
Sometimes I sit down in front of my laptop and even if I’m well fed, wide awake, and nowhere near the internet, I can still stare at my story for hours and barely write a word. Sometimes, there could be a meteor shower happening above me, or the fat squirrel could be doing a tap dance mere inches from where I sit and I wouldn’t notice because I’m completely immersed in my story, my character’s lives and I could write great swathes of stuff.
I’ve learned that I’ve got to give myself some grace and not beat myself up if I spend hours procrastinating rather than finishing my latest chapter. I have to be in the right mood at the right time and even having the best writing room in the world wouldn’t change that.
That’s not to say I don’t want the smoking hot husband. I think if I had one of those that would help my writing immensely. So if anyone has a spare, please send him my way.
The Guestbook by Holly Martin is out now.