Writing Prompt: The Writing Spaces Project

Writing Spaces Project on Instagram shows “the spaces where writers research, nap, procrastinate, and, eventually, write.” I loved the idea so much that I decided to create my own prompt for this Writing Prompt Wednesday: Tell everyone about your writing space.

My primary writing space is in my home office, where I also work every day. I have two desks: one for work, and one for everything else. “Everything else” includes gaming, paying bills, watching online shows, surfing the internet, and, of course, writing for myself.

I feel like my personal desk is a decent representation of how I feel being a creative writer in the internet age: I adore my computer and everything it allows me to do, but there are still significant chunks of me that like to hold on to the older methods of writing: my Royal typewriter, a Christmas gift from my now-fiance, sits in place-of-pride right next to the computer I use every day. My computer keyboard is mechanical, and the keys give off that loud “clack clack” noise that I love in typewriters. I have a container of pens, whiteboard markers, and highlighters at hand for my many notepad scribbles. My Kindle sits with my latest favorite cover, hot air balloons (because it’s bright and cheerful and I love hot air balloons), and my desk’s backdrop is two of the four bookcases that line an entire wall of my office.

I am never quite satisfied with the way my office is set up, perhaps because I spend the majority of my time in it and it has to serve multiple functions. It is 100% my space, to do with as I like, but I always feel a bit cramped, and sometimes it’s difficult to want to be in the room after my work for the day is over. It is, after all, where my job mostly happens, and who wants to stay at work after hours? Like most things in the life of a writer, it is a work in progress that will never quite be done to my satisfaction.

What does your writing space look like? How does it inspire you?

Going Back to the Start

I have serious commitment issues when it comes to the ends of my stories.

There, I said it. I can start a story with the best of them. I can throw my characters into all manner of unsightly and unpleasant situations; I can make them love, hate, burst into tears, rage to the heavens or even sulk in a dark corner when warranted, but writing that final, climactic scene and resolving all their earthly (or unearthly, as the case may be) troubles often eludes me to the point of utter despair. I cannot even begin to count the number of unfinished stories I have languishing on my hard drive, characters poised mid-angst, begging for literary peace.

Instead of peace, I give them cold, hard abandonment. Weeks, months, years go by. I set a perfectly good plot aside, people and places I’ve invested metaphorical blood and sweat and tears in, and force myself to forget all about them. When all else fails (read: when I don’t have a professor breathing down my neck for a graded ending), I simply let my stories go, like birds longing to be free.

And I wait.

Until one day, completely out of the blue, the story will edge its way back into my thoughts. I might be looking for inspiration regarding a different story, or having a completely unrelated conversation that triggers a stray memory, or read a book with a character that reminds me of one of my own. However it happens, the seed is replanted, and there it sits, growing in the back of my mind, pushing against its boundaries until I am suitably nagged enough to pull it up on my computer. And that’s when the fun starts.

Have you ever gone back to a story you haven’t looked at in a while? Inevitably, one of three things happens (listed here, in order of increasing likelihood):

1)      “Oh,” you say as you go through your piece, nodding your head in surprised satisfaction. “Well, this isn’t so bad at all. I can work with this. An edit here and there and I can just keep going right where I left off! This is great!”

2)      “Oh dear,” you say as you go through your piece, shifting your eyes around to make sure no one else is in the room with you. “This…well, this is not completely unsalvageable. These pages will have to go, of course, and this entire chapter—I must have written this after that thing at that place with those people last year. But no, yeah, I can totally do this. Absolutely. The names are great. I won’t change those.”

3)      “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD,” you cry to the heavens as you throw your hands helplessly in the air and lean as far away as you can get from the horrors on your computer screen. “WHAT WAS I THINKING?”

We’ve all been there—blinking at the words we know we must have written down, because the files and pages are most certainly ours, but how, how did those ideas ever make it past our mental editor and into the fabric of our story? Maybe this is why I have such trouble with the words “The End.” Because as a writer, I know that the first completed draft is really only the beginning, the tip of the revisional iceberg. And I worry that, for all my slaving away to get my characters through their trials and over that peak and across the finish line—what if I make it all the way back to the start only to find that the road, once smooth enough to traverse, has become the very quagmire we all fear our stories will turn out to be?

It’s All in My Head

My writing process, should I ever become noteworthy, will be the despair of Literature students everywhere. I know people who live and die by the outline, but outlines are the arch nemesis to my creative process—no good has ever come of my attempting one, either for class or on my own.

And character sketches? My characters and I came to an agreement long ago that I would give them names, and descriptions, and send them out into the worlds I create to make their fortunes. As long as they do roughly what I instruct them to, and stay more-or-less on the side I need them to (the last thing I need is my main protagonist becoming my main antagonist three-quarters of the way through a story with no backup plan in place), I mostly sit on their shoulders and let them run the show. This came about because whenever I try to force my characters too strongly in a particular direction or down a particular plotline, it invariably ends in full-blown disaster and prodigious use of my delete key.

Frankly, the Delete key is too small and out-of-the-way on my laptop to be bothered with.

So, about 85% of my writing process, such as it is, takes place in my head—long before I sit down anywhere near a computer. First, I am struck with a story idea. I’ve had ideas hit me in the form of a single quote, a flash of what the main character looks like, a plotline, an entire scene, even something as nebulous as a theme I’d like to convey. Whatever it is, I grab on to it and mull it over, in my mind, for weeks. I’ll contemplate things while I’m driving to work, eating lunch, falling asleep in bed, brushing my teeth, in line at the grocery store—whatever people normally put down on paper to flesh out a story idea, I lay out in my head. Eventually my seed of an idea stretches out in my brain like a vast landscape, and only when I feel like I have something to work with—enough pages of notes, so to speak—do I finally fire up the computer and get to the business of bringing my creation to life.

My mental organization carries me throughout the entirety of my writing. Plotline stressing me out? I worry it like a dog with a bone, but only in my head. Need to refine a scene? I’ll run dialogue with my characters, but no one will ever find any written evidence of my drafts. The only partial drafts of my work are in the wrinkles of my brain, and the only times I take actual, physical notes are when something comes to me at so inopportune a time that I worry I’ll forget what I’ve come up with.

I wonder, sometimes, if there are other people who have such a heavily mental process to their writing. I suppose I find physical outlining cumbersome; it only slows me down and I was always resentful when a professor insisted upon it in class. At the same time, I’ve never met two people with the same writing process, and I’m always fascinated by what fellow writers need to wrangle their creativity. Maybe one day I’ll regret not having notes to go with my work. Maybe my process will change. Maybe my brain will burst, a shower of characters and plotlines raining down all around me in gleeful freedom. Until such a time, however, I’m perfectly content to let it remain all in my head.

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” —Ernest Hemingway
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