Unearthing My Office

I'm lucky. I have a room in my house designated as my office. Doesn't mean it's 100% my space, but I'll settle for the 60% I get. Many writers I know don't have separate rooms in which to ply their craft.

That said, I confess that I rarely write in there. It's the room where my desk top computer resides, the unit that is completely off limits to TV Stevie (except when his computer crashed) and our Chromosomes. It is also the room that contains my closet (our 1920-built house is very short on closet space) and the stairs to the (unfinished) attic. Our center-of-the-house chimney creates an interesting jag in one wall.

TV Stevie has a large bookcase filled with oversized books about movies and actors against one wall. He also has another piece of furnture filled with baseball memorabilia and who-the-heck-knows-what else against the same wall. And there's a chest of drawers that used to contain a lot of both his and my stuff, but that I'm confiscating for my sole use. My very small desk, a couple of small bookcases, a larger bookcase, and a filing cabinet line the rest of the wall space.

But this room has also become the catch-all room. Right now, there are at least 3 clock radios no longer being used by members of the family on the floor. I don't know what else is on the floor, but one can barely walk through the room. I'm going to change that.

I have plans.

I want my office.

I need quiet space.

For two years, I've said that I'm going to clean out my office. This week, I started. Ten minutes a day. That's all, at least for now. Otherwise, the chaos overwhelms me.

Last week, I purchased two big plastic bins. One of them now holds my collection of summer shoes. (Yes, I wear them all. What can I tell you?) I dragged several tote bags and boxes filled with I'm-not-sure-what into my bedroom. Another day was spent breaking apart empty shipping cartons and placing them in the recycle bin. Then I remembered why I had all the empty cartons: to box up books to haul to my local library, which adores donations of books in good condition. And in case you didn't count bookcases, there are four in my office alone. We have almost as many books as we have video tapes and record albums. (Yes, VINYL. But that's another blog.) I have one good-sized (but not too heavy) box ready to go.

My friend Carol (www.terapiajewelry.com) has promised to come over at some point and put a lock on the door for me. My friend Yasmine Phoenix (www.yasminephoenix.com)
sent me door knob signs that read, "HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WRITER INTERRUPTED" and "STOP! 1. Are you bleeding? 2. Is the house on fire? If the answer is no . . . GO AWAY!"

I want the room to be a haven. A place to refill the well. I have wishing well windchimes hanging over my desk to remind me that the well needs to be refilled. Now that my brother has finished replacing the windows (I paid him!), I can rehang my lovely dreamcatcher and prisms in the windows.

I have plans.

There's a rocking chair, a nice one that we bought when I was pregnant for Y-Chromo, draped in plastic on my front porch. It's coming back upstairs just as soon as I can get it up here.

Maybe I'll post pictures to show my progress. If I can find one of the digital cameras . . .