As I sit here in my home office, I realize how lucky I am to have a space to call my own. Here I can escape from the rest of the world and hide away to make up stories! That's a writer's dream. That's what we do. We pretend, just like when we were little, and make those pretend things come to life on the page. We need a place to do that.
When I was a little girl, m parents and I lived with my grandparents. In the back yard was an old chicken coup. The structure was long and at one end there was a room, segregated from the rest of the building. The door was an outside entrance. My father allowed me to clean that area, which had small screened windows, and use it for my hideaway. I had a cot inside and a bevy of books. I could escape there and read without interruption, escaping into wonderful, exciting worlds. Many summer afternoons I traveled with Jason and the Argonauts, met the Cyclops, Medusa, and other frightening characters. But, Jason always prevailed. Perhaps that's where my first love of overcoming obstacles came to fruition.
How I loved that little, dusty room.
We all need a space to call our own. Not everyone can have an entire room, but we all carve out special places where we can get away to think, to cry, to create...to just be alone. I hope you have a special place of your own.
What's not to love about that?
Thanks for stopping by.
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