I’ve noticed a lot of posts recently about workspaces. Probably because it is too bloody cold to go outside. However, it is something much on my mind at the moment as we are in negotiations with the Singers on the interior decor. Our house is over 700 years old and it is hard to combine the bright white modern look they want with some of the features that we can do little about, but we are getting there …. slowly.
I have a study. I never use it. I clear it out occasionally, I use it to store paperwork and an obscene amount of fabric and wool but I never write in there. It’s a gallery over the kitchen so I can’t complain that I am cut off, although my deafness means that conversations are limited and of dubious quality. But it is not right for me. I can’t put a finger on it. It is a bit too dark but not impossible to live with. There isn’t quite enough space but all I really need is a keyboard and space for my notes.
Instead I take my laptop to the morning room table. It has become my office. I sit in exactly the same chair.
I have a small shelf for notebooks behind me.
I love it. I can watch the bird table,
I have lots of light, more space than I need. But what really makes the difference is that the family and the animals come in and join me.
The Boss sits and dictates on the sofa (or plays on ebay in equal measure). The Dancer and the Singers do their homework
(or watch endless reruns of Silent Witness on iplayer). The parrot squawks
and the dogs bark at butterflies in Brazil,
or just snore.
It’s mayhem, but it’s where I work best. No physical clutter but plenty of family clutter and noise. Not the traditional writer’s set up it would seem. Everybody else would appear to aspire to a silent room locked away from everyone else. Am I the only writer who craves company when she works?