I want to buy a desk. There’s an extra room in our apartment that has a bunch of knick-knacks scattered about but that can easily be moved and sorted off to the side, leaving a perfectly suitable little office. My roommate and I had discussed finding someone like me, someone who doesn’t need a whole lot of room for themselves, to move into the spare space. So far, there have been no takers.
It would be perfect for me, if nobody steps up. I could use it as a writing area. This would be a Very Good Thing, as writing isn’t something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. It’s several steps down after “working”, “eating”, “sleeping”, “watching Arrow”…
Oh, but I have been reading! I’ve been reading The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes which is weird and violent and different, and I’m fond of it so far. I’ve also been reading with the intent to write, poring over my novel Waypoint (which you can buy for the Nook, the Kindle, and in print) and its sequels so I can have the material fresh in mind when I finally finish the third book.
Writing, though? Not so much. But I need to, and I’m starting to gain my confidence back, and I’ve got these ideas in my brain area, and oh yeah, I got a call from my friend yesterday morning saying I’m a published game designer now technically because a supplement I contributed to was published and put on sale yesterday and, whoops, the novel I was supposed to write to set up the world that supplement is set in is a bit behind.
Okay, a lot behind. (Side note: if you like playing tabletop games/Pathfinder, you can check out and purchase Akashic Mysteries here)
So anyway, to get writing, I’ve got to get in the mood. I need some ambience, some space. Some discomfort, because if I get too comfortable, I get sleepy. Right now, if I come home, I just have my room. Well, there’s the living room, but I get distracted or restless, and I feel weird. In my room, there’s really only my bed and if I try to write sitting cross-legged atop it, I can’t get a good vantage point of the notebook and then I’m like, “well, fuck this, then. Time to see what’s on Hulu”, and then nothing gets done and I get to write a half-dozen blog posts about how I’m shitting my potential away.
I write best hunched over something. Usually a bar counter. And bars give me a weird focus because the business and clatter and general muggyness of it all lends a certain focus to me. I see why so many famous writers fancy taverns, and while I’m sure a pint or two is part of the appeal, there’s just something comforting about having your own corner to your thoughts and yourself.
Also, people tend to leave you alone at the bar. Nobody gives a shit what you’re working on. You’re that quiet guy with a beer, a beard, and a notebook (“People still write in notebooks, ohmigawww”).
I don’t have any fancy beach bars anymore, though. I don’t live in Los Angeles anymore, and it’s awful. Anchorage is tapped the fuck out on solid bars to write in, to my knowledge. My karaoke bar closed down. That hinky place with the corsetted bartenders and really nice low-lit booths in the back that I could sneak into closed down. Now I’m stuck in places where nobody gives a shit what I’m writing, but everyone just wants to come talk about the fact that I’m writing. And that conversation topic lasts about 45 seconds before turning on a dime and skyrocketing into some bullshit and soon we’re talking about sports or video games or another topic I would love to discuss any other time than when I’ve put headphones in and am trying to work on this novel I promised months ago.
The point is I need a spot to write where I’m not going to be accosted, where I can pace if I need to, where I’m not at an awkward angle. I need an office space.
Now the first sentence of this post has so much more weight to it. Do you feel it? Writing.
Anyway, I want to get a desk, but I don’t know what kind. Four legs and a top? Shelves below to store extra notebooks and pens? Shelves on top to put books on, or sticky notes? Collapsible? Something I need to assemble (ooo, shit, I could put it together misOOO SHIT WHAT IF I BUILT IT WITH MY OWN HANDS WITH MATERIALS FROM HOME DEPoh no, I’m far too lazy for that)? I kind of want a nice one, but we live in a downstairs apartment with a narrow staircase and it would be a bitch and a half to try and negotiate it down and inside.
And then if and when I get a desk, I’ll need a chair. I’m not just going to stand in front of my desk and write. That’s exhausting, and it would look stupid. Nobody would see me, but I would know, and I have to look at myself in the mirror every day. More often than most, too, because I’m a narcissist.
So now I’ve got a chair problem. Office chair with good cushions? A normal wooden chair with a back that curves not-quite aesthetically so I can always remember writing is pain? SHOULD I GET A THRONE?
I want this fucking chair:
But that is not a writing chair. That’s a chair you buy when you strangle a lion to death and eat its heart, or at least when the kid who bullied you in high school bags your groceries and carries them out to your Bugatti.
I am currently Bugatti-less.
Anyway, that’s been on my mind. Have a good weekend, gals and guys.