writing space Archives - Page 2 of 2

It is the big day I have been looking forward to for so many years. For so long have I wanted to spread my horizons further than London’s south bank and the memories that I have of Dublin as a child. A place that I recently felt urged to return to yet I didn’t really know why so I booked a cheap Ryan Air flight number FR115 a month ago and headed home for the first time in thirty years.

It wasn’t only to visit Mam in the hospice because that didn’t need to be done for a month continuously. I have been preparing for the outcome since her diagnosis and realistically could get there when needed to say my final farewells. There was something pulling me to my home town, like a gust of gravity that whooshed like a tornado over London grabbing only me and taking me over the Irish Sea to my place of birth.

I am off to Paris tomorrow on an adventure around Europe. I booked my interrail pass the day after I found out about Mam’s cancer as if to stick my two fingers up to the world for cutting another life short to that awful disease. Though travelling had always been at the back of my mind, at the bottom of my to-do list, I had always been waiting and making excuses about why not to go. Not having anybody to go with was usually the main one but for some reason also the world seemed a bit scary, scarier still each time I started browsing flights and hostels.

Receiving the painful news about Mammy removed this fear because nothing is worse to fear than death, the fear she had been instantly faced with, which could crop up at any time. On that day I headed straight to the nearest travel agents and paid one hundred and eighty pounds for my ten stop Euro rail pass inside three months.

‘Don’t you think you should wait until…’ Uncle Jimmy had remarked on the phone once Mam had told him my exciting news.

‘Wait for what?’ I replied. ‘My mother to die?’

I felt harsh saying this and even more so when Jimmy began to sob on the other end of the line, but I knew that Mammy wouldn’t have wanted me to wait. She’d have wanted me to go out and explore knowing that I could return at any time when things got really bad. She never wanted me to put my life on hold for anybody not even her and she was even more persistent about this after her diagnosis.

‘You’re twenty-two.’ She’d say. ‘Don’t hold out for me to die. It won’t be easy and no time waiting in expectation is going to make it easier.’

My Writing Space: what it means to me

If I have learnt nothing else from my time as an aspiring writer it’s that if the space in which I am trying to write in isn’t right then, I am not going to get a lot of writing done.

Sometimes I choose my desk. On it there is a radio, some twinkling fairy lights inside a glass jar (pointless but important), a photo of my Grandad and I at my 21st, candles, place mats, my laptop and an owl pot filled with corks and stones (again, totally useless but crucial).

From my desk I can look out to a view over fields. In the summer this view is gorgeously clear, blue skies and greenery. Occasionally it is blurred through the raindrops hitting the window, but that just makes me more thankful that I am inside and at my desk. On a good winters day the view is spectacularly white from frost or snow and it is, especially when writing, one of my favorite views.

Sometimes I choose the sofa. Since getting our puppy who is extremely lovable if not a little bit of a distraction, I struggle to work upstairs at my desk if nobody else is around. This is why I have acquired a new working space on the corner sofa that is so comfortable that if hungover I simply sleep and no words are written. Sometimes my feet are up, sometimes they are not but always my slippers are on. My dog, Arkley, likes to nestle in between me and my laptop on my lap, listening intently to me reading short stories aloud while editing them.

Sometimes I choose outside. When the weather is being nice, I just have to work outdoors. There is a little bench in my garden and the sun is guartuneed to shine on one seat. That is the seat I choose to sit at. I lay everything out as if on my desk; my laptop, diary, coffee and usually another sugary beverage to spark up some extra motivation. Here, I enjoy the warmth while producing more material.

Then there’s my other place. A house of my friends which I find so special when it comes to my writing. I discovered while house sitting there that it had a good effect on my writing. New ideas flowed and the motivation lingered so that I just couldn’t stop. Whether it was changing my space or something in the air over that pocket of land, I’m not sure, but there is something in it that means a lot to me and my work.

One day, I know (hope) I live in a wonderful house looking out over a lake because water too helps me and my words. Whenever I got to the beach even if I don’t intend to, I write or note down so many ideas which flow out of my overwhelmed mind. Being by water is certainly something for the soul, but it helps my writing too.

So as pernickety as this all may sound, these are the spaces in which I like to write and they are very special to me.