I’ve been writing for about six years now. Like a lot of writers starting out I’ve had to make do with finding space for my hobby where I could along the way: the dining table, the kitchen table, the school library, the staff room, the coffee shop – the usual suspects.
The Guardian do/did a regular feature on famous writers’ rooms. As a reader and a writer I’m always interested to see what other writer’s spaces are like. I’m expecting a call from that esteemed news organ any day now because…
I now have my own writer’s room! Last weekend I went to Ikea and bought a desk and a chair and a lamp. (Ikea is awesome. I want to throw everything out and start again. Every room.)
I don’t want a lot else in my room. Certainly not too many distractions. A comfy chair for reading. Check. (Not included in this photo) My guitar for musical interludes. Check. A bookshelf with shelves of inspiration, just to get me in the mood and remind me why I’m there. Check. Oh, and the trusty old laptop, of course. Check.
We’re on the top floor of our building. I’ve got a small balcony off my writer’s room and despite Ankara being incredibly hot at the moment (38 degrees today!) I get a lovely breeze. The one problem with the top floor (sixth) is the pigeons, or rather pigeon shit. But I’ve worked out how to get rid of them. I only have to reach for the guitar – I don’t swat them, I play it.
In common with most writers I’ve also had to shuffle time for my writing. Make and grab opportunities. I’m still doing that. The Halfling doesn’t start school until the beginning of October. Then, in theory, I should be good to crack on at pace with something in peace and quiet.
And finally, like the mercury in my balcony thermometer, the word count continues to rise slowly on R&M#6. I dawdled through the eighty-thousand word barrier yesterday. This could be the furthest I’ve got into a book without having a title for it. (I hope I haven’t got writer’s-title block! Not when I’ve just got my own writing room! Oh the irony of it!)