Monday, May 23, 2005
blogoview, take 1
C.R. Jensen asks an interesting question, where would you like to write (specifically, what room, of any in the world, would you like to turn into your writing studio)?
I need someplace with lots of accesible walking, preferably with few to no people around (unless it's in New York City, which is fine too), which I can return to and be able to stay up all night in. So it needs a bathroom. Preferably someplace quiet, very quiet; scary quiet would be nice (unless it's in New York City, which is fine too). The more natural scenery, the better. I've never been happier than living by the water and watching the tide move the mudflats slightly to the right each day all spring and summer, then eat them back in the winter (except when we lived in New York, which was lovely too). Except for the first day of spring visible on Mt. Sugarloaf, when you couldn't even see the buds on the individual trees they were so barely there, but the sweep of treetops up the mountain gave the gentlest green tint to your vision. First green, indeed.
So, C.R., the thing is, I only imagine those places I've written in the past, I can't envision anything else. Ideal is an unfilled category regarding the needs of writing. Just . . .writing, and the only proof is where it's happened. So, either on Mountain Ave. in Deerfield, or a room in Columbia married housing, or in a little unheated-but-for-by-a-wood-stove cottage by the waters of Puget Sound, or the practice shed on my uncle's (now sold) vacation/farm house (that was the best in regards to being scary quiet). They're all good for me.
I'm so happy with whatever writing I have that I'm happy about, all 20 - 30 pages of it (depends on the week) I'd even take the isolation of my Mom's attic, from when we first moved back from Utah, despite the difficulties of my life then, because of a few poems I have from that time which seem to prove to me it was a place of worthy commune. It was nice, that when I was up to it, I could walk out back with the pear trees. It was like visiting myself.
That said, I wouldn't mind a little flat in Paris. If anyone out there's offering, that is.
I need someplace with lots of accesible walking, preferably with few to no people around (unless it's in New York City, which is fine too), which I can return to and be able to stay up all night in. So it needs a bathroom. Preferably someplace quiet, very quiet; scary quiet would be nice (unless it's in New York City, which is fine too). The more natural scenery, the better. I've never been happier than living by the water and watching the tide move the mudflats slightly to the right each day all spring and summer, then eat them back in the winter (except when we lived in New York, which was lovely too). Except for the first day of spring visible on Mt. Sugarloaf, when you couldn't even see the buds on the individual trees they were so barely there, but the sweep of treetops up the mountain gave the gentlest green tint to your vision. First green, indeed.
So, C.R., the thing is, I only imagine those places I've written in the past, I can't envision anything else. Ideal is an unfilled category regarding the needs of writing. Just . . .writing, and the only proof is where it's happened. So, either on Mountain Ave. in Deerfield, or a room in Columbia married housing, or in a little unheated-but-for-by-a-wood-stove cottage by the waters of Puget Sound, or the practice shed on my uncle's (now sold) vacation/farm house (that was the best in regards to being scary quiet). They're all good for me.
I'm so happy with whatever writing I have that I'm happy about, all 20 - 30 pages of it (depends on the week) I'd even take the isolation of my Mom's attic, from when we first moved back from Utah, despite the difficulties of my life then, because of a few poems I have from that time which seem to prove to me it was a place of worthy commune. It was nice, that when I was up to it, I could walk out back with the pear trees. It was like visiting myself.
That said, I wouldn't mind a little flat in Paris. If anyone out there's offering, that is.
