Man, oh effin’ man, do I love and loathe my writing cave.
…which can really suck because every author, I don’t care WHO you are, has one.
MY little secluded nest of expression…is a BIG…RED…couch.
I don’t like to write at a desk. I don’t like to write on my bed. NOPE. The couch…is my nest. My baby.
I put on my red Christmas, snow-flake print-covered pajamas. Then I put my sky-blue, fuzzy slippers on. And finally, I sit on the red couch, kick my slippers up on my coffee table, place the laptop firmly on my lab and start tap-tapping away.
I only leave one little lamp on while I write. (Is it weird that I like as LITTLE light as possible when I write?)
(I’m going to go blind at forty.)
I’ve been EDITING, writing, RE-EDITING, writing, reading it over aaaaand writing some more.
When I re-emerge from the cave, back into the outside world, after being cooped up in it, I look and sound like THIS:
THE GOOD NEWS: The cave is WORKING. I think I’m really in love with this second volume. Even more so than the first, which I thought was impossible.
So, keep your chin up, you writers out there. Just let the cave work its magic.