by Donna Andrews
For a writer, there's something deeply satisfying about sitting at your desk, surrounded by all the tools and supplies you need. Computer humming away happily. Dictionary and other reference books and files at hand. Ample supply of paper for any amount of printing out you need to do. The right kind of audio for the task at hand--which in my case doesn't mean music, however soothing or inspiring, but peace and quiet. A nice, long stretch of uninterrupted writing time ahead. And being on contract and under deadline, but not about to slam into that deadline. That's the life.
But not, at the moment, my life.
Some months ago, I was happily typing at my desk when I felt water dripping on my head. A leak in my hall bathroom. And since getting at the leak would require ripping the tub and surrounding tile out, I opted for a full bathroom makeover. Since the leak had damaged the office ceiling, I added repairing that and repainting the whole room. And for unrelated reasons, I had to take down the rod and shelf in my bedroom closet. (Whose idea was it to put the attic access in the ceiling of the closet? Not me. Probably the same person who put up the eight-foot shelf and rod with only an itty-bitty bracket in the middle for support.)
So I took everything out of my bedroom closet and stored it elsewhere in the house until the contractor can put up a new shelf and rod. Actually two new four-foot shelves and rods, with ample support at both ends, and all of them removable, in case my pest control company feels the need to get into the attic again. I also boxed up and stored the entire contents of my bathroom drawers and cabinets before demolition began on March 2. Things got a little cluttered, but all hell didn't break loose until Sunday, when I started emptying out my office for the ceiling repair and paint job.
Oh. My. God.
I do not, alas, have one of those clean, spare, minimalist offices you see in decorating magazines. I love the way those offices look--the vintage oak table for a desk, a few sleek, modern bits of office equipment sharing shelf space with designer tchotchkes and a manageable number of books. I love the look, but after two seconds of dumbstruck admiration, I start wondering: where do they keep their stuff? Do they have another office next door where they really work? Where are their reference books, their papers, their envelopes in various sizes? Don't they ever need a three-hole punch, a shredder, a stapler that really staples? Do they really get along with one tasteful two-drawer oak filing cabinet?
I don't have tasteful and minimalist. I have stuff.
My entire living room is filled with the stuff from my office. Stacks and totes of files. Mountains of books. Boxes of DVDs. Mounds of office supplies. The stuff that was on top of the cabinets and on the shelves is, for the most part, in the far corner of the room, unreachable for the duration. Less inaccessible is the stuff from the various drawers and cabinets. Though that stuff still isn't all that easy to reach either, because the last stuff I moved up--with help, in some cases, from my brother and the construction guys--was the furniture, which now surrounds the lesser clutter like the giant ramparts of a walled city.
Hmm. That sounds rather grand and gothic, like a castle or a cathedral. Actually, there's nothing grand about my living room, dining room, and kitchen at the moment. If anything it looks rather like an episode of Hoarders.
My mind's a little cluttered, too. And not just from the clutter that surrounds me. The renovation process brings its own mental clutter. Who knew there were so many decisions to make in a simple bathroom renovation. White fixtures or colored? Chrome hardware or brushed nickel? Twelve inch tiles or one-inch mosaic? And the process of choosing colors for the walls nearly sent me over the edge. I have too many favorite colors--lime green, turquoise blue, fire engine red, and deep purple, to name a few. Unfortunately, most of my favorite colors are a little . . . intense for walls. And the colors people seem to think are suitable for walls seem, well, bland to me.
I finally picked a Benjamin Moore color called Apple Green for the office. It's really bright. Not quite a lime green, but almost. Or maybe lemon yellow with a hint of green. Whatever. I am fully prepared to find that everyone else in the world hates the results, but just looking at it makes me smile. And not just smile but feel a surge of energy. Not a bad effect for an office.
I went for something called (don't laugh) Fairy Tale Blue in the bathroom. It's an aqua, intense enough to keep me happy, but not so dark that it will turn the room into a cave. I had to work harder at this choice, poring over a dozen or so swatches before settling on a few I liked. Blue Lagoon? Seaside Blue? Blue Lake? Passion Blue? Bahamian Sea Blue? Serenity? Caribbean Blue Water? Cool Aqua? Baby Boy Blue? I narrowed it down to Bahamian Blue and Fairy Tale Blue after two trips to the Vienna Paint Store lugging the picture that will hang on the blue wall--a beautiful print called "Waiting for the Tide" by Alaskan artist Karla Morreira. And after seeing samples of both colors on my walls, I reluctantly decided that while I liked Bahamian Blue better as a color, Fairy Tale Blue was the right one for the walls. (That's Fairy Tale Blue at the left. Look okay? Not too dark?)
I'm a little relieved I don't have to tell people I picked Baby Boy Blue.
The workmen have departed for the day, and temporary peace has descended over the house. I'm in the temporary office I've created on my dining room table. I managed to move all the computer equipment and hook it up with no problems. And the TV and the DVR--I like to watch TV while I play computer games. It wouldn't be a bad place to work if I had a little more elbow room and could get past the whole Hoarders ambiance. It will do just fine for the next few days. It will probably be Monday or Tuesday before they finish the last of the painting and I can start moving everything back in.
Actually, I wouldn't mind that much if they took a little longer to finish. The thought of moving everything back into the office is rather daunting.
And in the meantime, life goes on. As this week's construction went on, I reviewed the galleys of The Real Macaw. After the workmen left yesterday I managed to revise a story I want to submit to a publication. Both went out today. And my editor has okayed the idea for my next Meg book, and I need to start getting into the rhythm of writing my draft. I'd rather have a serene uncluttered office to work in, with nothing but peace and quiet, interrupted occasionally by a bird call or the soft hum of the furnace coming on and off. What I'll have, for at least a few weeks, is the sights, sounds, and dust of construction, with no walls to dull them.
But it's cozy here in my little temporary nest, and I can work here. We writers all dream of perfect working conditions, and do what we can to achieve them, but we all have to get used to carving out the time and space for our writing from the very imperfect conditions life gives us.
So if there's something life is keeping you from doing--what is it? And how are you going to carve out some time and space to get back to it?
(And do you think I should have gone for the Bahamian Blue after all?)
Donna
I think you made the right color choice. Bahamian Blue sounds like an illicit drug. 'Hey, I have Bahamian Blue in the bathroom.'
Making time and place for life while it does its best to get in the way sounds familiar.
My sister died a few months ago, and was cremated. I am in the process of carving her urn, and finding an area to work is a challenge. Thirty three pounds of pink soapstone is not kind to floors, dogs, partners or nieces. All of which are underfoot. As I am trying to carve, implements of creativity/destruction in hand, safety goggles and surgical mask in place, my attention is needed elsewhere. 'Are you busy' when I an yielding a mallet and chisel seems a silly question, but is asked with all earnestness. Yea esss seems obvious. I have been relegated to working on the front porch. Where neighbors walk by. And ask questions. Lots of questions. Children fear me. Okay, so in my goggles, mask and apron, chisels,dremel and saw nearby, sandpaper at the ready, I may look a bit foreboding.
When I am carving, soapstone shrapnel flying, muttering to myself, it should be sacrosanct time. Not so. Hopefully, her urn will be finished before long. Before I have visions of stuffing my family into it. Oops...
Posted by: Teri O | March 10, 2011 at 09:45 PM
Are you going to post pics when the rooms are done?!
Posted by: Julie Gerber | March 11, 2011 at 09:11 AM
It's amazing you can create a little 'nest' to work in with all that going on!
Life is keeping me from sorting and moving paperwork into my study's closet. It's clothes-free now, and the various filing containers are in place there, ready to go.
The best organizing advice I've found: When you have a huge task, like paperwork all over the place, set yourself a small daily time limit, like ten or twenty minutes. Set a timer, focus on a small section of your project, and when the timer dings, you can quit. Ten minutes are a lot easier for me to find than a long block of uninterrupted 'extra' hours.
Posted by: Mary Saums | March 13, 2011 at 05:40 PM