"and this is where the *writing* happens..."
We are selling our house. This is good news in that we will now have more room for our growing family. And I will no longer have to share one bathroom with two boys. And we’ll have a proper driveway and a big garage. And a big family room where the guys can play Wii and get crazy. This is all good. There is only one downside. When we move, I have to say goodbye to my studio. In the new house, I’ll have an upstairs bedroom for my office, with French doors that open to a balcony and views of the Hollywood Hills and Griffith Park. It’s pretty amazing, and I know how lucky I am to have an actual room to call my office that is just for me. But….my studio.
Sigh.
I love my studio. It’s small, sure, but it’s up the hill in our backyard, very private, with views of our orange tree and the Silverlake hills. I’ve written my last four books up there, and countless magazine articles.... When my son was a baby, I would leave him with a babysitter down in the house and go up into my studio to spend an hour or two writing. It was my escape, my quiet place to make art and think deep thoughts (or just stare into space). To talk on the phone with my editor about plotting. To spread out my index cards all over the floor and reorganize the life of my heroine. I’m going to miss it. Having a room of one’s own is great, I know that, but having an art studio is even better.
I remember reading something about Stephen King, that he had been living in a rented room with his wife in Maine and it was so cold that they would go into the laundry room and sit by the hot water pipes just to stay warm, and he, with his typewriter across his knees, wrote CARRIE there. Maybe this is true or maybe it’s part fiction, a rags to riches story, but that image has always stayed with me, especially when I hear about writers who get up at 4:30 am to have an hour or two to write before their children are awake and their job begins. Or writers who use their lunch break typing away on a laptop in their car in the parking garage. My point is, writers sometime go through a lot to find a place and time to create. I’ve been blessed these past seven years to have that place readily available to me, and I think it’s been a magical place. I’ve grown a lot as a writer in these years-from teen magazine editor to novelist to memoirist--and I give a lot of credit to the place where the writing happened. Maybe I shouldn’t do that, but I can’t help but to attach the emotion of writing, especially a book like our memoir, to the spot where the writing took place.
I guess all I can do is be thankful for the very happy years we’ve spent in this house, and my good fortune to have had a studio when I really needed one. To whoever lives here next, I hope you appreciate how blessed this space is, how easy this studio makes your creative life, and that you enjoy it. I know I have.
Goodbye my little studio.
Sigh.
I love my studio. It’s small, sure, but it’s up the hill in our backyard, very private, with views of our orange tree and the Silverlake hills. I’ve written my last four books up there, and countless magazine articles.... When my son was a baby, I would leave him with a babysitter down in the house and go up into my studio to spend an hour or two writing. It was my escape, my quiet place to make art and think deep thoughts (or just stare into space). To talk on the phone with my editor about plotting. To spread out my index cards all over the floor and reorganize the life of my heroine. I’m going to miss it. Having a room of one’s own is great, I know that, but having an art studio is even better.
I remember reading something about Stephen King, that he had been living in a rented room with his wife in Maine and it was so cold that they would go into the laundry room and sit by the hot water pipes just to stay warm, and he, with his typewriter across his knees, wrote CARRIE there. Maybe this is true or maybe it’s part fiction, a rags to riches story, but that image has always stayed with me, especially when I hear about writers who get up at 4:30 am to have an hour or two to write before their children are awake and their job begins. Or writers who use their lunch break typing away on a laptop in their car in the parking garage. My point is, writers sometime go through a lot to find a place and time to create. I’ve been blessed these past seven years to have that place readily available to me, and I think it’s been a magical place. I’ve grown a lot as a writer in these years-from teen magazine editor to novelist to memoirist--and I give a lot of credit to the place where the writing happened. Maybe I shouldn’t do that, but I can’t help but to attach the emotion of writing, especially a book like our memoir, to the spot where the writing took place.
I guess all I can do is be thankful for the very happy years we’ve spent in this house, and my good fortune to have had a studio when I really needed one. To whoever lives here next, I hope you appreciate how blessed this space is, how easy this studio makes your creative life, and that you enjoy it. I know I have.
Goodbye my little studio.