An Armchair and a Laptop

Marketing people are always telling you to post a picture of your writing space, and inevitably what appears is a lovely, orderly office, brimming with creativity. What I have is a chair. An armchair made shabby by the predations of my cat. There is no idea board. There is no desk. It’s just me, with a laptop on my knees. If I’m lucky, there is a cup of chai on a pile of books.

This chair is located in a garret, under the peaked eaves of a dormer window, so it has that. The glass doors of a fireplace interrupt the exposed bricks of a chimney, now out of use. But there is literally a bra hanging from the handles of those doors. A basket of laundry sits by the bed. Domestic distractions abound.

I’m not complaining. I love this place. But somehow, there is no room for an office.

Yet I report to the chair every day, because I work better at home than in a cafe. Here, I can pace back and forth, talking to myself. I can pet the cat. Or go upside down entirely, to get a better perspective.