When you envision your ideal creative space, what do you see? I see one room with a desk, a chair, and a stone fireplace. For some reason, I also see a daybed. This is probably because I love naps. The floors are old hardwood. It’s quiet. It’s desolate. If I look out the window, there is a field of untamed grass surrounded by lots of tall trees. It’s that kind of place.
Many writers, or artists in general, share a similar vision. Some may even call it cliché (except that I didn’t mention either a mug of coffee or a mug of bourbon in my description. I prefer tea. Also, I don’t imagine an old typewriter. This is impractical. I want a laptop).
My good friend Stephanie (you can check out her blog here and her writing here) sent me this link, showcasing the writing huts or sheds or outhouses or whatever of famous writers.
- George Bernard Shaw named his little house “London,” so that when he said, “I can’t be reached, I’m going to London,” he wouldn’t be lying.
Along those lines, if I had my own writing shed, I’d name it “Procrastinate,” as in, “I think I’m going to Procrastinate now.”
- Dylan Thomas wrote here.
- Virginia Woolf’s little shed.
Very interesting, as some of those “work sheds” look like hideouts for the Unibomber.
I’m with you on the tea, as I swear I need a cup to actually be creative (hence, I don’t drink tea at work. It’s my sacred ritual.) My “work shed” would be the complete opposite of my work office with the exception of a laptop and a space heater.
Comfortable seat–maybe my Papisan, except then I would nap–dusk-type lighting, incense lingering, soft carpet that won’t be stained by spilled tea, side table for Post-It notes of brilliance and snacks and a bookshelf of my favorite reads. I’m sure there would be more, but for now, that’s all I can afford.