I used to fancy myself a writer--a clever, brilliant, witty writer of incredibly moving stories. At that time, I was in middle school. A few weeks ago, I came across my old writing journals and my stories made me laugh out loud. They were one part fantasy (in the style of Redwall), one part sci-fi (à la Star Wars), and many, many parts adorably bad. Perhaps they were fairly good for a sixth-grader, but I now find it a bit amazing that I repeatedly earned honorable mentions in my school's annual short story competition.
Sometimes I imagine that I'd start to enjoy creative writing again and imagine just the sort of place where I'd turn out novels that would end up dog-eared on a million nightstands, read over and over again until the pages fell out, and be loved as thoroughly as you can love a book. I imagine that if I had a perfect place in which to write, the stories and poems would create themselves. This is a rather Romantic notion of the writing process that I don't fully buy as well as something I've never been good at practicing, but it's the notion of creative writing that best suits the imagination.
Wouldn't you feel creative in either of these spaces? It has always been my dream to have the perfect little nook for writing; my own cabin would be absolutely perfect. Virginia Woolf had something quite write when she wrote that a person (generally) needs a room of one's own in order to write. Having a pleasing physical space can help create the mental space in which to write. I'm always attempting to create that physical space for myself, but I haven't gotten it quite right yet.
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