Writing, Briefly

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.

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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.

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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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