I’ve recently had my face rubbed in how much I need my own writing space. The occasion? Replacing the tile of my entire downstairs.
I don’t need an inspirational setting. I can write at my desk with a view of scrub yaupons just as well as a balcony overlooking the Rockies. Better, actually. Because I have my desk set up just like I like it. We introverts need that. Serenity through familiarity (which would make a good slogan for one of my infamous T shirts, except nobody would get it and so they wouldn’t ask me about my book).
I only lost access to my computer for 1 day, while they tiled the floor underneath. Plus 2 more days when I could use it early mornings and late nights, while the tile crew worked in the area during the day. But the rest of the time, I’ve been right here working.
Trying to work.
Confusion is a deadly foe. My desk is actually the ONLY piece of furniture in the entire downstairs that’s in the right location. Everything else is piled in the room where they’re not working. I needed to get to the piano yesterday, so here’s what the view from my desk looks like this morning.
In the midst of all this I’ve managed to keep up with publicity demands–sort of, edit, blog, and even write new material. Maybe 600 words a day. Yeah, I know that sucks. This is the point in the novel where it’s supposed to gather momentum and develop a life of its own. But poor Sir Kay is out wandering in the boonies, trying to rescue a dog while looking for true love (in all the wrong places).
The chaos is bad enough. But the icing on the cake from hell is the Tejano music. Loud Tejano music. Yes, I could ask them to turn it off. But they’re busting their butts for me, 10 hours a day. Seems unfair. So I work through it. Sort of.
The only one more affected by all this is my dog, who spends the day under my feet, trying to dig down through the tile.
Today is grout day. Soon it will be over.