Freshly showered, I send off each of my darling children with a packed sack lunch. Then I head to my office with cherry hardwood floors, built in shelves, and a desk with a neatly arranged surface where I begin writing as soon as my derriere hits the chair.
If I was Pinocchio, my nose would be long enough to work the TV without a remote.
Here’s what really happens. I arrange a throw pillow on my broken recliner that cants to the left. I prop it up with a dumbbell, so it’s not bad. Then I roll our office chair that’s had the armrests and back broken off and I use that to either prop my legs or my laptop. Sometimes, my preschooler sits on the arm of the recliner, which is also busted, and watches shows during my allotted work time. But wait! I can’t start writing yet. I have to check each and every account, Goodreads, RWA, oh—Brad and Angie are divorcing? Read an article or two, hey! I got an email. At some point I might get a few words down. If it wasn’t for preschool where I marinate in a coffee shop, write, and try not check Facebook or eat cheesecake, my word count each day would be 5 words. As for a desk, I use the end table. My notes are in arm’s reach, under various art projects, math homework, headbands, and food crumbs. Those crumbs are from me, and I may or may not be showered.
The picture doesn't do it justice. Seriously. It's a hot mess.