My Very Own Writing Corner

Clint gave me my own writing cove for Christmas!

To put this in context, I've been desperately craving my own little writer's hideaway for years now. When we first moved into our house, I gave Clint the spare room to use as his miniature man cave. At the time it seemed fair, because I pretty much had free reign in decorating our whole house. He decided he wanted to turn the spare room into an office (with a small bed in case I kicked him out for snoring or thrashing around in his sleep), and he wanted an Asian theme. So we painted the room in reds and yellows, brought in a black cherry blossom bedspread and some other Asian decor, hung up black curtains, displayed all of his dojo belts/black belt certificate/swords, and so on. When we finished, it looked like this:

OLD OFFICE

Not exactly my style, but it looked kind of cool. It was colorful, clean, and fun, plus I was happy that Clint had his own little space in our house to play on the computer and watch his anime.

In the last few years, this room has changed functions countless times. At one point it was an exercise room, another time a painting studio, and once, it was even an archery room of sorts where Clint hand-fletched arrows and strung bows. The dude changes hobbies a lot, and this poor little room was forced to keep up. The room was always messy (unlike what you see in the above picture) and over time the walls looked kind of like ketchup and mustard to me, but it was functional and lived in, and that was fine with me.

But then Clint started to use the room for storage. Things that he didn't want to disappear into the garage slowly crept into the room, until the desk became so cluttered and heaped with stuff that it rendered the office unusable. He stopped using the desktop computer altogether in lieu of using his laptop in the living room. The pillows all disappeared, the bed was messy, the floors were littered with boxes and who knows what else, and the room turned into a dark, depressing space. I wish I had taken a picture of it in that state, but no one wants to take pictures of things that suck.

Little by little his man cave was making less sense to me. It wasn't just the perpetual mess. It was the fact that the room had become stagnant. No one was using it anymore--it was just a place to "stick things" when you had no where else to put them. And I couldn't help but note the irony, given that as both a teacher and a writer, I would treasure a quiet space to do my grading and writing. Every Sunday I sit at the dining room table to grade. If I need a pen, or paper clips to organize students' work, or a post-it to label something, etc., I'm forced to dig through batteries and bolts and whatever-else in the office to find what I need (which these past few months had become impossible). And writing is even worse. I can't even describe how hard it is to write a book at a dining room table in the middle of your house with kids and pets running around.

At least, this WAS the case.

When Clint asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told him I wanted the office. I honestly expected him to argue, and I was prepared with all my reasons. You know, things like "My job requires me to grade," and "You're not using it anymore," and "I'll treasure this room and take care of it like no one else has." But I think he must have been thinking about giving it to me for awhile, because he didn't protest at all. Instead, he had me show him a picture of what kind of work space would be ideal to me.

Blue is my favorite color (as in, the deepest brightest part of our desert sky), so that part was easy. But I also wanted a space that was lively and fresh--to keep me alert when I'm trying to write. So I showed him a picture of a room that was cornflower blue with pops of white and red. I was prepared to do this project with him, but he decided he wanted this to be my "big" gift--that he would do all the work and I would get to be surprised with the results. That part was a little nerve-wracking for me, because I'm used to being in control of home decor type projects. He had the office door locked for weeks, and I was going crazy wanting to see it. But it was worth the madness. The grand reveal was Christmas morning, and here's what I walked into:

NEW OFFICE

That tree decal gets me the most. For at least a full minute I couldn't even take in the rest of the room because I couldn't rip my eyes away from it.

The gum ball machine I got for my birthday last year--I had wanted one ever since I wrote my gum ball stories. It makes sense to have it in this room now.

My typewriter!

There's still some work to do, like hanging up some of my smaller oil paintings and replacing the ugly brown door (not shown in these pictures) with a new white one. I'm also thinking of painting that desk an antique white over spring break. But I love this room! Like, I can't get myself to leave (okay, don't tell anyone but I slept in here last night. I had to, just once). And the room is just girly enough that Clint doesn't want anything to do with it. He walks in from time to time and says "It's just so...pretty," and shakes his head sadly and walks out. So it's mine now. All MINE. (That's reading a little more villainous than I was going for).

Outside of the whole office thing, Christmas overall was pretty wonderful. I'll try to write about it later, and maybe post some pics (I think I say this every year and never end up doing it). The only downfall is I have a nasty, nasty cold. I don't even know how that's possible since I was just sick during Thanksgiving break. Clint says it's because I don't let myself get sick when I'm working, so the second I'm on break, my body's all, 'Good, I can finally fall apart!' I've heard this same theory from some of my coworkers too. It seems a whole slew of us teachers get sick right when break starts. But I have to say, as far as nasty colds go, this is a really pleasant one. Pleasant, as in I don't feel sick AT ALL. I actually feel really good. But it's nasty, because I'm one big ball of flem, and it has totally wiped out my voice. AGAIN. This is the second time in a thirty day period I've had no voice. At least the first time I was down to a raspy whisper-type thing. This time my voice sounds wheezy. It's horrible, really...my kids were telling me earlier, "Stop talking Mom. Seriously."

So yes, wheezing ball of flem. Let me tell you. I'm sexy.

This is SO enough writing for now.

P.S. I owe @MelDouleur and @bloodglorygrace a dancing clip in the future since I said I would participate in the Christmas Carol hop and I didn't. But here are their awesome contributions of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and Silent Night.