This is a photo of my home office. I took it yesterday. The image quality is poor because the photo was taken through a thick pane of glass with my camera lens squeezed in between two dusty wooden shutters. You see, my office is bloody freezing right now because it isn’t really an office per se, so much as a balcony that was turned into an office. The room is completely unusable in the winter because it gets unbelievably $#%king cold.
Now, see that white thing sitting in the middle of the desk? The thing south west of the Nacho Libre bobble head? That’s the latest version of my manuscript. The poor thing is locked up in my freezing office until the New Year. It’s really the ideal place for it – I’m never tempted to open the sliding glass doors to visit with it, which means that sometimes, for days at a time, I forget that it even exists.
In the spring, fall and summer, this office is a city writer's dream. So many dogs to stare out at, so much sun to shine down on the palest of literary shut-ins. The office has been good to me. We've shared some great times (figuring out my ending, researching my dream publishers, writing the first and third draft) and some hard times (reading countless rejections, writing the second draft, losing staring contests with the neighbourhood squirrels). In the most fertile times of my creativity, here's what the room looked like (click here for a close-up):
A far cry from the barren landscape of today, no? Anyhoo, I’ll crack open the office doors on January 1, 2011, and begin the final revision, the one that will tell me if all the time and trouble amounted to something that I can finally be proud of. But, until then, my book is safely and blissfully out of sight, out of mind. So thank you, Poorly Insulated Renovation, you have served me well. And to you, dear Manuscript? I'll see you next year.