|Our cats sometimes keep me company as I work. The chair in |
this photo is the lawn chair I used to sit in while working.
A few posts ago, I mentioned that my wife had bought me a new chair. I explained that, prior to that moment, I had been sitting in a plastic lawn chair to do my writing.
I write on my apartment's second-floor balcony, which overlooks trees, green lawns and a fountain pool below -- not to mention the barbecue pavilion I frequent several times each week burning steaks, chicken, jalapeno poppers (That's not a typo: J-poppers are hollowed-out peppers stuffed with cream cheese, etc. and wrapped in bacon. When the bacon and peppers are good and black, they're done.), hot dogs and/or burgers for dinner.
|Sometimes they get a bit nosy.|
Or demand that I stop work and feed them!
Taking people at their word, I decided to post pics of my writing area today -- sparse as it is.
Though I think the view is quite nice, it's starting to warm up here in the Valley of the Sun, so I've put up a shade screen that I let down once the sun gets over the yardarm.
|My computer is not in this photo, but perhaps those with eagle|
eyes can tell that the magazine open on the shelf of my "desk"
Is the May issue of AHMM with R.T.'s story illustrated on cover.
Thankfully, I can still look out through the patio's openings.
I would caution the reader that I have never been known as a particularly "neat" person, having one friend who used to bring his dog over to my bachelor apartment, when I was in the army, so said dog could "surf" used pizza boxes across my living room floor while my buddy and I watched his favorite bass fishing shows on TV.
|A better shot of my "desk" perhaps. |
My desk is a cupboard built by my oldest son when he took a
shop class. I have since mounted it atop a frame with casters,
sold at Home Depot for moving large or heavy furniture.
Marriage, however, perhaps like music, has tended to sooth some of the savagery out of this particular beast. So, my writing aerie is kept in much better shape than the apartments or dorm rooms of my single years.
Having kids around naturally helps clutter the issue. The newspapers on the floor, in the far right of this photo, were put there by my 12 year old, Quentin, who has been constructing a costume for the upcoming Phoenix Comicon.
And, yes, those are books stashed under the top shelf of my rolling desk -- along with magazines and other reading or reference material.
Below, you see the spot I actually occupy while writing: Diet Coke, cigars and pipe on my left, laptop computer more-or-less in front of me, keyboard on my thighs with the mouse on the right arm of my chair, fan in the background to keep the computer cool as the desert temperatures rise, and a nice view of the green lawn below through the X-braced trellis-looking detail in the center of the balcony wall.
|Yes, my reading material spills over (literally "over") onto the top of my desk, |
where you see The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and stacked issues of EQMM and AHMM.
Well, that's it. This is my writing space.
Now I'm waiting to see some of yours.
See you in two weeks,