We have such a small sliver of funding to work with right now that I had to go with one of those slick companies, and said slick company loves to show you these hands holding what your business cards will resemble. Last Saturday at the office, which was hot post-storm, and my brain was foggy after saying good-bye to the family cat, a loss that still finds me whimpering in a ball at the foot of my bed, I was fairly incapable of getting concrete work completed. Read manuscripts? Oh, dear. Suss out lyric essays for the anthology? Hmm.
So I spent a bit of time on the slick website, made some vertical cards, made a list of the beautiful books we have lined up, added on a few coffee mugs, and wrote in the address for our office.
Of course I've been thinking about offices and spaces, how nice it is to be on a separate block from the chaos of the house, even when that chaos follows you like a little black cloud of sorrow. I applied to a writing residency for the very first time ever and while the chances of me even making it to the second round are nearly nil, I joked on my personal Facebook page of how many times I had to aid my children in going to the bathroom, how I couldn't even keep my headphones to myself to block out Peg plus Cat, how it's all noise and ruckus on my dining room table, where most of Tinderbox operations occur, except that thin sliver of time when I can go, overheated, into my little office with the peacock wall and work a bit.
Here's Martha Silano's take on not having a room of one's own in North American Review.
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