The mystery of the disappearing home office
As 2019 approaches, many of us (self included) look to see the progress made over the past year. For many of us (self included) it was a year of transition.
We moved to a new house in a new state. The Dream House, in a place with lots of creative energy and a friendly community.
In the 6.5 years since my first book was published, we’ve moved 4 times. Each house offered different places for me to write and I found that environment shaped my writing routine.
This house is no different, but it has taken me longer to figure that out.
Where she writes, take 1
When we moved into the Dream House with an open concept blueprint, we switched up how the rooms were used. The cavernous family room would be our Banquet Hall. The previous owner’s formal dining room–essentially an extension of the front hallway–would become my combo work and home office.
In our previous house, my writing desk was in the former living room. For as long as we lived there, I swore my next office would have a door.
But being a bear of very little brain . . .
I took out the chair rail, slathered the mud-brown walls with Benjamin Moore’s Heaven, hung buffalo plaid curtains, and replaced the chandelier with a sputnik fixture from Sazerac Stitches in New Orleans. Gorgeous.
I plunked down a bed for the dog, tacked up my outline for Detective Emilia Cruz #7, and got to work.
Sort of.
The open concept guaranteed interruption. No, let me rephrase that.
Fostered interruption.
Front door, television, kitchen, laundry room. Everything within reach and making noise. Family members talking to me because, hey, I’m basically sitting in the middle of a hallway everyone passes through on the way to everywhere else.
Compounding the mistake, I created a mashup of office purposes. Now, if you have ever moved to a new place and had to get a new driver’s license, car registration, accounts for gas, electric, water, etc, you know how it goes. Moreover, after nearly 3 decades of blissful ignorance, we found that our marriage certificate was incorrect!
Bottom line, lots of distractions. Minimal progress on the novel, despite a knockout outline and complete mental mastery of the entwining plot lines.
(Yes. Mental mastery. Having a good day.)
Aaaand, take 2
Fast forward a few months. I’ve declared defeat at the hands of the open concept house and commandeered an upstairs bedroom for my new writing lair. Home office stuff stays downstairs.
It’s a bare bones situation so far, but I’m already feeling more productive. (Witness “mental mastery” line above.)
A few overdue lessons learned, too, which might be helpful to fellow creatives:
- If I can’t see it, I won’t do it. This applies to outlines, social media updates, etc. Things need to go up on the wall and be visual reminders.
- I need to assign specific tasks to different days of the week. For years, I have paid bills on Mondays. The newsletter goes out every other Sunday. I’ve fallen off the wagon when it comes to social media and blogging, but these need to be scheduled.
- If I write down 3 goals for the next day every night, I won’t waste time idly surfing Pinterest the next day.
So now here I am, with a secluded but bland beige new work space. Time to tape up the outline and the big map of Acapulco, and get to work on RUSSIAN MOJITO, Emilia #7.
Office décor suggestions much appreciated.