A Place of My Own

I need a good place to write.  My laptop is great, and I can take it anywhere, but for some reason, I continue to long for a space that is all mine.  The booths and tables of Panera are filled with seemingly focused people furiously typing on their laptops.  If I try to write in a restaurant, I end up "people watching" and coveting other people's desserts.

No, I need a place of my own.  Solitude is bliss.  I need a door I can close and pretty things around me.  Something like Roald Dahl's famous writing hut.

...or Edna Vincent Millay's tranquil cottage in the woods.

Alas, I do not have unlimited funds and space for a dreamy outbuilding.  I am relegated to a corner in the bedroom, and I'll have to get rid of my dresser to squeeze in a modest desk.  And, by the way, I haven't found the perfect modest desk yet, so I have taken to collecting the pretty things that should eventually fill it.

I plan on filling these with new manuscript drafts

Could there be prettier post-it notes?

Funny, the things that will inspire you.  I attended the wedding of a dear friend's daughter, and the table centerpieces were hydrangea-filled containers accompanied by stacks of of old books, creating beautiful vignettes on each table. 

Inspiration

I fell so in love with this beat up, old robin's egg blue can, that my friend sent me home with it.  I can't wait to use it when I finally have a "place" of my own. Thank you, Jarrod.

Finally, I need to be surrounded by books.  How to choose?  Impossible.  I guess I'll have to rotate.  My favorite well-worn paperback copy of Anne of Green Gables is a must, something by Richard Peck to make me laugh, and BECAUSE OF WINN DIXIE to make me cry a little.