Only starlight lit my path as I walked into the inky black meadow, dogs scuffling around my knees. They did their business and pulled me back towards the house, eager for their breakfast.
Although I do my fair share of complaining about it, the dark, early morning hours hold a certain kind of magic for me. Boisterous dogs aside, there's something special in the breaking of the day that creates an alchemy between my creative, wandering spirit, and the down-to-brass-tacks, lets-get-it-done side of my temperament.
The few precious hours between pre-dawn, and lunchtime (which for me is when hunger drives me to eat) unlock a sort of celestial window during which I seem able to tap into the cramped and teeming rooms of my mind which have something remotely worth telling. Those cerebral chambers remain perpetually crowded, so the early morning word purge is not only therapeutic, but necessary.
My "office"- a word which can only loosely be applied to my mostly counterfeit workspace- is simply one end of my gaily colored, Gypsy caravan of a sofa, keyboard balanced on my knees, monitor lurking mostly on whatever flat surface is close by. When I first began this writing odyssey, a cheap laptop (made even cheaper with a clearance sale) was the only tool that gave me a voice. I rode it into ribbons, however, and was forced to upgrade to a more serious model earlier this year.
Some might think a home office is a luxury- what's better than rolling out of bed, brewing a cup of joe, and settling down to the computer with cozy slippers and tangled hair? It can be great; keeping your own hours is especially helpful for creative people, who often can't turn innovations on demand. (At least I can't) And the potential of working on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, mug of Irish whiskey nearby is awfully nice, I'm not gonna lie.
Regardless, my little workspace is what I have. It cradles my visionary spirit, laying down a buffer to the reckless and breakneck outside world. As soon as weather allows, windows are open, classical guitar playing on my aged Kindle, tea or coffee at hand. My little corner serves me perfectly., not that I'm small or gaily colored, but I'm certainly different- and flexible. And for a small-time-writer-hoping-to-go-pro, it's a pretty good place to start!