I write because I love words. I love the way they sound, the way we can string them together to form ideas, create visions and moods and feelings. I write to inspire and empower others. I write because I breathe.
I have a large library/office room in my home. On each side of an L-shaped desk are two windows that look out onto an overgrown apple orchard and some of upstate New York’s most beautiful, rolling hills.
Though this might sound idealistic, I find it hard at times to tap into my creativity when I am in that space. Two reasons exist to fuel this frustration. Firstly, the room is an overflow for the only storage room in our home as we have no attic, basement, or garage. Secondly, I am financier not only to my family, but also to my husband’s business. I also work part-time for our local school district, and during the school year, I find it hard to keep up with all of the paper. My desk is perpetually littered with receipts, bills, and to-do lists that help me keep my family’s gears running as smoothly as possible.
Last fall, my husband and I finished enclosing a portion of our deck. And this spring, during my time away from my paying job, I’ve found myself retreating to that space, my sanctuary, laptop in hand. The luscious, looming hillside and pasture stretch out before me, wind rustles in the trees just outside the window, the crickets sing, hummingbirds flutter to and from the feeder I keep filled with homemade nectar, and the most musical chime you’ve ever heard makes music at my back. In this place, every day is a writer’s retreat.
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