Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

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RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby EvieMay » Fri Sep 22, 2006 2:29 pm

The word workspace calls to mind miles upon miles of cubicles filled with automated persons clothed in suits following the same track to the 30th floor executive suite with the view of downtown. For me, not so much.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I own a plethora of suits in colors that would make Rainbow Bright proud. I even bought into the cubicle timeshare deal, residing by day in a windowless, corner-facing peach number. I am Cinderella, huddled in the ashes while everyone else dances.

Away from my day job, my workspace is a shadowed cocoon, cut by the flickering daylight cast by two porthole-like windows through which I observe the daily goings-on, a secret place with infinite capacity. There is no desk, no chair upon which to sit. At times, row upon row of file boxes fill the space, the papers inside withered and faded, and I spend hours sorting through all the information contained within them. On good days, the boxes vanish, replaced by the fastest, most powerful computer invented. I access information with grace and agility, all systems firing as one. I adore the good days.

Images of every person I have ever met adorn the walls, family and my oldest friends within hugs reach. Fanning out from there are my acquaintances, followed by those I would rather forget. It is amongst the last group I find myself wandering, studying their visages.

One face in particular catches my eye. Kirk Johnson—8th grade bully. The memory of his gaping maw, oversized buckteeth flapping in my face as he spewed a vile critique of my clothing choice, still draws tears. He grew up and won the sate lottery. I wondered for years, why him? My super computer states that perhaps Kirk needed a bigger boost in his life than I did in mine. I shrug and place him into my puzzling file.

Most treasured is the time I spend reclined on the luxurious, burgundy chaise near the windows, watching people and scribbling notes and story ideas in a lilac covered journal. Sometimes I listen to music on the computer; other times I crack the windows and eavesdrop as the mockingbird choir rehearses, and the red and black cardinals and chattering squirrels play audience.

My workspace contains all the knowledge I have gleaned from this world. I lock the door and permit my thoughts to scamper. It is the one place I can be myself. It is from this place I achieve my best work.


RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby mer8200 » Sat Sep 23, 2006 11:12 am

I work in a purple office with three walls made of windows. A sleek Mac monitor shields my view of the doorway, but allows me to see everything on the screen, magnified. Suction-cupped to the top of my computer sits a sparkly green bird that doubles as an ink pen - an Easter basket gift from my grandma last year. (I'm 23 and I still love my Easter baskets.) On the purple space beside the desk, I've haphazardly taped postcards picked up in Stratford-upon-Avon (drawings of mice dressed in medieval garb quoting Shakspeare) and black-and-whites I took of churches in Ortievo, Italy. The trash can is black wire with a neatly tied bag inside. Even my trash seems organzied - perfectly folded hershey's kisses wrappers, discarded post-it notes properly stuck together. My mouse pad is a photo of my dog's sweet face, my paperweight a rock painted by my boyfriend. It says JOY.

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RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby Composer » Sun Sep 24, 2006 11:18 am

When we bought our home there was a room formerly used as a child's playroom. That room is now my workspace. There is wallpaper on the wall with castles reminiscent of Camelot and I feel this is fitting for my imaginary thoughts.

All around me are pictures of my grandchildren (2) at various ages, and a couple of pictures of my husband and I in our dating days. I have a fancy phone with a screen similar to a computer screen that gives the time, date and temperature outside. This helps to keep me grounded and reminded that there is life other than my writing.

I always wanted a corner office with a window, and through my window I watch golfers hit their second shot on the ninth fairway...a diversion if I get writers block. (Occasionally I even join my husband in a game of golf to clear my head.) My trash can is always full with writings that I have printed, read, and thrown away, ready to start fresh once again.

There's a book shelf with tons of writing literature, and of course, Writers Digest magazines are here and there.

On my desk is a music box and the first thing in the morning I lift the lid to hear "His Eye is On The Sparrow, and I Know He Watches Me", played by Roger Williams. This gets me off on the right foot and with the right attitude each day.

When I was in the desktop publishing business this was my business office where I conducted transactions with customers and turned out newsletters on a monthly basis. It was interesting work, but not creative. I only designed the newsletters, using their input.

That's about all I can say about my workspace. Except, that I do share this space with my husband and his computer. We work nicely together though. He's very quiet while I write down my thoughts, and very supportive about sometimes hearing them.



RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby alwayswrite » Sun Sep 24, 2006 4:09 pm

My writing space. What a subject! I'm one of those people who has a hectic schedule and never knows when I'll have time to add a jot to my latest story, so I don't have a writing space. Instead I have a "purse" which is large enough to carry about five notebooks, a thesaurus, a small dictionary, the kitchen sink, and a million pens, pencils, highlighters, erasers, pencil sharpeners, and of course gum, the food for thought. I get some funny looks when I tote that purse with me to the restroom!
In this purse, I have what I need when I get a chance to write, like when I drive a sister to an event. I sit in a cold, hard chair, trying to avoid a numb rear end, and tune out the noise to enter my own world where I can create. When there's no chair, I sit on the filthy floor or in the grass. Once I sat on someone's already-chewed-and-discarded gum and walked around for an hour with the sticky mess on the back of my jeans.
I snatch every opportunity to write when I ride with my family and I'm not the driver. Pulling out my notebook and pencil, I prop it on my knees, holding it with my right elbow. Writing with my right hand, my left holds the baby's hand, and dives for the lost pacifier, pretzel, or matchbox car. I've become an expert at dodging the paper and tissues my sisters behind me launch at the trash can in front of me, all while concentrating on my story.
I like to write in bed. My left arm goes numb from propping up my head as I sit staring at the page with writer's block. I can't think since I'm not allowed to chew gum in bed. A thought! then two words into my sentence, my sister (with whom I share a room) promptly turns out the light with a cheerful "goodnight."
I protest; no answer. I jump down from my top bunk, feel around for the lamp, knock over my sister's water, and manage to stretch it up to my bed. Finally settled, I can at least finish my… Just a minute. She has unplugged my lamp! Oh well, I have my battery-operated reading light here on the shelf, if I can find it under books, papers, and glass figurines. Great! The battery is dead! With a resigned sigh I put everything away.
I wonder… Why do I even attempt to write? But the next trip in the minivan finds me, pencil in hand, babbling about cows my brother saw, handing out snacks, and writing a Civil War romance. We cross train tracks and my pencil flies across my paper, crossing out half my words. My writing spaces? I love them! They offer unique perspective and interesting variation in my handwriting. God grants patience to those who need it most.
Splat! "OK, that apple core did not make it to the trashcan!"

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RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby 4thtroika » Mon Sep 25, 2006 6:27 pm

My workspace is currently on loan from someone else. So it's not really mine. But when I hew out a new one, put my mark on it and make it mine and mine alone, I'll let you all know. That's the true question of a writer's workspce: does it belong to them and they to it?

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RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby cathryisist » Wed Sep 27, 2006 4:43 am

My "workspace" sits in a corner of my living room in my little two room apartment. My desk is an antique table that was handed down from my fiance's grandfather. My desk chair is a padded rocking chair. On this desk is a plethora of objects. I have several empty cigarette packs and one nearly full one. There is an ashtray that is always near to over flowing. My telephone sits beside me accusingly as I play instead of working. A jar of peanut butter reminds me that I probably need to eat. Several papers that have nothing to do with work and need to be filed just lay there under an empty glass with a milk ring in the bottom. I have a box of clorox wipes from my last attempt of cleaning. There are files on the floor and empty boxes that I stored them in. My bible is on top of my computer tower. My now cold cup of this morning's coffee is on my left right behind the accusing telephone. There are several objects that should not even be here such as pain meds, a pair of tweezers, clothes pin, my e-stim machine, jewelry that I wore for a minute and then took off. I'm sure there are other things but I can not see them for the clutter.

Maybe this will shame me enough to clean up.


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RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby Red Pen » Tue Oct 10, 2006 4:32 pm

May as well jump right in... :)

* * * * * * *

I’m surprised my muse can find me at all. Especially when I’m at my desk.

Not that it’s covered in irrelevancies, mind you— I simply have too many unfinished projects. Everything from cross-stitch charts I’m trying to put on PCStitch, catalogs for online Christmas shopping, unpaid bills and mail I'm still deciding whether it's junk, to a single character profile that’s turning into a CIA-worthy dossier.

The white-board just above the desk itself is covered in sticky notes and a map of Park City, Utah that serves as a visual for a bomb in the making in one of my current in-progress works.

I’ve tried to organize it— really, I have. Too bad every time I plow through the piles I find five more projects I meant to finish six months ago. So they get thrown in the top file tray, the pile therein already teetering two inches above the tray walls.

Just off to my right is an advertisement for “America’s Finest”— the FBI’s latest recruitment poster. I have a love of our nation’s finest law enforcement agency, and tend to write in that genre. Inspiration nearby.

To the left is shelves. I always thought that more shelves would mean a neater space. I found out soon enough that more shelves simply means more stuff shoved onto them. Amazing how I could live with having something clear on the other end of the house until I got shelves right by my desk.

Fortunately, “stuff” doesn’t distract me usually. My whole life has been surrounded by clutter; it’s genetic. I come from a family of the world’s most prolific pack rats. As long as I have enough room for my laptop and perhaps a notebook to the side, I’m ok.

I’ll set up a flare for my muse.


RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby Sangeeta » Fri Dec 22, 2006 5:30 am

My office has just been shifted to a new building and i am still trying to come into terms with my new workplace or rather workstation. even though it's a new building and veything around me has a newness but anytime i would like to go back to my old workpalce. I guess, it is basic human nature that we take time to adjust with anything new in life and me too is hit with the same bug now. My workinstation is facing the entrance of the third floor. I have two phone in my desk and a flat file holder. I have put up couple of my own photographs on the walls that i am facing. Between me and my colleague sitting next to me is a is a glass divider. I don't want to write anything more :(

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RE: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby ironvic » Fri Jun 12, 2009 1:01 pm

My computer monitor is one of those old ones that flickers enough to strain my tired eyes by 1700 hours. The thing sits high on a pile of old phone books and It gives me a pain in the neck trying to read it with my bifocals. To my right's a radio mike, hardly ever used since we switched to push-to-talk Nextels. I also have a beat up 6-line telephone and my headset at the ready. Our neighbor is a garbage dump and today it's especially ripe and dusty.

Over in the corner is an old yellow gurney off an ambulance that was shipped to Mexico a while back. There's also a collection of backboards, wheelchairs and an aluminum stretcher used for going up and down stairs. It's all old stuff, worn out in service. That includes me, a gray haired ex-ambulance man with busted up knees. I can still answer the phone and dispatch, though.

Backed up to my office door is a collection of dusty old ambulances. They take turns breaking down and hardly have anything they can call their own. When a stretcher or pulse oximeter breaks on one rig, the equipment is swapped with another. Last week one of the old rigs had an engine fire. I told the crew to be sure and spray the back bumper real good with the fire extinguisher. The damn thing survived, as usual. Kinda like me.

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Re: Your Workspace 9/19-9/25

Postby Trissa » Sun Jan 23, 2011 8:04 am

My workspace is wherever I park my laptop. This way, I don't have to share 'puter time with family members and I can move to any room of the house for quiet or inspiration.

Today I'm in the living room by the fireplace. The fireplace mantle has a few items on it that mean a great deal to me. There is an antique jar. It's hand-painted with a thin Buddha type character on one side and a pastoral scene on the other. It is in bright enamel colors of oranges and blues. It's pre-World War II. There is a small Kinkaid house next to it. The house is a Christmas scene item that lights. It had belonged to my mother who passed away two years ago. There is also a small green blown glass vase we got when living in Virginia. We had taken the kids to Jamestown and watched the gentleman blowing glass. The walls here are 20 ft. in height, so there is plenty of room for family photos and a collection of Terry Redlin art. My favorite print isn't a Redlin. It's of a beautiful buck in a stand of birch trees with new fallen snow. It's titled "Frankentine". At the moment, our 13-year old Brittany, Dexter, is sleeping on the floor next to me. He snores and "runs" in his sleep.

There are huge windows facing east. Right now I see a slate-colored junco (aka Snowbird) perched on a bare branch. There are tracks all over the snow covered backyard, many belonging to deer and turkey. A few from the resident rabbit that lives under the deck. The turkeys are out back right now. They're on the other side of the tree line in a cornfield about 30 yards behind the house. Sometimes they wander into the backyard by the evergreen "fairy circle".

If I had to tie myself to one spot with a desk, I think I'd go shack-wacky.


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