Part II: What's Your Writual?

Here's Part II of the post I started last week.  I've included the photo above of the wretched sewing table mentioned in last week's post just because Novel Woman asked me to do so.  You will remember that I do have a gorgeous quarter-sawn oak desk and chair, but prefer to write in the space above.  I open the blinds in the window and have a view of the mountains.  

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?  

Good gracious, I can't listen to anything if I am writing.  Occasionally I'll pop in one of those awaken-your-creativity CDs that plays mindless tones.  I think it actually helps.   

IS THERE ANYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM?

Aye.  I have my two most understanding friends with me all the time I'm working.  Sparky is a brilliant novelist in her own right, as well as an actress.  Her current WIP is based on a true story.  I'm sure you'll remember the commune disaster of the 1960s in which the residents, ratty-vampire-undead creatures, terrorized northern New Mexico.  In her novel, Spark, as she is known to her close friends, explores the theme of freedom of religion vs. fencing sheep.  With infinite skill, she centers all this around a very moving love story.   
Mojo is also with me.  He may not be the brightest bulb, but he's the most loving fellow you'll ever meet.  

When the writing is going badly I'll read aloud something to him, and no matter how much it sucks, he always wags his tail in approval.  Sometimes you just need someone to lie like hell and tell you you're great.  

WHAT TIME OF DAY DO YOU WRITE?

Anytime, anywhere from dawn until 10 p.m.  

WHAT DO YOU LOOK AT WHEN YOU ARE LOOKING FOR INSPIRATION? 

The inside of my eyelids, with the covers pulled over my head.  Nothing like a good night's sleep to inspire me.  

WHAT IS GUARANTEED TO REMOVE YOUR CONCENTRATION? 

Teenagers talking in my face about whatever, but wouldn't trade their ramblings for anything.  I'd like to make a video of my very own valley girl helping me shop for new tennies, but she says no.  "OMGosh NO!  MOTHER!!!  Those shoes are soooooooo gray.  You've got to be careful with gray, Mother. Before you know it, you'll be swallowed by it!"  

ALSO:   Smells of food cooked or burning in the kitchen below my loft.  I cook by my nose, which means I know when something's done by the smell. Or when Sparky rings a sleigh bell on the bottom hinge of the front door, I bolt, because she's telling me she has a potty emergency. Mojo just craps on the carpeting, so no worries there.  Or phone calls from mother; but that's a whole nuther post.   

Part I: What's Your Writual?

Here's a great story today on the BBC, describing the writing rituals (writuals) of some famous Irish authors.

I thought I'd take a go at the questions myself.

Where are you?
Although I have a gorgeous library desk made of quarter-sawn oak that I bought using some money from my first book, I often sneak back into my bedroom to write on a ratty old sewing table that the former owners of our first home left behind. I suppose it was too disreputable to accompany them in their move upwards. I love the skinny drawer in the table, just big enough to hold a thimble-full of secrets. I wrote most of my book on that table, and it sits in front of a tiny window that has a great view of the mountains. I like to place fresh flowers I buy at the summer farmer's market in that sill.

What are you writing with?
Like most everyone else, I write on a laptop. I can take me Darlin' Gwenevere wherever I please, including the coffee shop, holiday, etc. But what I love best is to write in longhand. I feel most connected to my wicked subconscious when my hand is racing across the page and I see my own script. I'm fussy about the whole process. I love fountain pens, and picking out ink. And the pad of paper I use, while inexpensive and readily available at the office supply, must be thick enough not to bleed. Can't stand to use any fancy journals, as I find myself stilted by the prospect of writing something good enough to slip between the leather covers.  

What's the oddest object in front of you?
I'll change the question to say "What is the most 'unusual' object in front of you?" Directly on the wall above my desk I have pieces of wood with some Santos (saints) painted on them. They're primitive and loving and make me feel like I'm back in New Mexico where I bought them.  

I'll continue this post next time.  How about you?  What are some of your writuals?