My writing routine used to be very disciplined: wake up early, get the kids ready for school, come home and do various house chores. But when ten o’clock hit, I reported to my office. It was a sanctuary to me. Not only the physical space, but the psychic space as well. I took no phone calls or texts. I did not email. I avoided the siren call of social networks. My office is a bit set off from the rest of the house, but that worked for me—being separate but still together.
After my brother died, I could hardly bear to be in that office anymore. The separation now felt like isolation. I had things on shelves he’d given me. The room became impossible for me to work in.
I began to write on my laptop in every other room except the office. I earned my MFA typing from my sunny bedroom or the comfy green couch in the front room. At times, I felt sorry for my little office, as if I’d locked away a certain portion of my life. When I mentioned this to my son, he suggested I begin to use the room again, but not necessarily for writing. “Just read in there,” he said. “Or talk on the phone. Get used to being in there again without work hanging over your head.”
I’ll take a moment here to ask all the moms: Aren’t you constantly impressed and touched by your children’s wisdom?
One thing I noticed when I moved back to my office was that while I had decorated with my favorite colors, I’d somehow picked the drab versions of my favorite colors. Olive green instead of chartreuse; dusty rose instead of fuchsia; plum instead of purple. I evicted all things drab. Wound up in a box were colorful lantern lights I’d bought for the patio but hadn’t put up. Packed in boxes were fabric and glass decorations my cats kept knocking off different tables in the house. I found a way to put all those things in my office. My favorite books fill the bookcase, along with joyful photos and knickknacks.
As I sit here writing, the sun streams in as ribbons through the blinds; both dogs and both cats lounge on the carpet and desk, respectively. I am surrounded by love and color and the room is happy again.
Danette Haworth is the author of VIOLET RAINES ALMOST GOT STRUCK BY LIGHTNING, ME & JACK, THE SUMMER OF MOONLIGHT SECRETS, and A WHOLE LOTTA LUCKY (Bloomsbury/Walker). Her novels have been praised for threading faith through her plots without being preachy. Haworth’s novels have garnered favorable praise, including the California Young Reader Medal, a starred Kirkus Review, shortlisted for the Great Stone Face Award, and nominated for the Keystone Award. Visit Danette at www.danettehaworth.com.
