If you were to look at my desk, you’d probably be able to tell I’m a writer. All the signs are there (not literally, folks). I have a corkboard, white board, sticky-notes, tacks, paperclips, papers pens, markers, planning notebooks, and lined three-by-five cards all within easy reach.
I know what it takes to be a writer, and I like to be prepared. My writing life is organized, beautiful, and ready for action. Whenever a thought strikes me I have easy access to getting it recorded and in the proper file. (Did I mention I also have a huge file folder right under my desk? Oh, and two file cabinets a skip, hop, and jump away.)
My ergonomics keyboard and computer stand make writing easy on the wrists and perfect for long, intense writing sessions. I have a window to gaze out of if I need inspiration and a comfy chair with a sheepskin on the back. (Because apparently, that’s good for your health or some such thing?) The salt lamp to my right sheds just enough light to give a warm glow, and the defuser to the left takes its job seriously as it pumps out essential-oil infused mist that not only helps my hands stay moist, but helps me stay healthy.
On paper (or Instagram) my writing life can look pretty perfect. The set up is optimal and life is grand.
But, sometimes a picture doesn’t tell the whole story. The whole story which includes things like the fact that I’ve yet to ever put a single paper in the file under my desk. Or that my pens get chewed on more than written with. Or that my file cabinets have mayhem going on inside of them, and with a huge variety of things other than paper.
Sometimes my writing gets left behind in a flood of non-writing work. Or I get sick and my brain can barely figure out how to string words together, much less spell with any reasonable accuracy. Or I lose momentum and forget how important writing really is.
See, just because I have the perfect writing set up, or project the best writing aura online, or even trick myself into thinking I’m being productive… Well, that doesn’t always make it true. There’s a difference between truly writing, and well… Ya know, just walking the walk, and talking the talk kind of thing?
That’s the way it is with the rest of life, too. Just because you claim you do something or are something doesn’t make it true. Just because you can make your life appear to be one way on social media or to your parents or around your friends…. Well, that doesn’t make it true, either. Life isn’t what we portray it to be. It’s deeper than that, it’s who we really are. A conglomeration of the thoughts we think, the actions we take even when others aren’t around, where we spend our time and money, and what we really are on the inside.
What I Listened To While Blogging:
Story of My Life by the Piano Guys
Where I Blogged:
At my desk
I’m going to PA this weekend!
Question Of The Day:
What was the best part of your Sunday?
P.S. Yes, I really am a writer. A woefully behind-in-goals and haven’t-written-much-in-ages and straighten-and-stage-her-desk-before-photos type of writer, but at the end of the day, I’m still a writer. And for that, I’m thankful.