A writer considers space

NASA

I’ve spent much of 2017 thinking hard about space.

I’m not talking about Jupiter and Mars and supernovae. In fact, I’m more interested in inner space than I am in outer space at the moment—but I’m particularly focused on the ways in which my lived environment affect my mindset.

Equilibrium is so important for a writer. I don’t necessarily need silence to work; as a reporter for many years, I grew to love the noise and energy of the newsroom, and like many others, I sometimes enjoy the cozy hum of a coffee shop for getting a little writing done.

In my house, too, I can sneak away to a quiet room to do some writing—but the moment one kid hits another, or a glass breaks, or someone knocks at the door, I tend to lose my way. Back in the newsroom, I wasn’t responsible for breaking up fights. My job was to write, and the environment was designed for that. Those occasional interruptions that happened just marked something more urgent to write about.

I suspect the primary need of a writer is simply not to be bothered or pulled away from the page, but it’s clear to me that the place where we settle in to do our writing matters. There is a big difference between the scribbling that happens on the fly—in a waiting room or an airport terminal or the car line—and the writing that we schedule time for, when we know that the house will be empty and we can turn off our phones and work.

A tidy workplace is such a pleasure, and, for me, a rare one. I’m no housekeeper, and that’s putting it somewhat mildly. I went on a trip a couple weeks ago, and my suitcase is still near the front door, right where I dropped it upon my return. Yesterday’s dishes are in the sink—as are those from the day before. The bathroom counter is perpetually scattered with dental floss and mascara and clean swabs and moisturizer. I step gingerly everywhere in my house to avoid the agony of Lego foot.

Right now I’m writing at one of two desks in my house, and this one is piled high with story collections. An organizational project is under way, and about a hundred titles are stacked on their sides, waiting to be shelved. My laptop barely fits among them, and now that I’m here, I realize that the desk lamp is either unplugged, burned out, or broken. The room is illuminated only by a (January 13) Christmas tree and the glow from my computer screen. (By the way, that Christmas tree isn’t a symptom of disorganization or clutter; I just enjoy it in January when it represents a gentle source of light instead of the pre-Christmas frenzy and obligation. I usually take it down in February, and I do so with intention.)

My other desk is covered with papers that need to be sorted—kids’ art, legal documents, report cards, contracts, coupons. Things aren’t always quite this way; the first of the year makes me want to sort and organize, and I’m always in much better shape after a few weeks of this kind of activity.

Unfortunately, I’m right in the middle of my organizational projects, and everything is chaos—with some beginnings of piles to make things even more complicated. Although it wouldn’t be ideal, I could plop my laptop down on a disorganized mess and do a little work, but the fear of upending what little bit of order there is keeps me from approaching that area.

This year I’ve been reading a few books to help me think about space. One is the popular book that outlines the KonMari method of organizing, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. Kondo suggests that we hold each item we own and ask ourselves if it brings us joy—and what does not bring joy gets pitched.

I’m also taking an online course from DailyOm called A Year to Clear What Is Holding You Back. The instructor, Stephanie Bennett Vogt, refers frequently to the KonMari method, but takes a less drastic approach. I’m not actually required to hold every item and consult my joy-meter, but Vogt does suggest consulting an inner sense of what is needed and what isn’t.

And I’m rounding my reading out with a few books on creating sacred spaces—something I have a mind to do in an area of my basement that is currently devoted to storage of wholly unnecessary things.

I’ve been thinking of clarity for my writing workspace. I’ve also been thinking of what comprises a sacred space, and whether my desk can be one. Writing for me is a sacred activity. It’s church. It’s meditation. It’s how the Creator replies, or at least where we ready ourselves for the potentiality of that.

That idea of writing is deeply personal, and I don’t expect that every writer feels similarly. But I do think most writers recognize the act of creation as a way to tap into our highest intelligence, our deepest mind, and bring back new insights to share.

I’d like to honor the process by devoting serious thought to space. And when the Creator in me, my deepest mind, offers a gift, I want to receive it formally, in a space that is worthy of it.

Chi and the Writer

            Keeping a clean house doesn’t come very naturally to me. Maintaining a constant state of clutter, though? I’ve made an art form out of that. I’m not even sure where the stacks and piles come from. One day the place is tidy; the next day, chaos.

            The denizens of my house spent this past weekend cleaning. I find that the eight-year-old is just the right age to run things here and there—toy to his room, dish to the kitchen, stray sock to the hamper. (This may be why I had one of those, come to think of it. It takes a long time for a kid to become useful!)

            A clean house makes me feel relaxed. It also prepares me to take on the next project. There is no pile of mail to go through, no trash or recycling to take to the bin. May as well write a poem, I figure, rather than, oh, watching TV and feeling guilty about neither cleaning nor writing a poem. Clutter puts everything on hold; we all move through the house in slow motion.

            I went through a period a few years back when I read everything I could about feng shui, the traditional Chinese system that directs placement of items within a space in a way that facilitates the flow of energy, or chi. A real commitment to feng shui requires a much tidier setup than I have on my very best day, so I gave it up as a bad deal—but the logic of the system sticks. Our own sluggishness inside a messy house makes sense within the terms of feng shui. Clutter stops flow, stops energy, and the negative energy builds in the places where it becomes stymied. A tidy house with a careful arrangement the items within helps all of us to ride a silver stream of chi.

            In terms of writing, the neatness feels like a boon—but the effect is so temporary for someone like me, someone who leaves literal paper trails, someone whose first move upon arriving home is to step out of her shoes in mid-stride, drop her pants on the floor, then work her bra through her sleeve and slingshot it to any corner.

            There is a question inherent in all of this. Is it a good writing strategy to tidy up before setting in to work? As much as I like the (now deteriorating) cleanliness, I did blow a weekend pulling it off—and that was a weekend I could have spent writing. What’s more, a clean and tidy house has a short half-life if I’m the one living in it. A weekend of effort is effectively neutralized by Wednesday.

            Like so many problems, money could solve this one. A regular hired housekeeper could take care of the cleaning, and that would allow my family just to tidy up—an easier job, but not a small one, by any stretch.

            And along those lines, full-time childcare would also free up some writing time. And so could an errand person. A personal shopper. A chef. An accountant. It would be lovely, too, not to have to go to work. Imagine! A person could wake up when she wanted, work when (and on what) she wanted, have fun when she wanted, and end each day relaxed. May as well add a massage specialist to the mix, while we’re at it.

            But in the world I inhabit, there are courses to plan and to teach, papers to grade, kids to nurture and to play with, meals to prepare, love to make, stuff to buy and repair and maintain.

            And there’s a mess, gathering even now, in my brain and in my house. From a writerly perspective, I actually believe it can be good for energy to stall and to tangle in the brain, despite the benefits of flow. I suppose letting a thought come and letting it go is a healthier way to live—but whatever would we write about? The poet’s mind needs clutter. I just wish I could work the tangles out on my own time, within the order of a perfect home.

Toward a Tidier 2015

            It’s the third day of the year, and the third day of my unofficial New Year’s resolution.

            Each day, I target a finite disaster in the home and go at it with everything I have. On Jan. 1, I organized a messy desk in my would-be writing room. On Jan. 2, I cleared off the top of my dresser—a purgatory for worn-once-but-not-dirty sweaters and random knickknacks and jewelry. Today, I’m eyeing the basement, where I tend to stash boxes that may eventually be useful. Just breaking down and clearing up my accumulation of boxes will reduce clutter immensely.

            I don’t think I’ll ever run out of drawers and shelves and closets and dump sites. If I do, there are bookshelves to organize and Legos to help sort.

            A website caught my eye the other day—Clean Mama, a site maintained by an organizational specialist who offers plenty of free tools to help readers with their housecleaning efforts. The author, Becky, suggests an innovative approach to staying on top of housework. There are four tasks that she recommends every day—attacking floors, counters, clutter, and laundry—and then each day has its own particular task. For instance, today, Saturday, is designated for “sheets and towels.” Other days are given over to dusting or vacuuming or similar tasks.

            I like Becky’s specific plans, but the best part about her system is that it gets me thinking about ways to improve my own way of doing things—just like reading a really great book of poetry can inspire my own work. I’m far more of a poet than an organizer (only writing gets done every day—I can go a long while without worrying about homekeeping, but writing is a daily necessity). I appreciate inspiration where it comes, though, and Becky is nothing if not inspiring.

            When I mentioned my organizing resolution to friends, they were generous with ideas. One suggested my mother’s old trick of setting the clock for fifteen minutes and seeing how much I could get done, the object being to surprise myself and keep the momentum up after the clock runs out. That strategy has never appealed to me. I think I can only fool myself by accident. Setting myself up to lose myself in housework will only result in me watching the clock even more closely.

            With that being said, it turned out that cleaning the desk resulted in my tidying, organizing, and cleaning near the desk. While fifteen minutes of effort will never extend into sixteen or thirty or sixty without my noticing it’s happening, a clean area throws the mess around it into stark relief. I tend to keep going if my interest and energy stay high.

            Another friend suggested that I can maximize my cleaning efforts by teaching my child to do small tasks—say, making his bed. But the thing is, my New Year’s mindset isn’t really about teaching and nurturing others. It’s really all about me. I get personal satisfaction from cleaning out the junk drawer. Instructing an eight-year-old in making crisp corners with the flat sheet does not yield the same pleasure. It’s a good suggestion, and I’ll get to him later—but right now, I’m doing some things just for me.

            I love flipping the calendar to a brand new year. The result, year after year, is that I have given myself permission to imagine a brand new me as well—a better home, a renewed commitment to writing, a fresh resolution to be a better daughter and mother and friend.

            We’re only three days in, but I think I really like the me of 2015. I definitely like writing at her desk.