Workspace, shmurkspace

Someone asked me what my writing space was like the other day… ‘MWAH HA HA!’ I cried, trying not to spit my tea across the room, ‘what writing space??’ I’m lucky if I can find my laptop amidst a sea of crap. Still, in the spirit of magnanimity, I have posted a picture of said area to appease said friend (see above).

Take special note of the unpacked shopping bag located to the left of laptop (plastic, yes I forgot my trendy shopper because my brain dribbled out of my ear sometime after the birth of DD1), my half-eaten pack of sushi (of the small and veggie variety because it’s still the second week of January. I’m trying here. Just gloss over the packet of biscuits hidden behind it), plus all the other colourful junk my kids bring home from school and playgroup everyday. I once made the mistake of chucking away a pile of crumpled, half-finished drawings and was subsequently rewarded with DD2’s full-on death glare. I now wisely  remove such things after 7pm.

The truth is I have no workspace. Like most things in my life my writing tends to orbit around my children and their needs, and occasionally gets sucked up into a big black hole of forgetfulness, like my long overdue haircut and a trip to the opticians. Still, it somehow gets done (late at night at the kitchen table) like all the other things around here because us working mums are BLOODY SUPERHEROES!

Enough said.


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