Someday, I’ll have a house of my own. Ideally, it would be a two-story abode outside of Nashville, and it would look like some kind of rustic mashup between cabin and farmhouse. Acres of land would stretch out around it, some open and some wooded. There would be a long gravel driveway and a giant barn, a few wildflowers and maybe a creek running in the distant backyard. That would be ideal.
But it’s unlikely that I’ll have this home, at least in the beginning. It’s good to dream big, but it’s healthy to stay realistic sometimes, too. Other houses will precede my dream. I’ll learn to love them, I suppose. No matter where I am, I believe it won’t be all bad as long as I can have one room.
A writing room.
So far in my life, I’ve only ever had a bedroom as space that I can call my own. And after nearly two decades of of a life spent collecting things, I’m severely lacking space. I used to love being in my room; now it’s so crowded that I can’t focus on anything but the perpetual clutter. This is a problem, you see, because this is where I do the majority of my writing.
This is why I need a writing room. I know that with an entire house, my bedroom wouldn’t have to be so distracting, but it’s a bedroom nonetheless. Just imagine having a space pieced together specifically to help the creativity flow. Customized just for you, so that you can be relaxed, productive, and immersed in your work. Sounds lovely, yes?
My room will be burnt orange, the same color as my bedroom now. It’s charged, warm, and sophisticated in my eyes; it’s my favorite. The ceiling won’t be too high, and the floor will be, or at least resemble, hardwood. I’d like a floor-to-ceiling window or two, lots of electrical outlets, and several good spots for candles. One corner will have little slatted shutter-looking doors that open into a linen closet of sorts to keep pillows and blankets.
I haven’t decided how I feel about furniture. There will be some of course, but I’m certainly not the type to work at a desk. I much prefer bean bags. There will be a pile of them in one corner, a couple of bookshelves here and there, and probably a couch or loveseat. A hammock will be incorporated somehow as well. It’ll be a room that might not ever see shoes, so I’ll find a southwestern or tribal print rug to cover a bit of the floor. I should include a coffee table, as I often find myself perched on ours here at home. Except mine might be one with its surface covered in bottle caps. I just want to be sure to leave adequate room to pace; I do that sometimes.
I’m not certain about appliances yet either. I’ll need my computer and phone and a printer for sure, and probably a couple of good lamps as long as they resemble natural light. A small sound system is essential. But what about something like a mini fridge? I’ve been known to forget meals when I’m writing, so that might be a lifesaver. On the other hand, I wholeheartedly enjoy snacks, so it might be a distraction.
The decor will change a lot. I imagine that I’ll just hammer the nails into the wall and see what things I can actually get to fit around each other. Canvases, photos, flags, bulletin boards, and clocks. Knowing myself, it will get stranger than that. Frying pans, little shelves with bobbleheads and beer bottles and strange figurines, metal road signs, and who knows what else. Any other decorations will have to live on the bookshelves. The coffee table isn’t there to house anything but books and myself, or maybe the occasional vase of flowers. All of this might sound cluttered to just read it, but the idea I have in my head actually yields results that resemble very carefully organized chaos.
In the end, it will be a space where I can go to sink into familiar comfort and focus or to look around and find inspiration. This room is the one thing I want most when I finish school and find a house. My kitchen can be cramped, my closet can be tiny, but I want my writing room.