I like to work in private. Writing, thinking, all these things are easier done alone, at least for me. Sometimes I forget that reality because of how nice all the rest of life living with someone you love is…we live in a studio setup- one spacious room with plenty of light and high ceilings.
Most of the time, the size of the space is perfect: we can’t accumulate much stuff, we can’t retreat to separate wings of a house in anger, there’s not much housekeeping to do. The only time it feels small is if we are both working there on different projects.
Neither of us enjoy working in coffee shops, and I prefer to do creative work without anyone being able to see me. I get most writing done while Daniel is asleep.
So I’m remembering the magic days of Portland in 2001 and 2002, when we both had cheap studio spaces in a crumbling building. They were less than $150 a month, unheard of now, with an elevator that didn’t work. The building has since been transformed into gorgeous condos, and I know from friends that studio space can’t be got on the peninsula for less than $500 or so.
And there is a power to working alone in a private space, no matter how small or dingy it is. I’m wondering how to reclaim that, while still keeping all the other essentials- being able to roll out of bed and right into writing, without the interference of getting dressed or going outside.