Perfect World

In a perfect world, I would be sitting in a glass room at the top of a tall tower. There are no electric lights. During the day, I can see by the sun and at night I am able to look at the stars without distraction.

The room itself would be simply furnished, with only a giant beanbag chair. Other than that, the room would hold only notebooks, dozens and dozens of notebooks as well as a computer with a word processor, but no internet. No distractions. Only my writing. I could sit for months and just..write. Whatever thoughts flick through my mind would be placed lovingly on paper or typed onto a screen. I would turn simple ideas into characters embroidered with thoughts, feelings, relationships, and ideas all their own. In my glass room, I could create worlds.

Ideally, the room could change locations. Perhaps after several months of gleaning all I could from one locale, the room would simply relocate so that I might have a new landscape to observe.

For nourishment? I would rather not take a break to eat or drink, but eventually my hands would become weak and my thoughts muddled. So, the room would also need an infinite supply of chai tea and wheat thins. Two things I never get sick of.

With my notebooks, computer, and my provisions, I could happily remain in this place until I have written my fingers down to the bone and exhausted my mind.

Then I would take a break. Come down from my glass room and interact with the world for awhile. For where is inspiration but in creating my own interactions to observe?

My notebooks would remain up in the tower. But perhaps during my break I might connect some of my typed writings to the internet that I might get the feedback of others. But most of my writing is for me. Disorganized, often painful, rarely coherent. Simply to create more space in my mind. Dumbledore had his Penseive* and I, I have my notebooks. To be filled over and over and over and over again with my idle musings. Love it or hate it, my notebooks are always written in pen. That way no matter what I write, it can not be erased. For every piece of writing that comes from a writer has a time and a place. It just has to wait to be seen.





*Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster of Hogwarts School in the Harry Potter novels. He was super smart, and sometimes claimed that his head was stuffed too full of thoughts. So he used his magic wand to remove thoughts from his head and place them in a basin called the Penseive. So that explains that.