Posts Tagged ‘Office’

All For the Love of Shoes

Saturday, March 3rd, 2012

“So, what’ll it take to motivate you? Should I take away tv time,” my husband asked with a sly smirk on his face.

I slid my foot into my black converse and started to tie the worn out laces. “Noooo, dad. I have no idea what’ll it take to get me writing again. Every time I set goals or a schedule I never follow through so what’s the point?” I straightened my legs out in front of me and studied my old black chucks.

“What do you think, babe, should my next pair be pink or purple? I’m thinking I need some color in my life.”

“We could set up a shoe budget and every week you reach your goal we can put money into it.”

My eyes shifted to the man sitting on the floor trying to put shoes on a wiggly two year old. I was afraid to make any sudden movements. Does he know what he just said? Is he really serious? Oh my God, think of all the shoes! Not soon after all those thoughts raced through my mind his eyes met mine.

“Ah, I see we have found your carrot.”

“My carrot? I thought we were talking shoes?”

“We are. You know the motivational theory about the carrot and the stick…”

I had no idea what he was talking about and I have to admit, I was still thinking about shoes, sparkly, sexy shoes. Before I knew it his fingers were snapping in front of me.

“Karen! Stay with me, Karen. Look, there are two ways to get a horse to move, punishment or reward. You either swat it on the butt with a stickΒ to get it move faster or you dangle a carrot in front of it to get it move forward. You obviously respond to the reward motivation. Get it?”

I stood up and adjusted my shirt. “I sure do. If I write I get shoes.”

He smiled at me like a proud teacher and zipped up his jacket. I returned the smile and turned to leave before adding, “And you just called me a horse, but if you tell me more about the stick theory I’ll forget about it.” ;)

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My Writing Environment

Monday, March 7th, 2011

When I think of writers sitting down in their offices to write their next bestseller I don’t picture a dining room table littered with Barbie dolls, play food, notebooks, sippy cups and used tissues. But alas, that is my office.

We bought this old house back in 2005, before kids, before dogs, before I knew what I wanted to do with my life. We were like most young married couples, full of big plans for our home and completely stupid. We looked at this house and saw a blank canvas that we could make our own. While our parents tried their best to stifle their giggles and groans we tore down old plastered walls with reckless abandon in hopes of adding more bedrooms, blowing out the kitchen wall to make it bigger and live like kings. Well, we still only have the 3 bedrooms, the kitchen is still small and I haven’t had a front hallway, and thus use of the front door, in over 3 years. Our computer room is now in the bathroom’s closet. Oh, how I wish I were joking.

Back to the point of a writer’s office. I think most writers have a place where they can close away the rest of the world and just focus on their craft. Me? I have a dining room table that has yesterday’s oatmeal stuck to the sides and constant distractions in the form of young children around me. The scene below is a very common occurence while I’m writing…or trying to.

Both of my kids love to grab ahold of my leg and try to swing the chair around so they can climb up and sit on my lap. Usually I can distract them by pointing out a toy, a doll or some shiny technological gadget that their father has left out for them to go play with but that only lasts so long. Before I know it the following happens….

Yep. I cave. I pick her up and let her sit on my lap while I try to figure out how to type with one hand. Which never works because as soon as my hand goes to the keyboard, so does hers and she’s not as good of a typist as I am. Although, some of her edits are interesting and noteworthy.

But I try. Through all the distractions, the runny noses, the surprising plot twists that set me back in my story, to spending time playing princess for the thousandth time that day I make sure that each day I write something. Each night I set aside time to tickle the keys with my thoughts, hopes, ideas and hopefully, if I’m lucky, my characters.

It doesn’t matter what the space looks like when we sit down in it. What matters is that we sit, that we type, that we do what we feel we were meant to be doing and I am.