A ROOM WITHOUT A VIEW

by John M. Floyd

I’ve been fascinated, in past months, by the descriptions of other writers’ workspaces. I think it’s interesting to know a little about where they produce the work they produce, whether it’s fiction or nonfiction or CB columns.

Anyhow, here’s my contribution to that “survey” of our home Fiction Factories.

On the east end of our house is a windowless room about ten feet by twelve, small by anyone’s standards. It contains floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, almost a thousand hardcover novels, a couple hundred DVDs, loads of reference books, two desks, a computer, a file cabinet, a swivel chair, and — most of the time — me. It’s my sanctuary, my bolthole, my tiny home-inside-my-home. Since the word “office” sounds far too grand for a room this size, my wife Carolyn and I have always just called it “the little room.” (“Have you seen the cordless phone?” “I think it’s in the little room.”) We also have a twelve-by-twelve outbuilding aka equipment shed that we call “the little house,” although it’s definitely not on the prairie.

Caution: Words Processed Here

I’m sitting in my little room now, typing this column. That’s not unusual, because almost all of the hundreds of short stories and features I’ve published over the past sixteen years were written right here. All of them were typed or transcribed here, although some were “written” elsewhere, mostly on notepads in hotel rooms, airplane seats, or the wooden swing in my back yard. Every piece of writing I send out, whether it’s snail-mailed or e-mailed, enveloped or attached, leaves via this room. And everything that arrives — rejections, acceptances, contracts, etc. — is opened here.

A Controlled Environment

It’s usually quiet, here in my little haven. Now and then I’ll play iTunes in the background while I’m editing and rewriting, but usually not during a first draft or during the serious plotting (also known as plodding). The only sounds I like at those creative times are the whirring of my ceiling fan and occasional noises from outside: dogs yapping, birds chirping, the wind in the trees, and so forth. Natural sounds. Comfortwise, my chair’s big and soft, the light’s not too bright and not too dim, and there’s something soothing and inspirational about having all these novels around me and towering over me as I work. They even smell good. (One downside: I think I’ve mentioned before at this blog that Carolyn thinks the reason we had foundation problems a few years ago is the ungodly weight of all the books in this room. She’s probably right.)

Does every writer need a private getaway like this, where he or she creates and polishes and finishes his or her stories and novels? Of course not. But some of us do. It sounds funny, but the truth is, when I’m in here the ideas and words and plots just seem to flow more easily. Besides, in my case my hidey-hole is on the opposite end of the house from our bedroom, so during late-night writing sessions my music and muttering and (occasional) cusswords don’t disturb my Better Half.

Rear Window?

We’ve been talking about enlarging my workplace by adding a couple hundred square feet and a window — but our plans to do that always seem to fizzle out. Part of it’s the expense, since it would require a change to everything from the foundation to the roofline, but it’s also the fact that I’m not sure if I should mess around too much with something that already works. I could use more elbow room, sure, but the fact is, I don’t require an awful lot of floor space to crank out these stories (you could do that, if you had to, with a laptop in a phone booth), and if we added more wall space I’ll just fill it with more and more books and bookshelves — an idea which is hugely appealing but not all that practical. So who knows whether my little room will one day become a big room. I doubt it.

Meanwhile, I’ll continue to sit here surrounded by the work of all these bigtime authors, dreaming and typing and submitting and reassuring myself that they once went through the same kind of drill. As for this particular column, it’s a good thing I’m almost finished.

I feel a story coming on . . .