MAD WOMAN WORKING

by Melodie Johnson Howe

I have decided to follow in the footsteps of Steve, Rob, and John, and show my office. Unlike their very neat offices, I thought I would let you see the real me at work. Messy desk, messy hair, no makeup.

Over the years I have had many in-home offices from using the maid’s rooms, to squeezing myself into a tiny guest room, to using my sitting/dressing room. But this is my first true office. It is still a work in progress and not quite finished, but it is my favorite room.

Usually l prefer to face a blank wall when I write. But for this office I decided to plop myself down in the middle of the room where I have a view of most everything. Much to my surprise this did not play havoc with my concentration. I have disciplined myself to focus, so it didn’t matter what I’m looking at because when I’m writing I’m only seeing what’s inside my head. Welcome to my world.

This is the entrance to my office. Dr. Watson is waiting on his downy couch for me to sit down and begin working.

My desk from Dr. Watson’s perspective.

Writer at work.

Behind me is my corkboard. I have my list of characters from the novel I’m working on pinned to it along with my Edgar nomination certificate. (I must get that framed one of these days.) There are also pictures of writers I admire such as Colette, Flannery O’Connor, Agatha Christie, Noel Coward and the poet Edna St Vincent Millay. I also have a picture of Gertrude Stein, whom I admire more as a catalyst than a writer. But she’s mainly up there because she has a white standard poodle in her lap named Basket. At the bottom nearest the phone are two very important business cards: my hairdresser, and my Mac man who makes house calls.

And here is my Basket, Zelda F., chewing on Dr. Watson’s puppy. I don’t think I could write without my dogs around me.

Books, books, books.

Some books I like turn face out so can I see the covers. Here is Collette young and old. I recommend her short story, The Hand. A woman lies in bed at night staring at her sleeping husband’s hand. At first she sees it as beautiful, then it slowly becomes ugly and threatening. It is an exercise in suspense and terror where nothing happens.

When The Mother Shadow was published, Bones found a piece of paper from the Swartz Glass Co. I had scribbled various names down on it trying to come up with the perfect ones for my characters Clare Conrad and Maggie Hill. He had it framed and I treasure it.

The writing day is over. Don’t trip on the on the stuffed chipmunk on your way out.