Fingerprinting

I think a writer’s desk is like a fingerprint of their personality. Unique to each writer, and tell-tale. What we see tells us alot about them as a person.

Here's mine:


My fingerprint 

For me, though, it’s the stories behind the details that really make the person. That yellow post it, for example, to the left of that picture, says, “Don’t Forget Jamey.” Sir Jamey was a member of eHarlequin, and a warm and funny person. One day, on his way back from a writers group meeting, he pulled over on the side of he road, and quietly died behind the wheel. It was a terrible shock, and we still miss him.

But the reason that post-it exists is because I was rather ill at the time Jamey left us, and my memory was failing badly. I had a morbid paranoia that this lovely guy had left us, and soon I would forget that he had ever existed. That wasn’t to be tolerated, so I wrote myself an aide memoire. Although I’m now well, and never likely to forget him, I keep it as a reminder both of Jamey, and of how ill I was, and how lucky I am to be better.

Then there’s the dictionary and thesaurus. NOT, I hasten to add, put there to look clever in the photograph. I wil admit I rarely use them *blush* but they were my 18th birthday present from my parents. When other 18 year olds were getting stereos and TVs, all I wanted in the world was a guide to the world of words. Kind of a pointer to the woman to come, no?

There’s stacks of paper, the ubiquitous tyvek envelopes, a fluffy pink flamingo pen from Kate Walker, the Vogler Madalyn Reese bullied me into buying and he obscene notice from Julie which (thank heaven) is obscured by the black notebook so you can’t actually read it, and which reminds me that I’m talented, when I think I suck.

Look top right - that lighthouse? That's one of Mel's lighthouse pictures. And below that is Vin's bald pate just looming. He looms so well....

Nothing like a bit of name dropping, eh? Seriously, though, if there's one thing my workspace says about me, it's that I have wonderful, generous, supportive friends. I'm very lucky in that.

And there’s Minnie, curled up dozing in the lap of Paddington, who was my birthday present when I was about four (the teddy bear was, not the kitten...). My writer’s life would never be complete without cats. The green blankie on top of the printer is hers, too. ;-)

I used to have an utterly beloved ginger tom called Geri who slept on my desk whenever I was writing. I still remember how he felt under my hand, writing and purring, while I worked out what the next sentence would say.

Minnie’s more likely to leave sticky nose marks on the monitor, but she’s young yet…


NB - distrust the writer who has a perfectly empty and tidy desk. They have something to hide.... *looks shifty*