This is my office. Isn’t it beautiful and inspiring? Notice how the legs of the desk sit exactly on the edge of the rug? That is The Line. Anything beyond the rug is no longer an office. It is the dining room. On Sundays, I shove this elegant writing desk against the wall and pull out the dining table from the opposite side of the room. Approximately ten grandchildren crowd around that table and glom their dessert on the chairs.

On Sunday evenings, (after I scrub the table and chairs) I reverse the process. A few weeks ago, I decided I needed a real office. So, I hired our friend, Darin, to pack up my entire office, including the rug, and move it to an extra space at my day job. Suddenly I had a dedicated office space with no more fear of mashed potatoes being smeared on a manuscript. The plan was to slip away from my Day Job for a few hours each week to write undisturbed.

But I didn’t. I slipped away, but I was always distracted by the sounds of phones ringing and patients talking just outside my door. I kept feeling like someone might need me. And, they did. An insurance rep on line one. A problem with an account in room two.

Last week, we decided to consolidate our office space at work to make way for another exam room. So, we packed up my entire office, including the rug, and brought it all home to the corner of the dining room again. I was deeply disappointed by this evident step in the wrong direction. Until the next morning…

I was in the shower when it started. Ideas for plots, scenes, and bits of dialogue began bouncing off the walls with the soap bubbles. It was as if I could hear the characters from my novels pushing open the file drawers and calling, “We’re here! We’re waiting! Come talk to us.”

So, I did. Suddenly I found all kinds of spare minutes to write before and after work. I got lost for entire hours while the laundry tumbled or the supper baked. Something about the ambience of my home, the place where I do the things I do best for the people I love most, inspires me. Today, when I gently slid the desk against the wall to protect it from the mashed potatoes, I whispered, “Take a break, gang. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And, I will.