(adapted from a Wildfire Writing Class 1/29/2008)
One place I’d rather be is on an island. Not necessarily a deserted island, merely an island where I can live with an ocean view. I love the sound of the ocean – the waves crashing on shore; watching the fog or a storm roll in as if being pulled on a string; and the crisp freshness a storm leaves behind. The sound of the waves are soothing and inspiring.
I would have an office or writing room where I could look out at the ocean and it must have a window or sliding glass door that I can open when I want to hear the rhythmic sound of the waves. They would be my background noise replacing the radio or television but with many fewer distractions. No annoying commercials, dialog, or news story; no song to sing along or words to break my focus – just my words on my paper in my room; all by myself.
If the weather’s nice I could sit outside and feel that ocean breeze on my face; though not close enough to feel the spray. Not that I worry about it messing my hair but simply staining my paper and causing the hard fought words to run back to the muse who brought them.
It could be a big house, if someone else comes to clean it on a regular basis; or a small one more suited to a struggling but faithful writer. Either way it will be my sanctuary where the cares of the world must stay away while I focus all my energies on creating an environment my muse will want to visit on a regular basis. The less stressful I am, the better my writing can be. A little stress can produce some interesting satire, but too much blocks the pathways to the inner child holding fast to the best of my ideas.
Why an island and not just a shore? They are places where I feel most at home and at peace. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not talking about a tropical island, either. My longings lie in the lands of the Celts.