I smell a skunk crossing darkness, somewhere outside the dark window.
I’ve never been a dog person, but we did have cats when I was growing up and again in my first marriage. These days, it’s been household rabbits, a whole different story.
But my all-time favorite cat was an all-black, marvelously sleek male tommy who was half-Siamese. He’s the inspiration for Gobi in my latest fiction. Our dog-loving neighbors even gave him the compliment of saying he was more like a dog than a cat, and their own German shepherd was one dog I came to enjoy.
The naming came about in one of my flights of imagination. I was sitting in a classroom looking at a NO SMOKING sign and wondered about shifting the space. That led to NOSMO KING, which was soon bestowed on our kitty.
I thought I was being pretty clever, but a few years later my in-laws sent us a newspaper clipping where a human named Nosmo King was mentioned. I don’t remember if he had a different last name or whether King was it. Drat!
Yes, sometimes reality is stranger than fiction. And sometimes it just leads to some strange fiction.
We’re at a point of downsizing. On a limited budget, at that.
Here’s what’s on my list of considerations.
What would be on your list?
My, have things changed from the time I first proposed this as a Tendrils topic and the time I actually sat down to draft the text. I thought I’d be living in Dover for the rest of my life, but now we’re actually looking to relocate to somewhere, well, for us more dreamy. I’ll leave it at that for the time being, and besides, that prospect just may turn out to be a very pleasant pipe dream.
What I am sensing that much of the dream has to do with location, beyond the house itself. This week I’ll focus on the locale. Next week, the walls, floor, and roof.
What would be on your list?
For whatever reasons, a writer’s workspace holds a fascination. Many readers envision a kind of magical chamber somewhere, and we writers often dream of the perfect setup, though Annie Dillard’s concrete block room with no outside distractions may be the better option. Mark Twain even had a billiard table in his, on the top floor, no less.
These days, mine’s under the slopping ceilings in the north end of our third floor. A single window, rattling in winter and letting bugs in through the edges of the screen through the summer, is the sole connection to the outside world, apart from rain or squirrels pounding on the roof above.
There are days, though, when I do wish it had dormers on each side, not just to open the headroom up, either, but to allow me to figure out what’s going on when I hear something. Did someone just pull up in the driveway, that sort of thing.
Not that I could justify the expense anytime soon.
What one touch would you like to add to your own living or work space?
Think of your “desert island list” applied to real life.
Gee, trying to cut it to even a thousand books or recordings seems impossible, at least in my case.
Would there even be sufficient room for all the survivors at the new destination?
And that’s before the clothing and kitchenware and …
What would be hardest for you to pare down?