I was walking through the bookstore yesterday, something which I so love to do.  It’s interesting how literature changes people.  How it affects one’s mind and soul.  And I don’t mean in the act of reading either… but rather just being surrounded by books.  To walk through the aisles, fingers softly touching spines as if the mere touch of something interesting will feel differently… as though the book will resonate just so and your fingertips will feel that pulse of life.

I used to have an office in our living room many years ago.  Now this was when Anne and I had very little money.  We lived in a modest two bedroom home.  When Tristan was born, I had to give up my office so that he may have his own room (as Anne and I had agreed he would not sleep in our room as some newborns do).  This however, left me office’less, so to speak.

We decided on a corner of the living room which I could use as an office space.  My old desk was dragged out of Tristan’s bedroom, and setup in the corner.  I arranged my tools of the trade (an old typewriter and some pads and pencils) so that I was facing the wall.  I thought this would allow for the least distractions and Anne and Tristan could still be in the same room as me.

I realized quite quickly that though my dedication to writing was quite strong, my ability to concentrate in this setting was not.  Part of the allure of the family of course, was this beautiful new child whom I wanted to spend all of my time with.  Still, I was determined to write and so devised a means of creating an atmosphere that would promote it.