writerly stuff, part 2

The second part of the writing assignment was to choose a classmate's description of their writing space and come up with a fictional character to inhabit it.

My classmate, Elizabeth, has graciously agreed to let me post her description:

I can only imagine what my writing place looks like because I am not there. I usually write on my bed, with my back to the wall, staring at my overflowing closet. It is overflowing with my shoes because I put my laundry basket in the bottom of my teeny space. I would rather look at the shoes than the dirty laundry, I guess. The door to the closet is close to hitting one of my book shelves. There is another one exactly like it in the opposite corner of the room. However many book shelves I have though, it is never enough. In another corner there is a big blue Rubbermaid container with even more books. It is on the other side of my dresser that has a mirror on the wall right above it next to the pictures of my family. I never sit on my bed unless it isn’t made because I have a down comforter, and my mother trained me never to sit on them because they will eventually lose their shape. There is a window in my room, but I can’t see anything out of it when I write. I write simply staring at the screen, occasionally looking up at the otherwise neat closet, except for the shoes spilling out all over the floor, and I try to imagine how I can possibly put them somewhere else so that I won’t constantly stare at them while I imagine the next scene, the next character, the next sentence, and finally, the next word.

Sometimes when I write I can hear my roommate downstairs practicing her guitar. She says herself that she doesn’t know why she practices because she never expects to play for anyone other than herself. It makes her happy, and maybe that is why I write as well. At other times I hear our neighbors on the other side of our wall. They are older than me, I think, but seem to have degenerated in what they find entertaining. The other night they were singing along with the “Ducktails” theme song, which I found rather frightening.

And here's my fictional character in her space:

This is the writing space of a woman recently divorced, who is starting a new life. She quit her job as a business analyst for a boss who was hardly ever in the office and gave her no direction or encouragement. She left a marriage to a man who reminded her too much of her boss. She let the ex keep everything but the money in her checking account – she never liked the way he decorated the house anyway – and she quickly moved into an apartment with an old friend from college, and is still unpacking boxes. Her parents have offered moral support, and a steady supply of bookshelves (she really must ask for a few more soon). She reminded herself that she had a degree in journalism, for crying out loud, so why not make use of it? She’s now working for a local newspaper, writing feature articles on people in the community, and she works freelance as well. She’s sure she can get one of her articles published in a magazine soon. Maybe about shoes…