Whatever word magic I conjure happens in my own little corner of a very cramped, crowded, and often noisy space. The dimensions of this place are a subject of some debate. Some perceive it to be much larger than I do. Either way it has served me well despite frequent moves, changes in relationships, and multiple “real” jobs.
Years ago, I was a travel nurse. I still travel quite a bit in my work and always take along my portable magic place. I decorate it to suit the location. I have western, camo, military, voodoo, and old school trappings that I swap out to suit my mood.
It sounds like a lot of stuff to move around, but it’s not. I rarely leave home. To get to my magical place, I simply retreat inside myself. Wherever I am tapping on the keyboard, my magical place is in my head. It’s the place where the characters feel comfortable enough to speak, the scenes are the clearest, and brightest, and the world going by takes on new shapes.
My magic place is not without its problems. The chiefest of which are that it’s visible, it’s not soundproofed, and when the power goes out it takes time to get it restored. These liabilities are compounded by the fact that not everyone knows, or cares. that walking and chewing gum at the same time is the extent of my ability to multitask.
My magical place is not always a happy place, but I consider that an asset of sorts. Not everything I write is happy. I like characters who question themselves, their abilities, and their motives. I like a private place to play the villain too.
On a more practical note, I don’t require solitude or quiet. Wherever I can sit and focus long enough to escape into my magic place, I can write.
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