This makeshift desk of mine has everything I need to be successful. The writer that lives inside of me embarks daily on the task of refreshing its mind to new stories, ideas, research, what if’s and the why not’s. The books that surround me are that of classics, historical books on just about every country and culture. Fiction and non fiction writing, lists of autobiographies, references books galore along with my adorned religious scriptures. There are pictures facing my direction with eyes that inspire me to be the best at my craft.
My journals that I have kept, since 15 years old, sit silently with yellow pages of wear and tear. The candles are lit at the same time my computer is booted. The recent works and notes of three journals sit at either side of me with black pen ready for use. My pillows that I sit on are that of teal, brown and burnt orange hues lend comfort. Plants give oxygen to this makeshift desk of mine; sitting close to me, they have ornaments that encourage me to keep up the work, to not slack, to not give up in frustration, to not doubt myself in finding new ideas and things to write about. I have a turntable, records, mp3, CD player all ready at my demand. Some days its jazz, most mornings it’s classical or bohemian, then some flavor full Hip Hop and R and B when the sun goes down and then meditation before sleep. I wake up to this desk with a new feeling every day, to get all I have out on my computer, revert to books that line my desk for answers, find support at the pictures standing and hanging, flip through jotted ideas from my journals, and put needle to record to release the sweet music that keeps me on beat. This makeshift desk is my comfort, its home, a reflection of everything that means something to me. This makeshift desk is my success.