I’ve developed a new habit of locking myself in the basement for hours on end and forcing myself to write, and when the writing doesn’t go well, I read actual books to study successful authors’ technique instead of looking up weird things on the Internet.
And I have to say that it’s been working out very well. I like having a space all to myself that’s secluded and isn’t being used for sleeping or entertaining. There are six large bookcases at my disposal along with two craft closets, my father’s recording studio, piano, and seven guitars, a foosball table, a large table with eight chairs, and a large sofa. There’s also a tv, but I don’t think I’ve watched any actual show while it was airing for about a year at this point. No one else spends much time down there, and I could jump and down and scream without anyone hearing me (This is a theory, as I have yet to have an occasion to try it out.)
It’s much easier to force myself to adhere to the butt in chair rule when I’m not in my own room. My bed isn’t asking me to take a nap, and I don’t feel the need to reorganize everything on my desk. In the basement, I can take out my fancy markers and outline a scene on brown paper if I like and spread out on a table that’s bigger than Pippa’s bed.
Of course, at some point the novelty will wear off, and I’ll switch to writing somewhere else, but for now, I’m enjoying it.
In other news, Max woke me up at four a.m. to announce that it was breakfast time, so I have been a very sleepy Ella today.