K. Marvin Bruce

Jo March had her red cap (before such things were tainted) and writing nook.   Those of us who write also have our habits.   Thing is, circumstances change. For the first time in over a decade I’m moving house.   Most specifically, I’m moving from an apartment into a house.   I’ll keep my day job, but I’ll be telecommuting—whatever that is.   Here in my apartment I awoke very early in order to accommodate public transportation.   My writing time has been very early. Weekends have taught me that sleeping in disrupts writing.   Indeed, my freshest time is way before dawn.   My mind is sharp and alert.   I’m productive.   I’m energetic.   I’m also not as young as I used to be.   One of my more self-indulgent activities is to allow myself to sleep until 5 a.m. on a Saturday. I wake up groggy, uninspired.   I sit down to write, weary already.   Only with great effort can I shove the pen.   I real...

Writing is kind of like sex.  It feels wonderful, but it is really difficult to manage with someone watching you.  I live in a small place, with a partner.  I have to get up very early to write, before my significant other is awake. Even if someone is not paying attention, but is in the same room, I can’t perform.  Writing is a solitary activity.  Tricky for those of us who can’t afford a house, or at least a large apartment. My writing partner Fantasia asked me recently if I have a special place.  Ever since reading Little Women many years ago, I’ve often thought about the habits of writers.  I’ve never had enough money to afford a domicile with a special place.  I don’t have a study or den.  I have a chair that I favor in the living room. This chair affords me a view of all other rooms without doors in my apartment.  I can see if anyone else can see me.  If a door is open.  If I am not alone.  I really want...