Inside Outside
November
It has been three years since I started The Writing Path and, as a commitment to my craft, I have gifted myself a writing shack. The outdoor temperature is just below zero today, so as I write I’m wearing a hat, coat and fingerless gloves, waiting for my tiny stove to send out some heat. I have a cup of tea and a rechargeable lamp casting light onto my typing fingers. I have set up a bird-feeding station in the bushes ahead, so although I’m always completely focused on writing, if I do need distraction there is a dunnock scavenging in the undergrowth and a flurry of great tits fighting over sunflower seeds to watch.
My partner is a whizz with design and building, so over the summer and early autumn he provided the skills and labour to build the shack – I just had to come up with the cash and a vision. There are so many gorgeous writers’ rooms out in the world (one of my favourites is the one created by my good friend and gorgeous writer, Laura Atkins). From cosy sheds at the end of winding paths, to glasshouses filled with books and curious objects hung, to full-on garden offices, with carpet and power points and internet connection and filing cabinets for tax returns: the options are overwhelming.
I only knew that I didn’t want to feel like I was inside when I went outside to write. I love our shaggy garden and draw energy and inspiration from the things living in it. When I return from my morning walk, I’m not always ready to head back inside to the central heating and electric lights. So I didn’t want an outdoor study, I wanted shelter. My shack is more bird hide than writing room, with large window and door frames open to the elements, and although it is homely enough, with a desk and chair, a little cupboard and a stove, I’m hoping that it will also feel sufficiently wild to house a wren’s nest come spring.
So far, I have written in the warmth of September sunshine and in the torrential rain that arrived earlier this month. Today is the chilliest it has been so far. My fingers tingle in the frosty air, a robin flits past, ignoring my creative endeavours, and something – a young squirrel I think – jumps from an overhead branch onto the wooden roof, adding a skittering drumbeat to the morning’s work. The greatest challenge is my tea going cold before I can finish it.
Love this! I had a writing hut built, smaller than yours and no heat, but shut in with the dog it soon warms up. A willow grows right outside so I feel I'm in the branches and the birds don't know I'm there, so watching them is lovely. All my creative work gets done there, more mechanical writing in my study indoors. Really enjoyed hearing how you use your shed.