Where We Make: the Writers' Room of Boston
In the beginning, I wrote in a dorm room. A university library. A café. I graduated from college and wrote on my desktop at work at lunchtime and after hours. After grad school I spent most afternoons at the public library, although my fellow patrons were never as quiet as I wanted them to be, nor is the library ever open as late as I would like. In a perfect world libraries would be open 24/7. Am I right or am I right?
This is why I need the Writers' Room. It is quiet in here, and there are not too many books. (There is such a thing as "too many books" when you are in procrastination mode.) I still work best at night, and although I have a nice big desk at home, there are always too many distractions there: sewing and knitting projects, laundry, a drawerful of fresh veggies to cook up, and so many books I haven't read yet. So I come here, arrange my laptop, journal, assorted notes and research, and settle in with a cup of tea in this fifth-floor perch above State Street in downtown Boston. I have passed many happy evenings in this fashion—happy and productive evenings.
This time last year I was pounding out a draft of Immaculate Heart, my 2016 novel, and thanks to the peace and good juju of the Writers' Room I was able to finish that draft in less than three months. Then I was away from Boston for two months last spring, and I didn't join up again over the summer to save some cash, and I really really missed it. (I finally renewed my membership at the beginning of January.)
Just as awesome as the productivity boost is the community of writers here who have become good friends. At the Boston Book Festival in October 2013, I fell into chatting with Mary Bonina, who was staffing the Writers' Room booth in Copley Square. She was wonderfully friendly but didn't give me the "hard sell," which I really appreciated. (I'd been invited to join an artists' space the previous summer, but decided it wasn't the right place for me when the administrator tried to pressure me into starting my membership sooner than I was ready for.) Mary invited me to the next WROB open house a few weeks later—it was on November 14th, my birthday, which I took to be a good sign—and as soon as I walked out of the elevator I felt that warm little hum inside that said, this is going to be your other home.
I can't tell you how good it feels to be back.
* * *If you're interested in learning more about the Writers' Room of Boston, come to their open house on Monday, February 9th Wednesday, March 18th, anytime between 6 and 9pm (the outgoing fellows are doing a reading at 7pm, though, so best to get here on the early side). The address is 111 State Street, Boston (above the Dunkin Donuts). There will be wine and munchies!* * *[Where We Make origin story and submission guidelines; all entries here.]
Where We Make: Jordan Rosenfeld
[Funny how, in the writing and arts online community, we can have such warm feelings towards people we've never met in person! Jordan Rosenfeld wrote the loveliest piece about Mary Modern for Writer's Digest back in the summer of 2007, and I have considered her a friend ever since. Here's a peek inside her awesomely colorful workspace.]
“Wow, it’s bright!”
This is the most common opening gambit of the people that step foot into my office. And it is bright: upon renovation, my intent was to take it out of its masculine dark “Mad Men study” feel and shift it into a feminine, creative pale turquoise (my favorite color)—something that conjured the underwater realm of mermaids of my childhood fantasies. As paint colors go, it’s really more aquamarine—a color that bounds up and licks you in the face like an overeager puppy. Compared to the sedate rest of my house in understated beige, crimson and ochre, it’s a room of one’s own for damn sure. Mine.
I am drawn to bright colors like bees to the bright flowers in my garden. Somewhere I read that blues inspire creativity more than any color, and all it takes is a few minutes sitting in its cheery marine tones and I feel ready to produce. Once the second layer of paint had dried, however, I will admit to a slight pang of regret. What had I done? It was almost childishly bright—a room fit for a child, not a functional adult. But once I added colored panels to the built in doors, it changed from “Wow, bright” to cheerful—a room I can’t ever have a bad mood in. Sleek white shelves and floral carpet that felt almost divinely conjured to match my color scheme have since brought together a room that is now my favorite place to be in the house (convenient that it’s my workplace). More so, there was something about taking the step to let my external world match the wild, messy creativity that takes up so much of my internal landscape. My six year old thinks it’s cool, too.
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Jordan Rosenfeld is the author of Forged in Grace, Make a Scene, and Write Free, and she is the Managing Editor of Sweatpants & Coffee. Connect with her on Facebook and on Twitter at @jordanrosenfeld.
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[Where We Make origin story and submission guidelines; all entries here.]
Where We Make: Di Mackey
[This Friday I'm very pleased to host jet-setting photographer Di Mackey, who recently discovered this website through the wonderful rabbit hole that is the world-wide web. Di's is the first 100% random submission to Where We Make, which makes me even more delighted to have her!]
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I'm a professional photographer, a writer, and a blogger too. I'm a New Zealander living in Belgium and honestly ... I never know which thing about me should come first.
I'm also someone who runs off to the sea and mountains in Genoa, Italy, as often as possible.
And the space where I make is important … whereever I am.
So, of course, my laptop is central to that space and from there I build up with what is possible. Here in Antwerp, at my house, I have a cocoon-like space. I'm tucked away in the corner of our L-shaped bedroom. I hang beautiful things on that desk-dividing red wall, there in front of me, things that I love.
I also love books, so my husband built me a series of red bookshelves and there my very best books live.
In this space I have an external keyboard that is English (my laptop is not) and a much bigger external screen. These are luxuries for when I'm working at home. Oh, and a fast internet connection too.
Quite often, over these years living in Europe, I have worked in places not my own. My second place where I make is in Genoa, Italy. It has been the same since 2008—a round kitchen table in a friend's apartment on a tiny street called Via Ravecca.
My place where I make is pared down. There's my laptop, a USB modem, and a plastic water bottle cut-down to act as vase for the flowers I always find on my first day back in the city.
My camera gear, all 6kgs+ of it, and every single cable and piece of equipment that I need to pack for the road has its place in that other space where I make. Sometimes I feel like a sherpa on Everest, as I move between worlds but honestly, it's worth it to have that second, much quieter space.
I've worked in Cairo, Berlin, Madrid, Istanbul, London and out on Flanders Fields here in Belgium. In Brussels, in Paris, in Amsterdam. Sometimes on a photo-shoot for others, sometimes just working for me and my website.
And so I realised, while writing this for Camille, that my laptop is key to the space where I make. Flowers help but I guess I can make anyplace … and I like it like that.
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I love the idea of using flowers to brighten a temporary workspace, and that illustration on the wall above her desk at home! You can find Di on Twitter at @DiMackeycom and at DiMackey.com.
Where We Make: Mieke Zamora-Mackay
I'm so pleased to introduce Mieke Zamora-Mackay, a South Jersey writer whom I "met" on Twitter in early 2012—the short story is that we came together through our mutual love and appreciation for Nova Ren Suma, though Mieke (pronounced like "Mikey") tells the full story in her introduction to the 11 Questions interview we did that April. We got to see each other every week at the writing workshop series I hosted at my local library, and have kept in touch via Twitter and email ever since. I'm happy to offer her contribution to Where We Make—these are images from real life, not some idealized workspace worthy of a home dec mag, and I really appreciate that. (It's a big part of why I started the series to begin with!)
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Hello! My name is Mieke Zamora-Mackay, and I write. I knit and cook too. Camille is my friend. Unbeknownst to her, she is also a mentor in my creative life. When she launched the “Where We Make” feature, her invitation to participate left me giddy and nervous at the same time. It took me a while to take her up on her offer, due of the static nature of my creative spaces. Yes, I said “spaces."
In my house, I have a designated craft room. But almost nothing is created there. Instead, there are spots that I cycle through when I work on my projects. These are the spaces where I truly make: My office desk. (Only during my lunch breaks, boss! I promise!)
The leather couch in the living room. (My poor back.) The head of the dining table. (Sometimes having the window behind me gives me the heebie-jeebies.) The drivers’ seat of my van. (While waiting for the kids.)
Camille recently posted about writing in a 24-hour coffee shop at Penn Station while waiting for her 4:00 am bus back to Boston. She reminded me of the poem "Air and Light and Time and Space" by Charles Bukowski, which she shared during a workshop* she led. The post and our Twitter conversation later reminded that we as artists must create anywhere, under any conditions. The “now” and “here” is the opportune moment and place.
Finding the perfect space or moment becomes just another excuse not to create.
*I’ve kept a copy of the poem in the inside cover of all my journals since then.
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Find Mieke on Twitter at @mzmackay and on her blog, The Author-in-Training. Every Sunday she posts beautiful and inspiring images to use as writing prompts!
Where We Make: Sarah Greenman
I'm thrilled to be hosting artist Sarah Greenman on my blog today! Sarah and I got in touch through Squam and I'm so looking forward to meeting her at the Fall 2014 session. I bet you'll find her workspace as inspiring (and, yes, enviable!) as I do.
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Hi all! I’m Sarah Greenman and I work from home in a converted garage. It is absolutely, hands-down, without-a-doubt my most favorite place in the whole wide world. (Whoever thought I’d be saying this about a garage!)
I do a lot of different things and need a big space to accommodate my various enterprises. I’m a freelance artist, writer, blogger, actor and photographer. This means I usually have multiple things happening in my studio at once. I also have two young children, Walker (6) and Charlie (3), who love to join me in my studio while I work.
A two-car garage allows me to work multilaterally without having to constantly clean up after myself. I have divided my studio into separate areas. One entire wall is devoted to painting replete with taped butcher paper on the walls and drop cloths underfoot. When I make art, I get messy.
One corner of the garage looks more like a traditional home office and this is where I write and edit photos. A large antique breakfast table sits at the center of the room and usually serves as a catch-all for papers, files, a sewing machine, task lighting, lunch left-overs and various statuary.
I also have some storage and seating so that I can stuff everything away and make guests comfortable when hosting workshops or open studio tours. Since I have two little ones, I am constantly creating work during the in-between moments. Essays, photo shoots and paintings occur between diapers, dinner and impromptu fort-making. To have a transitional space that allows me to waltz in and pick up where I left off is essential to completing work.
In my best moments, this space serves as a nest where I lay, hatch and groom my most inspired ideas. In my worst moments, it’s a space where I can crash, burn, cry and dissolve without upsetting the natural order of my home.
Thanks, Camille, for having me! You can find me making art at www.sarahgreenman.com or blogging at www.maisonboheme.com and www.helpcharlieheal.com.
Where We Make: Bonnie Sennott
Bonnie Sennott is an artist and knitwear designer living in Amherst, Massachusetts. She blogs about her creative work at Blue Peninsula. You may recall that I am currently knitting her Pomegranate pullover, and I can't remember the last pattern I found so pleasurable or satisfying to knit. Bonnie has drawn inspiration from Squam Lake (where we met last year) for patterns like Deephaven and Rockywold, and here she describes another beautiful setting that creatively (and literally!) nourishes her.
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Although I have a studio (a spare bedroom), I can’t seem to confine my creative impulses to just one room. There’s work all over the house—sketchbooks on the dinner table, embroidery on the coffee table, knitting projects on the sofa—even on the kitchen counter!
But my home is a private space, so I thought instead I’d write about one of my favorite places to work away from home: the Bookmill in Montague, Massachusetts (population 8,400), a former mill that houses a used bookstore, café, and restaurant, CD store, and artist studios.
My Peppernut shawl artfully draped over a chair as I work on a pattern in the Lady Killigrew Café.
Quirky rooms awash in light pouring through big windows; comfy, well-worn furniture; an ever-changing selection of books and notecards; good WiFi—all this makes the Bookmill a favorite hangout for writers, artists, and other creative folk (and booklovers, too!)
“Books you don’t need in a place you can’t find” is their marketing slogan. But it’s really not that hard to find. And the bookstore? Amazing! Lots of books I do need—I’ve found some great stitch dictionaries there. On sunny fall weekends, the Bookmill can be crowded. But I always find a nook or cranny where I can knit or embroider. When my eyes or hands need a break, I head into the Lady Killigrew Café for an iced tea or fresh salad. I love the view from the café windows and how peaceful and at ease I feel there—so much so I named a scarf pattern after it. As I stitch or knit while listening to the Sawmill River rush by, I find my mind quieting down—sometimes working there is like creating and meditating at the same time. It’s a beautiful place, and since I’ve been going there for seventeen years, it really does feel like a second home.
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Where We Make is a series on creative workspaces. Read the submission guidelines here. If you'd like to contribute a profile of your own space, please email me at cometpartyATgmailDOTcom.
Where We Make: Amy Lou Stein
[Amy Lou Stein dyes, sews, crochets and knits from her home studio just outside of Boston. She has taught me how to trace sewing patterns (to leave the original pattern intact) and how to use a serger for sewing jersey. Amy is—no contest—the most energetic person I know, and I love how that verve comes across in her writing.]
My darling friend Camille asked me to write about my creative space, so here goes.Our house is its own “creative process.” Even though I do have a designated space for crafting, I manage to overflow into the garage, basement and assorted nooks and crannies with my bins 'n pins.
My work room is the back mudroom leading to the yard and laundry, perfect for accessing hoses, slop sinks and plant matter. But it’s also the path my family (and sometimes the entire neighborhood) use to go in and out of the house. Since I have no door between me and them, finishing a thought is an emotional and creative Twitter feed, limited, interrupt-able and open to the world. I do a lot of dyeing and I have all sorts of jars full of concoctions, powders, plant matter and pretty stones. I have been using our garden’s coreopsis to dye some silks and cottons that I recently indigo dipped and I am almost finished with a pretty blouse. My absolute favorite part of my room is the sweet trash-picked USPS table from 1931. It’s so high that I stand up to sew and now I am so used to it I prefer standing and sewing. The light streams in during the afternoon and makes me happy.My only lament is my lack of organization in terms of shelving (and lack of shelves!) I need a twelve-step program to address my unhealthy relationship with every crafter’s best friend, THE PLASTIC BIN. The bins are full of every single kind of thing you might ever need...until you need it—and then I realize that OMG I ran out of fusible interfacing or, dread of dreads, fructose for my Indigo vat (that happened today).I usually spend some time cleaning the space only to explode (literally) fiber everywhere when I have an idea. Hence, it is impossible to be anywhere in our house and not see some remnant of cloth, pin, yarn or hook along with many unfinished objects. Where We Make is a weekly series on creative workspaces, appearing each Friday. Read the submission guidelines here. If you'd like to contribute a profile of your own space, please email me at cometpartyATgmailDOTcom.
Where We Make: Yours Truly
Earlier this year I accepted a position as a resident assistant at an ESL school in a Boston suburb, which means I get room and board in exchange for easy part-time work. I've made some very dear friends here and I get to save my advance money (YAY!), but other aspects of life on campus are, needless to say, less than ideal. I am living in a dormitory—not nearly as nice a dorm as those I had at NYU!—and I know many of my friends and colleagues (who are living, y'know, responsible grown up lives) find this state of affairs somewhat horrifying, though they are too polite to say so. Yes, in my private space there are cinderblock walls, chipped linoleum flooring and a long-forgotten flip-flop gathering dust under the window seat. At any given moment, day or night, I might hear teenagers shouting and singing in any of a dozen languages in the commons outside my window. But there's also plenty of built-in shelving, a sufficient number of electrical outlets, and an abundance of sunlight for my maidenhair fern and basil plant to revel in.
I became a writer, a real writer, in a room I shared with three other girls at La Pietra, so life at Pine Manor feels like coming full circle in a way that actually amuses me. I'm reminded on a daily basis of just how little I need in order to do what I do best: I have my own desk, my own chair, my own room, and money to keep me. Virginia Woolf would concur that I am absolutely set.
No matter how temporary, though, I do like to make a space my own. I've crammed the shelves with books for research, pleasure, self improvement, and all combinations thereof. I've put up a bulletin board my dad gave me, and it still sports a Spag's bumper sticker from when my aunt Kathy lived in Shrewsbury in the '80s. Funny thing: when I look at that sticker, I think not of the past, the ersatz golden days of dowdy Christmas sweaters and are we there yet?, but of how right it feels to be living in Massachusetts here and now.
Where We Make will be a weekly series on creative workspaces, appearing each Friday. Read the submission guidelines here. If you'd like to contribute a profile of your own space, please email me at cometpartyATgmailDOTcom.
Where We Make: a new feature!
In 2008 and 2009 the Guardian ran a delightful series called Writers’ Rooms, pairing a photograph of a writer’s study with a brief but reflective essay on how they work in the space and draw inspiration from their surroundings: the pictures and knick-knacks on the wall, the books on the shelf, the particular style of desk chair, and what have you. Entries by or about George Bernard Shaw, Beryl Bainbridge, and Jane Gardam were particular favorites. (“I move around the room when it gets too untidy, like the Mad Hatter's Tea Party.” That cracks me up every time.)I was disappointed when the Guardian discontinued the series, and for years I wanted to start my own project to reboot the concept on more inclusive terms. I wanted to see the workspaces of all sorts of artists, emerging as well as established—and from all over the place, too, not just Britain! I know we all like the occasional peek inside other people's notebooks and studios, whether that artist is working in your field or something completely different (like hand-dying! My dear Amy Lou Stein—who dyes yarn and fabric, sews and knits and crochets and has a dedicated workspace I envy every time I visit—will be my very first contributor.)
But I didn’t have a workspace of my own that felt worth featuring (I generally wrote in a nondescript “quiet room” at my local library), so whenever I broached the idea with writers and painters I thought might be interested, they hesitated because I didn’t have any examples to show them. It’s true that I could’ve done my best with the impersonal space I was working in at the time, especially since I am also very interested in temporary workspaces, but maybe the idea was just biding its time.I’m happy to announce that I'm finally ready to launch Where We Make with a profile of my own current workspace. Now that I have a sample profile to point you to, how’s about it? Would you like to write about your own workspace for my weekly feature? Please email me with “Where We Make” in the subject line.Some things to keep in mind (you can consider these "submission guidelines" if you like):
- The format is super simple: one photo of the entire workspace (with or without you at work in it), and a brief essay of around 300 or so words. (One shot will probably suffice for us writers, but if you are an artist or designer and want to include more photos, that would be great!)
- I’m not snooty about the definition of “artist.” ANY sort of creative work qualifies here!
- This isn't just about showing off the scope of your personal library or the handsome prints on the wall above your desk. How you use the space you work in, whether you draw energy from it or zone it out, surround yourself with things that inspire you or sit down in a temporary space as if it's a blank slate—that's what I find really fascinating. So by all means take a picture of your table at the local coffee shop if that's where you work best.
- I will tweet, Facebook, and pin the heck out of your contribution. Yay for free publicity!
- If you are so inclined, please take a moment to leave a comment on a workspace profile, and we’ll both be very grateful.
I can't tell you how excited I am to launch this new feature! Thanks very much in advance for your interest and support.