My office is messy, as messy as a raven’s nest, as Michael Langley puts it on this site about British authors and their studios or writing rooms.
Several years ago, my husband and I bought a 3-story, 100+ year-old Victorian house in downtown Little Rock in the historic Quapaw Quarter. It was painted a lovely Turquoise Blue and we’ve left it that way. It now houses my husband’s business–and my office. I love coming to work. I like leaving the house, housework, cooking, etc. behind and coming to an office dedicated to work. I drop off my son at school, come and work, pick him up and then go home. 90% of my work is done here. Sure, I take my flash drive home and play around, or I read at home, or think. But my actual work is done in the Blue House.
I’m actually in the process of moving to a different room in the Blue House, my third space to occupy, to meet the needs of my husbands changing configuration of employees. Shrug. That’s fine. It’s not which space I occupy that matters, but that I have an office in the Blue House. The important thing is that I feel legitimized by having an office outside my home.
I’ve often wondered if I’d get more accomplished if I wrote outside of my home.