How I Write – Ellen Birkett Morris

Each weekday I go into my home office to write. My desk faces a wall. The wall is covered with diplomas, writing awards (from my former career as a journalist), pictures and plaques (my favorite one came from Hallmark and says Everyday a New Story Begins). When I am discouraged, I look at the wall and see evidence of my labor. On the edge of my computer monitor I’ve taped the words of Barbara Kingsolver: “There is no perfect time to write, There is only now.” I sit in an ancient office chair that I bought at a neighbor’s yard sale. My neighbor is short like me. This is the second chair I’ve purchased from her. On my desk, which is cluttered, there is a picture of me when I was two. I am sitting on a stoop, my hands in my lap, looking expectant. This is what writers do, look out at the world, watch, and wait for the words to come. I write in silence, except for the occasional snores of my small dog. It is quiet here, so quiet. I write here. I wait there. Welcoming the words.