Tag Archives: my desk

My 1×1

Having talked about how I don’t particularly liked cellular slaves, I am not one bit ashamed to admit that I am partially one myself. It’s not only my means to remain socially connected with people I cannot meet often, it’s also my most important medium to write on.

I know. Legacy writers love the sound of pen on paper and the smell on ink on a fresh sheaf of papers (have you ever smelt just-photocopied documents??!). Many writers I know prefer to do a lot of their writing on paper (in their diary or on sheets) and turn to their computer only when it’s time to publish (or for the occasional spell-check). They enjoy the feeling of writing something, crossing it out, noting new thoughts and corrections in the margin of a document or simply balling up the piece of paper and trashing it. Some writers refer to their stationery almost as fondly as they refer to their writing environment. THAT pen. THAT notepad. THAT desk with the familiar dents. They feel it lends character to their writing.

Some, however, are not as fortunate.

Before you conjure up an image of me being homeless and writing on scraps on paper balanced preciously on the walls of a building, let me clarify that statement.

I am not fortunate to have a fixed location from where I write. Partially because my day job involves a desk that spurns imaginative writing altogether (did I tell you I’m an investment banker…? We don’t involve ourself with lowly imaginative stuff… we devise solutions that will confuse the pants off of you and charge a bomb so you won’t have much to buy yourself new pants) and loads of travelling that doesn’t quite help in the way of “fixed” locations. My work life is a breeding ground for ridiculous ideas to write about – but it’s rare that I find myself in one place for too long for inspiration to conk me.

So I write in my very own 1×1. That I take along wherever I go. My very own “desk”, with a built-in cupboard for amazing ideas and a secret drawer for ones that I’ve locked away. Dented in its own special way, my 1×1 has character of its own (and is a character in itself). It is cluttered with stuff I’ve been meaning to clean out for a while now (that I’m quite sure I will never get around to).

My 1×1 is me. With my phone. In a noisy train or in a stuffy cab or in a crowded elevator. It is my mobile (pun-intended) inspiration centre and experience re-creator. It is my home away from home.

P. S. Ironically, I wrote this post almost entirely on a laptop. My phone had network issues (sigh). That’s one thing pen and paper writers don’t have to worry about eh?