I used to think that to be a writer required that I designate a sacred time of day when I would go to my writing room, the one where hundreds of books line the walls on dark mahogany shelves, a green shaded lamp glows warmly on the worn, but classic writing desk, and an orange cat or aged golden retriever is curled up on the floor. I was sure a writer needed this kind of ambiance to bring about stories, to conjure up tales or imagine poems. In this setting one could close and lock the door, leave a sign on the outside, Do Not Disturb and come out four or five hours later with another chapter or essay or a few poems under one’s belt. And, one did this every day, at least Monday through Friday. This was the best of all worlds, the time and space components that led to a writer’s literary satisfaction and success. Even though there are some writers who do write like this—Stephen King comes to mind—for most of us it’s a squeeze job. We have to wedge writing time in between our jobs, taking kids to school, practices, etc, along with the innumerable errands and chores that, if not done, can leave the whole family without food, toilet paper or clean clothes for days. Then there are social engagements evenings and weekends, friends and family to keep in touch with, and if you’re married your spouse does deserve a smidgen of your time now and again.

What I have come to learn in the last few years is that to be disciplined as a writer doesn’t mean following any one particular regimen, sitting in any one particular space, with a candle lit and soft music in the background. It doesn’t mean I am not a writer if I go a month or two without getting a word down. It doesn’t mean hang up the pen, shut down the computer if I’m not sending poems out to journals every week. It doesn’t mean I can’t create good work if I have to juggle a few things at one time and get the writing in when there’s an opening between 3 and 5 on a Wednesday afternoon. What matters, I found out, is that I keep myself in the game. If I am not writing then I want to be reading—fiction, nonfiction, essays, and poetry. I want to be communicating with other writers; going to workshops or readings, calling or emailing, listening to CDs or online recordings of readings. Keeping a journal, even if sporadically, can be a treasure trove of material when I get back to it after a month or a year. All of these endeavors are a vital part of writing, of keeping the internal machine oiled and ready for when the time and space arise to get it down on paper.

Discipline is an important attribute; it can carry me through when I’m lacking energy or enthusiasm, but it will not sustain me in the long run. What will is devotion, devotion to a craft, to expressing what is important to me, to contributing to the well-being of others, to creating community. No amount of chiding or poking or guilt-tripping is going to get me to the desk and the pen unless in my heart I see it as a blessed opportunity, a treasured gift in this life to experience joy and fulfillment. This is truly the sacred space and time that I imagined to be my writing room. It exists inside of me. I carry it around. It is portable and flexible and ever ready to be put into action. It fits me, fits who I am and how I create. This is trusting that my way is the best way for me. This is being a writer who charts her own path and grooves to her own music. This is being a writer as only I can be a writer.