My Workspace

Months and months back writers posted on their blog pictures of their workspace.  At the time, I didn't have a particular space.  My workspace was wherever I could sit with my laptop.  On the couch.  In the bed.  At the kitchen table.  I got plenty of work done being a nomad writer but I wanted a space of my own.  A space I could office. Calling it an office and going "to work" every day has made my writing career more tangible? Realistic?  Plausible?

Well, I've carved out my own little space in the third car garage and here it is:
 Like how I've covertly stashed the "junk" behind the curtain wall to your left.  Ugh.

But my chair is really pretty:

I have a reading chair too:
With a little spot for Sookie to curl up.

Also have a workstation, for crafting stuff.  I hate the word "crafting."  It either says "Hi, I'm old." or reminds me of the kitsch crap you see at street fairs.

Here is my view from my desk into my courtyard.

Sookie likes to spend her time under my front of the space heater. 
(Did you  notice her in the first picture?)
It's California for god sakes.  Dog would never survive in less than 40 degrees.

So that's my space. Where all the magic happens.  Not like, the "magic" magic, but magic of the digital pen. I wish I have a fancy camera and could make the shots look like magazine photo spreads.  But alas, you must settle for my digital cannon.