Meganne Fabrega
There are two spaces in my house where I write. The first is my office. It has a door, it has a printer, and it has a big empty corner where I will someday put one of those chair-and-a-halfs. This is where I write my book reviews, nonfiction pieces, long emails, sporadic blog posts, pay my bills, conduct phone interviews and order vanilla beans. Things are pretty serious in this room of the house.
Above the monitor are possible paint colors for my office, a printout of Jessica Francis Kane’s McSweeney’s essay “Where Do You Find the Time,” and an index card with the question that my friend would always ask me: “When are you going to write your book?” There’s also an article ripped out of an old Harper’s that is about a portrait of Dr. John Gorrie by Dennis Gephardt created entirely from pieces of toast. My mom gave it to me a long time ago and said “If someone can create a portrait out of toast, you can do anything.”
Then there is the space where I write just for me. It is clean and quiet. I get to peek out of the window and see what is happening on the street. The phone has no caller ID, so I don’t answer it. If I do answer it, I sound scared. There is no radio or TV in this room and it is freezing cold in the winter. My dog, Skylar, perches on my shoulder like a really fat parrot with bad breath. My netbook is unpredictable and I never know if what I am writing will be there tomorrow. It’s a perfect place to work on my book and my stories.
Meganne Fabrega has written for a variety of publications including American Craft, Publisher’s Weekly, the Minneapolis Star Tribune and the San Francisco Chronicle. When she was little she wanted to be a tollbooth collector so she could read books and take money all day. She blogs on occasion at www.megannefabrega.blogspot.com.
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