It was only temporary. Just a place to perch and get my work done until we had all the boxes unpacked and the house arranged, then we would fit me into some permanent digs somewhere about the establishment. Now, a year and a half, and one book, later, with all the boxes (well, almost all) unpacked, and the house in reasonable order, I am still here.
Right by the front door, prone to interruption, where I can keep track of the weather, intercept all incoming news, gossip with the UPS guy and the mail lady, and the occasional odd tourist who comes along looking for somebody they thought lived here.
Maybe after the next book, I’ll strive for a more permanent situation. We’ve talked about closing in the back porch for a writer’s nook. I can’t spare the time for it right now.
Actually, I like things pretty well just as they are. I don’t have space to pile a lot of stuff I don’t need around me. I’m not sure how I’d like having a closed door between my world and me. How would Simon come lay his chin in my lap when he wanted his walk? How would Jane Ella stop on her way to something important and kiss me atop my head, for no good reason except she loves me?