I have a nomadic existence in the suburban house I share with my husband and two small kids - I move to the place with the least mess at the end of the day and that's where I set up shop. Once the kids are asleep I can get to work.
Most often I write in the dining room, so I have room to spread out. I work under a painting by my mother-in-law, Colleen Couves, observed by whichever toys I missed in clean-up - here it's a trio of playmobil dogs. Off in the corner is a wool wall-hanging my husband hates but that I insist on hanging because Mrs. O'Meara of the Nechako Valley made it and in it are two geese and Sinkut Mountain, both of which say 'home' to me.
Sometimes, if the dining table is covered with essays and my husband is bent over it marking his millionth essay on Lenny and George, I go down to the basement and set up my computer on my sewing table. This is cozy, but very distracting, as the sewing wants finishing and the mending basket is overflowing.
Wherever I write, I'm grateful to have the means to do it - when I was given my computer, I was given a room of my own, no matter where I set it down. It's not a fancy room and sometimes it's a bit of a hodge-podge, but when my eyes are on the screen and the story is pumping out of my fingers, I'm able to forget about the homemaking and the housewifery for a while. Provided everyone stays asleep, I get to be the me I am in the off-hours, and write.
Gillian Wigmore grew up in Vanderhoof, BC, graduated from the University of Victoria in 1999, and currently lives in Prince George. She has been published in Geist, CV2, filling station, and the Inner Harbour Review, among others. Her collection of poetry Soft Geography (Caitlin Press) was nominated for the 2008 Dorothy Livesay Poetry Prize.