I can’t seem to find that “perfect atmosphere” for my writing. When I was a child, I would hole up in my bedroom and write or I would go out into the woods and settle down beneath the canopy of trees listening as they whispered and sighed in the breeze. I was content and my imagination fertile but now, now it is hard for me to find that perfect spot where my mind feels safe and free to let go of the myriad of ideas locked up inside. I have a spot in our downstairs family room next to my husband’s desk. There’s plenty of room but it lacks a view, it’s not cozy and I just cannot seem to focus or find that inner muse. I need to figure something out. This week, the few days I am home, I will try to come to some sort of decision. I need to do this. It’s time for me to get my writing self in check and do something about it.