I’m just going to put this out there right away: I like hanging out on the stairs. When I’m at my parents’ house, I usually plop down on the staircase to read, stare through the bars (they have a banister) or just sit there playing on my phone. This never seemed weird to me until my brother pointed out the oddity.
For me, it was just comfortable. I mean, the place has tons of built in armrests, and my legs never dangled into a void. (I mean, I’m not short–I’m average–so my legs never technically dangle. But it doesn’t take as long a reach for me to get to a foot rest. You know what I’m saying?) But for my brother, my comfort on the stairs meant I was good at adapting, and that I like fitting in on the middle ground.
Which may be true. But really, the stairs are just a comfortable place to sit. You should try it some time.
That being said (and this is going to be a weird transition), when I’m working on revising my story, I like laying stomach-down on a big bed. I like spreading out, having the opportunity to flail around without hurting myself (which can happen if I get REALLY EXCITED while writing/revising), and, I just realized, I like being physically on the same level as my novel. It’s comfortable. But it’s also strange, since I’m not working at a desk.
I can never get comfortable at desks. I always end up doing something else. Like writing blog posts or watching YouTube.
My work space as it is now, while I’m in the massive sea of revision and paper, is strange. I do most of my work on a queen size bed. And my notecard outline is–get this–written on Post-it notes and stuck on the ceiling. It’s pretty fun.
That’s all this post is, really. Something fun. A little peek into my brain and my writing life.