As a child, it was the bottom bunk with blankets draped down the sides to keep the bad stuff out. Armed with a flashlight to illuminate my writer’s den, full of pieces of paper torn from notebooks (I kinda liked the jagged edges). I stayed awake long past my bed time freeing my mind and jotting down my thoughts.
As a teen, it was the basement of my parent’s home. My creativity took a different turn. My new tools were paint, tee shirts, jeans, sneakers and pieces of paper with poems and sketches that instructed me how I would create my next masterpiece. Most of my clothes became designer originals, painted by Shorty LA.
As a young adult, my sanctuary was found on Amtrak. I spend hours back and forth on the I-95 corridor. By the time the conductor announced, “If (this city) is your stop, you have reached your destination”, I had pages of finished work in my journal.
As a slightly more mature woman, some days it’s outside. Perhaps on my patio with a glass of wine. Some days it’s a park bench. And when the mood is right, it’s pool side. When I’m stuck in traffic and need a quick escape, it’s the parking lot of the nearest gas station or grocery store. hen near is too far, it’s hazard lights flashing on the side of the highway.
To read, to write, to enlighten, to love, to feel passion-
Many places have been, will be….my literary sanctuary!