Many people, if not all people, have their safe places, those locations, physical or otherwise, where they go because they’re more comfortable there or need time alone. I have a novel, one I wrote a couple of years ago, that’s my safe haven. It could be that sounds a bit strange, or not, I’ve no idea.
Like many, I keep a journal, though mine is devoted to important dates and ideas pertaining to my writing. Some of what’s in there is personal, but not a lot. I’ve tried keeping a more personal journal, a diary if you will, but I become too introspective and always abandon it.
Besides, I better express myself in story form.
My refuge is my writing desk. It’s my comfortable place, my nest. I’m a serious nester. Give me even a small place of my own and it becomes a nest. Even in elementary school, I’d often (if allowed) set items around the outside edge of my desk so it’d feel more like my space and not just another desk…
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