Every time I’ve looked out of my bedroom window for the past few weeks, my shed has been there, unblinkingly transmitting this thought into my mind: 

“You need somewhere to write in the mornings that isn’t your bedroom James. I can help.”

But I resisted:

“My flatmates will think I’m nuts. There’s no electricity. There’s no space for furniture…”

That was until today. The shed just won.

So now I’m stood here at 8am with my laptop perched on a shelf that I had to sweep free of stray pepper seeds, my left slipper nudging into a garden fork, the handle-less door slightly ajar, and the noise of police sirens and traffic just audible in the distance.

These are minor complaints though. I’m here, typing instead of checking my emails or Twitter, and you are reading. (Thank you).

You don’t need mains electricity to write — a laptop will run for hours without electricity. 

You don’t need much furniture either — writing standing up is better for your back and your concentration.

You definitely don’t need the internet to write — but you knew that already.

It actually feels quite homely in the shed… my shed… already, and I’ve only been here for half an hour. If I can just clear out some of this junk; find a way to keep the place warm when winter sets in.

I guess this is why lots of writers have a separate space to work in.

Roald Dahl’s writing shed springs to mind.

(At this point I would usually switch to my browser, search for a suitable photo, and probably get lost in a vortex of links ending somewhere seemingly fascinating but completely unrelated to my starting point… but I can’t today. I know Dahl had an armchair that he would sit in, with a green board on his lap, and that they’ve recreated the entire setup in a museum somewhere).

It’s taken me half an hour to write 300 words, and now I need to cycle to work.

But that’s 300 more words than I wrote yesterday.

Thanks shed. You were right. See you tomorrow?


Posted to life, writing in 2014.

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