“Lack” in Swedish means paint, or varnish in English. As I assembled my brand-new Lack table from IKEA, it occurred to me that maybe, in the end, this all means something.
A new coat of paint. Some fresh varnish. We’re not fixing things structurally, just making them look nicer on the outside.
But this table is granting me something I like to call creative freedom.
See, right now I am living in a rented room in the basement of a crowded house in Dearborn, Michigan. It’s not much, but right now it’s what I have. And here I have a level of privacy that I haven’t had in a very, very long time. I can go into my room, into my little cave, put on my headphones or NOT put on my headphones, and not be disturbed for days on end. I am free to be an adult, and free to live within the limits that I prescribe for myself.
Do I stay in my cave all day? Hell no. Girl’s gotta eat. She just usually brings her laptop and notebook and things with her. But she goes, backpack slung over shoulder, searching for a new place to sit down and practice her craft. Her craft just happens to be writing.
This brings me back to Lack. This little side table is currently holding the first eight pages of what I am calling my first real honest-to-god story. The characters are original works of art, each crafted before they can make their appearance in the story. Eight typed pages, typed on my Brother GX-6750 typewriter that was gifted to me by my muse, kept in a box that was also purchased at IKEA. Eight whole pages. I’ve started writing and thrown out stories that have been longer than this, yet there is something about this that keeps me going. I don’t know what it is.
This story is my creative reboot. This, not a reset of plays in iTunes, not the fact that I’m done with all of my academic writing for the school year. This is it. I’m restarting it all again. Wish me luck.