Today the folks at NaBloPoMo challenged me to describe where my favorite place to blog is. My favorite place to write is in the northeast corner of my living room. With my favorite painting watching over me from above, I am tucked away in the corner with the activity of the rest of the house swirling around me. I sit at my desk surrounded by the controlled chaos of papers, assorted pens, pencils and clutter pounding away on the black computer keys allowing each thought to flow through my fingers. The more inspired, the faster my fingers fly. I pause to gather my thoughts and then the persistent tapping continues. I read and re-read what I have written. 
After the kids are off to school, I often sit at my desk and answer emails, read blogs, and comment as I eat my breakfast. The dogs are curled up on the couch in a row and their soft snores reverberate through the room. Sometimes inspiration finds me first thing in the morning in this precise spot. Some days my mojo refuses to work until afternoon. I write and edit, and then when I am satisfied I add it to my site, carefully choosing music and graphics to perfectly compliment what I have wrote. 
With the speakers cranked to full blast I search you tube for the perfect song. Which song speaks to me and perfectly illustrates what I have written? Which beat inspires me most? Which lyrics parallel my message? I contemplate what I have written, read it aloud to the four walls, and edit, edit, edit until I am satisfied. For me, it is the whole package: The words, the visuals, and the music that make a post complete. The final package sets my heart soaring. If I didn’t like the end product it would never be posted. I would delete it and walk away from this favorite spot for a while until it all perfectly gels and I am content. In this spot I celebrate the creation of each post.
Beside me on a small table sits my boom box which occasionally fills the room with music as I write, edit, create, and finalize my latest submission on the days when I need the extra motivation. I type to the beat. Other times, I type in silence with only the tapping of the keys as the drum beat of my imagination. My thoughts rush through my fingers and at times, I barely can type fast enough to keep up until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
