The Home Office: The Pitfalls of Trying to Work From Home

I'd dreamed of a home office for years . . . a quiet retreat where, bathed in the glow of late afternoon sunlight, I'd get down to the serious end of writing.

When my husband and I purchased our fourth home, that dream became a reality. As quick as a Jack-In-The-Box, I transformed an upstairs bedroom into a workspace that would have made any writer's fingers dance with anticipation. Light slanted in obediently and illuminated my latest works, while a window looking out over the water provided the perfect vehicle for brilliant inspiration.

Suffice it to say the dream became as elusive as the mist that curled over the lake. I found escaping to my retreat (when I wanted or when the muse struck) difficult at best; instead, like other normal working mortals, I had to work when I just plain didn't feel like it.

Not one to give up easily, I adopted a Houdini-like mental flexibility, and congratulated myself on my ability to prod words from my sub-conscious at a moment's notice. A serious writer had to make these sacrifices, I told anyone who would listen.

This included my closest neighbour who told me about a writer friend she knew of, who, in desperation, tacked a sign on his front door, scrawled with the bold words: GO AHEAD . . . DISTURB . . . IF DEATH IS AN OPTION! My neighbour related that when that proclamation failed, the writer did the sensible thing and rented an office downtown.

Her words have played at the back of my mind as I've navigated the choppy waters of working from home: persistent friends who drop by for coffee just as I'm heading eagerly toward the stairs; my friend, Karen, who has a "melt-down" and calls when I'm putting the finishing touches on a manuscript; my sister, Dee, who decides to get chatty when I'm working to a deadline . . . they always seem surprised when I try to convince them this is a real job.

I haven't got it nailed down yet but find modern technology is a godsend. With the aid of call display and voice-mail, and that handy, little ON (and more importantly) OFF ringer button hidden on the base of the phone, I can prevent all but the most determined of individuals from talking to a living, breathing human during my working hours.

I've even trained my husband to contact me via his computer when we're both at home-after all, that's so much easier than making those numerous, inconvenient trips up the stairs.

I knew my home office had a fighting chance when I e-mailed hubby the other day, inquiring after his dinner preferences. His sardonic better-not-bother-the-wife-while-she's-working cyber-response really said it all: Make me an "e-steak."

Further Reading

Rejection--Rising Above It