Braedan Houtman’s Writing Space

My desk is against a wall—actually, two walls. I used to have it against a window. That didn’t work well. 

I don’t understand how people can have desks against windows. My apartment is on the third floor and looks directly across at another (much nicer) building. There is a parking garage, a sidewalk, and an endless flow of people walking their dogs at all hours (having a dog in NYC seems crazy to me). It is captivating—the little absurdities of life on my block, yet these absurdities don’t help with my writing and productivity. I get caught up in them. 

For instance: after Christmas, when I was trying to complete a short story which (I hoped) was going to be emotional and riveting and tug on people’s heart strings like an anchor dropping from a cargo ship (heavily!), I noticed a discarded Christmas tree on the sidewalk. 

Dogs, it turns out, like to pee on Christmas trees. Thus, over two days, I watched as people let their dogs smell the tree, see who had peed on it before, then pee on it themselves. After one dog had done it, another couldn’t walk by without doing the same, but once the first dog returned (inevitably going for a walk a few hours later), it would smell the tree and reclaim its position as rightful owner. This went on and on for two whole days. Leg up. Spritz. I became invested in which dog was winning the battle. There was the beagle with bad knees, the doodle with the cute owner, and the border collie with the Carhartt jacket. It was a literal pissing contest and it was fascinating. How could one possibly get any work done? 

It was then that I moved my desk into the blandest corner of my living room. Steady light and blank walls. Windows, I’ve decided, are not for me.