My office is a large room that is quite central to the house, with the walls lined with books. It often turns into a cluttered space, as I’m constantly battling piles of books that mysteriously pop up around me. But I know where everything is and it’s a comfortable space for me.

I have another workspace, however. It’s a place I go to when I need it for reasons of both practicality and solace. I’m referring to the landscaped grounds of my local public library. Here’s a video that will show you what I mean.

There isn’t one, although I begin every day with a cup of tea. While the kettle boils I do a qigong set, a Chinese therapeutic exercise set I learned in my tai chi class. Three of the four cats usually sit and watch me. Only this one set draws their attention in this way, and I have no idea why. The rest of the day–that depends on whether I’m writing or revising or teaching. 

Yoda the cat.

On writing days I potter in the morning and write in the afternoon. This pottering phase (going out for a walk, or cleaning up or washing dishes, whatever) is crucial. When I get stuck writing, I stop and read. When I’m in draft mode I shut my e-mail down so it doesn’t get in the way, or I’d never get anything written. 

On revising days, I wake up earlier than usual and hit the computer for a couple of mulling hours, reading what I have and thinking about it. I may go for a walk after that. Then I start digging into the work and throwing large chunks away, rewriting to fill the spaces. I’m usually exhausted by 5 or so and not much good for anything the rest of the day. Revision is the most exciting part for me, but it also exhausts me the most and I can really lose track of the real world while I’m in that zone. We have one of those exercise gliders. I moved it to my office and I’ve set up so that I can walk on it and type at the same time. When I get stiff from sitting at my desk I can just move my laptop over to the table near the glider, and keep on going.

Then there are the teaching days. I teach in the Vermont College of Fine Arts low-residency MFA program in Writing for Children and Young Adults. On about ten days of each month, I begin by clearing my desk of my own work so I can focus only on my students’ stories. I start working at 9 am, stop for lunch, and start again, with a few e-mail checks as needed in between. 

1. I have a small figure of Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of learning, on my desk. She was a bit wobbly and kept falling over until we mounted her on one of those squashed pennies you can get at gift shops. Now she’s stable, and can keep an eye on me to make sure I don’t slack off.

2. A Louisa May Alcott ornament sent by a friend, with this quote on it: “She is too fond of books and it has addled her brain.” Yes, that would be me. 

3. A small carved elephant that has been a favorite of mine from my childhood.

I make myself a cup of tea. I log out of e-mail. If she’ll cooperate, I pick up one of our cats, Mu, who likes to be walked around. Once she’s had a good purr, I feel ready for work.

Nothing. I can’t abide any sounds when I write, other than the birds outside. No radio, no music, no anything. I’m very easily distractible. I’m one of those people who needs silence in a room if she’s talking on the phone. 

I alternate between black tea (I try to limit that on account of the caffeine) and a variety of herbal teas. It has to be hot, whatever it is, never mind the time of year. Snack of choice? That changes, but currently it’s sesame sticks, and dried unsweetened mango, or dates.

I sometimes start in longhand, and then go to the computer when my mind is working faster than my handwriting can keep up with. I have a really spidery, illegible hand, so it usually doesn’t take long. 

I don’t outline to begin with. I leap in anywhere and write whatever I know, which in the beginning isn’t much at all. As the characters emerge I let them develop. I do write notes off the page, in a notebook, and sometimes I write questions. When I get to the middle of a work, I’ll sometimes work up a rough outline just to see what I have so far and where it seems to be heading. 

Jane Austen, although heaven knows it’s not Chawton and she may be quite shocked at its state of disarray. I’d hope she’d find the hummer feeders diverting, and the view of the oddly shaped rocks on the bluff.

It was something that was never intended as writing advice. Rather it’s something my tai chi teacher’s teacher told me. He’s Sigong Dug Corpolongo of Lotus Dragon studios in Albuquerque NM, and this is what he said: “Complete every movement. An incomplete action lacks power.” Isn’t that wonderful? Can’t you just see that playing out in writing? I can’t tell you how many times I find myself placing a character in a scene, beginning an emotional reaction and then leaving it hanging. James Baldwin talks about protecting ourselves and I’m always doing that in writing. But the notion of the complete action is a really important one and it’s as true in tai chi and writing as it is in life.