We humans are creatures of habit and consequence. We percieve the world through our fabric of conciousness and mosey on over to what we call our home. Home may be where we live or a place we carry with us; or a friends home, or even a bench by a pond. For us who write, home carries a different value.
Sure I can write my draft wherever I damn well please, but my desk is where the magic happens. My desk is cluttered and messy, spilling over the sides with reference books, half written drafts and old poetry that may never see the light of day thank you very much. This place we may call a workshop or haven is where we accomplish the most of what we do. We may construct brilliant research or even dove deep into the pits of a gothic novel.
Obviously mine is my messy desk, and one day I will clean it, but until then I will continue to work out the kinks on this old piece of crap desk. Eh, home is where the heart is.
So the question for today is, where is your haven for writing?