A Writer's Sacred Space

So I recently bought a laptop. Way to go, you say. For a writer, it’s certainly a good investment. And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with a machine. I know it’s strange and unusual to have such intense feelings for an inanimate object, but there it is.
I’m also a multi-published author. I don’t say this to toot my own horn (toot), but to bring you to the next, most obvious question: Why didn’t I have one until now?
Well, I did. And it died. Horribly.
Actually, it was murdered and I’m the guilty party. I’m quite embarrassed to admit that while goofing off on the Internet (not writing—bad Jenny!), I spilled pop all over the keyboard and fried the hard drive. “No!” I screamed in a moment of high drama. “Not my laptop!”
Back to the original point. I didn’t use my laptop as much as I do Frankie (that’s my beloved, new laptop’s name). In fact, I’m pretty much physically attached to good ol’ Frankie. Literally. I take it wherever I go, use it for the Web, writing, blogging, etc., when in fact I have perfectly usable and new desktop PC at home. Which raises another question for me: What about my sacred writing space?
I’m Wiccan. For those of you who don’t really know what that is, I’ll give an easy to understand explanation. I’m basically a white witch with a little neo-paganism to back me up. No, I don’t sacrifice small children to the devil (although I am tempted to when my kids drive me crazy, which, I’ll tell you, is quite often), use a Ouija board to conjure the dead, or make concoctions that include frog eyes for ingredients. My concoctions consist of herbs and essential oils, I’m not a gifted medium, and we already covered the bit about small children.
The reason I tell you this is because I look for and create sacred space wherever I go. What is sacred space, you ask? Well, besides the obvious, it’s any area that is cleansed (usually by the smoke of a smudge—made from herbs—stick), blessed by the love and wisdom of the god and the goddess, and brought together by the elements—North, East, South, West.
I have little altars everywhere. On my window sill, in my bedroom, in the dining room, at both my desks (home and work). These altars—the ones on my desk(s)—all have semi-precious stones such as orange calcite (for breaking through writer’s block), green aventurine (for creativity), various small statues (I’m currently looking for one of the Three Muses), and some herbs conducive to production, communication, creativity, and avoiding blocks.
Now I have this laptop, but no sacred space. Or so you think. A-ha! I have an “altar on the go” in my purse (which is the size of a small country—the purse, not the altar). Wherever I am, I pull out my little bag o’ tricks and place them near me.
And yes, I get funny looks all the time. However, I live in Portland, Oregon, also known as Land of the Weird.
These sacred spaces may seem strange to you, but to me they’re a perfect blend of two of the most important things in my life: writing and religion (well, my husband and kids come first, of course).
So, the next time you’re having trouble with a writing block. Go to your local metaphysical shop and pick up some orange calcite. Clean it by soaking it in a cup of water for twenty minutes, dry it, then rub it between your hands for some inspiration. It may not work, but at least you’re trying.