Step into my office, if you please

During my usual mid-afternoon procrastination journey through Google Reader, I happened on the latest post at Contractually Obligated to Like Books, in which she gives us a tour of her writing space. This led me to examine my editing space (hey, editors have spaces, too!). And THAT led me to just completely hijack Jam's idea.

I spend a lot of time here in my little cubbyhole, so I thought maybe you might like to see it? Come along with me on a journey of magic and merriment.

Here's the whole shebang: the cozy little corner where split infinitives and dangling modifiers regularly meet their bloody end, on a desk from IKEA.

Now I shall zoom in on some key features for your edification and general amusement.

I've mentioned that Sleeping Beauty is my alter ego (never mind that I look nothing like her and prefer blue to pink . . . we agree on the things that matter: the virtues of sleeping a lot and the joys of dancing barefoot in the forest). I've also mentioned that my husband is a Superman fan boy. Well, in this particular rendering, Prince Phillip appears to be playing the part of Superman, which caused me to SQUEE when I saw it. Plus, it was an anniversary gift from my mom (thanks, Mommy!).

Those lovely books Aurora and Phillip are propping up are some of my favorites, which is why they have a place of honor at my right hand. I found Return of the Native in Sydney, Australia. The three volumes of Les Miserables are from my first visit to The Last Bookstore in Los Angeles, which immediately thereafter became my favorite place in ALL of Southern California. The Mill on the Floss and Silas Marner are from Devonport, New Zealand.

Directly above the pretties is this monstrous stack of textbooks.

These are SOME of the fruits of my editing labor. I keep them to remind me that the seemingly inauspicious Word document I'm editing at any given time will eventually be transformed into a tome of intellectual magnificence on some topic or other. Glancing at that stack helps me on the days when my role in the publishing assembly line seems especially insignificant (which is pretty much every day . . . one of the side-effects of working in a corner).

And this is what hovers just above my head.

That is my grandma's Woodstock typewriter, which my mom thinks MAY be the one she first learned to type on? I actually had to bid on this at my grandparents' estate auction. I was terrified I wouldn't get it, so I loitered next to it all day and glared at everyone who wandered too close. Maybe that's why no one bid against me? One woman DID get a little catty and asked if I was planning to disassemble it to make jewelry. As you can see, snarky auction lady, Woodstock is NOT jewelry, and he's happy here with me, his rightful owner . . . and another Sleeping Beauty and those books from my childhood.

This is a finger painting my dear husband gave me a couple of years ago. I kind of want to put it in a drawer somewhere, but being a wife sometimes means proudly displaying heinous works of art. I guess, in that sense, being a wife is not so different from being the mother of a small child.

This is the actual editing portion of the editing cave, complete with tax registration certificate (stupid city of Los Angeles and your stupid requirements for the self-employed). This part is boring. Let's move along.

Oh, here's what's behind me . . . part of what makes up the room known as "my office."

This is by far the most gorgeous chair I've ever owned. It's not at all comfortable and rarely has an actual person on it . . . BUT PRETTY. And those crazy paintings are courtesy of my mom. She whipped those up for me when she last visited because I needed art to go above my couch. If I remember correctly, those particular pieces were created in a hotel bathroom (perhaps one of the few good things ever to happen in a hotel bathroom).

And last but not least on this tour of my workspace is my pride and joy and one GIANT obstacle between me and getting any work done ever again.

My precioussssssssssss.