A writer needs a chair. Writer plus chair equals great thoughts. The formula is that simple.  I have the space of my own, the desk of my own, even the computer of my own, but I can’t truly be a writer without a chair of my own. 

I have spent months searching for the right chair. I have hunted my chair in antique stores, office supply stores, department stores, and yes, chair stores, but still my one, true chair eludes me.  I did find the perfect chair once on Ebay, but it got away.  It wasn’t meant to be, and so my writing remains stifled.  It’s not my fault, though.  I blame my chair, wherever it may be. 

One time I was sure that I had found the right chair.  It caught my eye while passing a boutique on Park Avenue.  My chair was sitting in the window of an upscale children’s clothing store.  You know the kind where one summer dress for your three year old costs more than I make in a month as a freelance writer.  I brought my chair home, introduced it to my desk and made it shake hands with my laptop.  I still couldn’t write, though.  Clearly it was the chair, so the offending party was banished.

So now I am left without a chair.  I can’t possibly be expected to write under these conditions.  I am precariously perched on the side of my bed where I have dragged my desk in hopes of writing.  My inspiration is lacking; the words don’t come out right; I sigh in exasperation.  If only I had a chair I could be a writer. 

I have played the “if only” game a lot as a writer.  I think most of us who choose this labor can relate, though most writers wouldn’t call it a choice.  Who would really choose this as an occupation if they knew about the low pay, the hours of silence, and the endless rejections?  Then there is the chair thing, of course. As my back aches from hovering I have to wonder if I am on the right path.  Maybe I should just sell insurance or become a telemarketer or one of those jobs where someone tells you what to do and pays you for it. 

But being a writer isn’t necessarily a choice; it’s a calling. I feel cut in half when I am not writing, like someone stole the other part of me that makes me complete.  Sure, I have my doubts like all writers do.  I certainly doubt whether I will ever find the perfect chair.  I will keep searching, though, because I am convinced that the chair is the only thing standing…. err…sitting between my best seller and me.