Creative Space—Jillian Grant Shoichet

My favourite space to write is my kitchen. This is the case on almost any day, unless there is a mountain of dirty dishes on the counter or a plugged sink or we had fish the night before and forgot to turn on the hood fan. But even then, I can often shut off the part of my brain that requires order. I can look out my desk window, which faces the rising sun and the morning garden, and I can ignore the litany of tasks on every momma’s to-do list. I can draw on the memory of my mother’s kitchen and my grandmother’s kitchen and the work that went on in those creative spaces—the work of nurturing family, fueling imagination, and encouraging risk.

Make something new. Try something for the first time. Taste this.

Yes, it might fall flat. It might stick to the bottom of the pot. It might taste bad.

But not the second time.

Nothing is ever as bad the second time because after the first time, we aren’t the same person anymore. The second time, we’re making, trying and tasting with the wisdom born of our first attempt. The second time, we always ask ourselves, how will I do it differently from before?

The first draft is the burned toast, the broken yolk, the pudding that’s overly sweet.

Or maybe it’s the toast that’s just a little dry, the yolk that’s not broken but not quite runny enough, or the pudding that’s not too sweet but could be smoother.

The point is that the kitchen is the creative space of first drafts. Some of our first drafts are handiwork we’re quite proud of. Some of them go straight into the compost. But without a first draft, there are no second drafts, no third drafts, no fourth drafts—no final drafts.

Every first draft is a creative success. The spinach casserole I couldn’t convince anyone to eat? A perfect first class in what not to make next week. The cake that never set in the pan? A perfect first tutorial in careful recipe reading. A clogged sink? The perfect first seminar on what not to do with the deep fryer grease. Even the dirty dishes on the counter are reminders of the creative work of the night before.

Writing in the kitchen reminds me that any creative work I do is valuable.

The short story I never finished? That’s just the pot that’s soaking overnight. The manuscript that’s been rejected a dozen times? That’s just a recipe that needs re-tweaking. The poem/book/novella that I’ve dreamed about but never started? That’s on next week’s menu.   

When we moved into this house and I considered where to set up my desk, I only briefly thought about spaces other than the kitchen. It’s true that I get distracted here—the spaghetti sauce boils over, or an after-school-hangry kid demands snacks with the repetitiveness of a woodpecker, the cat uses my leg as a scratching post and the dog insists on sitting in my lap.

But the drafts that I undertake in this room are the ones that make me a writer and a mother and a creator. I can’t imagine they could be completed in any other room—and if they were, they would certainly have a different flavour.

I will always write my stories in the kitchen. Where do you write yours?