Author Silvia Moreno-Garcia writes all over Vancouver: UBC, the 99 B-Line, her dresser

Leading up to Canada Reads, CBC Arts is bringing you daily essays about where this year's authors write for our series Where I Write. This edition features Mexican Gothic author Silvia Moreno-Garcia.

Virginia Woolf once said a writer must have a room of her own. Living in Vancouver, though — one of the most expensive cities in Canada — that has hardly been the case for me.

I don't have a dedicated writing space; I'm typing this atop my yellow dresser, which in a pinch functions as a standing desk. Most often, I type in bed or at the dining room table. 

For about a decade, I worked full-time at the University of British Columbia as the Communications Coordinator for the Faculty of Science. I did a lot of writing and research during my lunch hour and bus commute. Pivotal scenes of Mexican Gothic were thus constructed while riding the 99 B-Line or attempting to quickly digest a sandwich. 

Last year, I became a full-time writer. This seems to be a rather glamorous pursuit in the minds of most people I meet, but in reality, it means I'm still the family breadwinner only now I don't have a pension plan. I blame movies for creating this aura of wealth and refinement about writers, but sadly I don't live in a house patented after the Clue mansion.

My situation is not abnormal: one of my good friends gleefully informed me that last year, after 10 years as a full-time writer, he was finally able to move into a home that had space for a desk. Not a whole office, mind you — just the desk.

Sometimes I take my laptop and go write at the library. I have never been able to write at a coffee shop, although I see plenty of people typing at their local Starbucks. I even have writing friends who go together to write at coffee shops. But to me, there is something unnatural about this setting, and I prefer to slide into a corner of the library and stay there unnoticed for hours.  

For this essay I was asked to write about the emotions my writing space inspires and ended up staring at a basket with dirty laundry and wondering how to write poetically about that, but I was unable to come up with a way to wax enthusiastically about our socks. 

Some people have asked me about my rituals — whether I light candles, or prefer a certain music. I suppose some writers do have rituals, but I bristle against them, convinced it's better to be nimble and write in a variety of conditions rather than demand one single setting for the inspiration to flow. I do listen to music sometimes, not because I need it to inspire me, but to drown out the noise around our home (and because I like music).

My parents worked in radio back in Mexico, and I grew up around sound equipment and microphones. My mother used to take me to her job and place me in a basket under her desk. She claims I was always quiet when I needed to be quiet, crying only on cue, so I guess I just grew up knowing how to adapt to my environment. 

I love Vancouver. I like walking around my neighborhood, especially in the fall, when I try to spot mushrooms. I once found a huge patch of Amanita muscaria. I sometimes wish I had a house because I would like to have chickens in the backyard and a big library with a terrestrial globe.

On the other hand, I once read an Agatha Christie book where someone is murdered in a library, and a house with a big library is probably haunted, so perhaps I'm just being clever and avoiding a grizzly demise. Although in this economy, if any poltergeists snuck into our home, I'd charge them rent rather than exorcize them.  

Read this year's Where I Write essays every day this week on CBC Arts and tune in to Canada Reads from March 27–30.