Perfection ain't it.
I just happened across a lovely expression of this sentiment in Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones :
"If you want a room to write in, just get a room. Don't make a big production out of it. If it doesn't leak, has a window, heat in the winter, then put in your desk, bookshelves, a soft chair, and start writing... It's hard to sit in an exquisite space and rub across our imperfections which writing brings up."
She continues with, "It is natural in our studios to find," then goes on a lovely rift about the detritus of creation in her own writing room - including cold cups of black tea and open books. In my own temp. studio at this moment there is: her book, open; a used-up check book; a bottle of Elmer's glue; filled sketchbooks; and a cardboard fan of the kind that southern funeral parlors used to give out, except this one is courtesy of a golf tournament and has an insurance gecko's green, big-eyed face on it.
Believed public domain gecko.
Writing Down the Bones is worthwhile, an excellent writing and creativity book. I recommend it. Possibly a good present for writer-type friends? (More writerly gift-book suggestions HERE. Or theater/architecture/designer gift suggestions HERE.)