When I’m doing serious book-writing I don’t really want or need a glorious view (or so I pretend). I tell myself it would be too distracting—and I may be right at that. Certainly, being totally focused—being in the zone, if you will—is a wonderful thing.
Yet I do hark back to my cottage in Ireland during the time the lupin bush just outside my study window was in full flower—and I miss it greatly. When it was in flower, it seemed to make the whole world a better place. I absolutely adored the thing.
All in all, I’m a pretty lousy person to advise you as to whether your surroundings—and your view in particular—will make you a better, or a more productive, writer. On balance, I favor the ascetic approach of no view—but full focus on your work.
But, by god, I miss that lupin.
As for my bantam cock, he liked to parade up and down my window sill until I was appropriately smitten by his beauty—and then he would ignore me. I became very fond of the little monster and christened him Yul Brynner—because no other human could strut quite like him, the man.
He, the bantam, had a sex life to die for. If you are a cock.
Funnily enough, Brynner’s son went to my old university, Trinity College, Dublin, and dated a former girlfriend of mine. So much for degrees of separation.