My mother was very Catholic, Gentle Reader, but not just any brand of Catholic. She was New Orleans Catholic, which means something different. More of a lifestyle than a religion, although the religion is a big part of it, too.
What I get from my mother and my New Orleans Catholicism is a sense of pageantry. A sense of pomp and circumstance, a way of presenting myself and my work privately, publicly, on point.
This brings me to my Writing Altar.
I have two, actually: one with books and research I’m currently working on, along with items of great significance, and the second, on my desk, facing me, a big bulletin and white board with prayer cards of the patron saint of writers (there is one, Gentle Reader. My parents looked long and hard for it). On these Writing Altars I have bits and bobs of Important Items, such as a teacup a dear friend sent me that belonged to his grandmother, or the fiver from Scotland with Rabbie Burns on it. The WSPU coin from England–my beautiful Suffragettes! On money!!!–or an entrance sticker from the Jane Austen Festival in Louisville, Kentucky. All of these things–the angel statue, my lanyards, postcards that inspire–are important to me, to my writing, and even, Gentle Reader, to my faith.
Do you have altars? What is on them, if I may ask, Friends?
The Postmodern Bluestocking 