A Room of One’s Own

Has been a long time coming…

And I’m THRILLED to finally say, I have one. So thrilled, I have to share.

I sort-of had my own room for quite a long time, but it was the dining room – an extension of the lounge. A lovely, bright and inspiring aspect to be sure, and a space I was lucky to have;  but not a separate space, closed off from everyone else.

Visible from the front door, and a walkway to same, it had to be kept in a reasonable state of tidy and was an easy target for interruptions. ‘Sorry, sorry. Just passing through. Pretend I’m not here.’ It was in all ways too accessible to the masses. ‘Can I just ask one quick question?’

Yet, for four years a vacant (but not empty) room lurked at the back of our house. An offspring’s bedroom held for the intrepid traveller abroad, whose return was always imminent, but date intangible. Finally the traveller returned and stayed a few months before deciding on a more cosmopolitan abode. The bed wasn’t even cold before it was out the door and I was moving in and setting up for a long stay. (I was giving the traveller no chance to change his mind.)

My momentous move deserved a new office set-up, including a huge bookcase. (Full to the max already.) I have to admit the trap is that I no longer have to maintain a certain degree of tidiness – out of sight of the front door. My desk is not often as tidy as in the photo, but I love it even messy. I am inspired.

Writers can write anywhere; at the kitchen table, in the car, in bed, or by the pool through many hours of kid’s swimming lessons. But a writing space of one’s own is most important; a room of one’s own – divine.