Virginia Woolf said that a woman who
aspired to be a writer needed a room of her own. Of course, my whole house is a
room of my own, but what Virginia Woolf meant was a room in which a woman could
write from her deepest center. In my old house the living room was the kitchen
was the writing space. When Ela asked what I wanted in the design of my new
house, I specified a room dedicated to writing, the sort of cozy, intimate
space I like best.
Ela complied, giving me an
eight-foot-square writing nook, symmetrical to the entranceway on the other
side of the storage closet along the east wall. A set of narrow, tall shelves
cuts off the square corner of that wall, angling into the nook, both inviting
one inside and demarcating the space. Across from the angled tall shelves is a
two-drawer wooden file cabinet with, on top, a photo album of my friend who
died last year and a photo board of pictures of my granddaughter.
A large
window on the east side looks into the woods, and a double window on the south
side looks onto the garden, the apple tree, the pond, and Humpy Mountain. On
the opposite wall to the south window, i.e., on the back side of the storage
closet, is a set of bookshelves that hold: two shelves of the medieval books I
was most fond of while I was writing my dissertation; two shelves of poetry
books; my Tarot cards from the hippy years; hiking books and maps; reference
books; and a shelf of folders of current projects.
On the walls of
the nook are a small wooden cabinet my father made for my mother for their
first wedding anniversary:
an embroidery I
did years ago (Led Zeppelin: “Sing hard for the sunshine/Pray hard for the
rain/Show your love for the lady in Nature/And she will come back
again”);
a calligraphy
by my sister of a poem, titled “Advice,” that Ela gave me for Christmas years
ago (“Live on a mountain. Build your own house. Have a proliferation of
creative ideas …”); an art piece by a friend of Ela’s from college; a cut-out
wall sculpture Ela made;
and a poster of
Lelavision, my son and daughter-in-law’s performance troupe. On the windowsill
are a stained glass piece from a student, a pencil holder I had on my desk as a
child (an Indian’s face, with pencils sticking out of the head like feathers in
a headdress), a pair of binoculars, some rocks, and a nameplate – Dr. Diana
Coogle – that my former college roommate sent me after I earned my Ph.D.
The placement of the desk caused a
bit of a tussle between Ela and me. I wanted the desk under the south windows
so I could look at Humpy as I wrote. Ela said that would destroy the concept of
a nook and make the space just an extension of the living room’s south-facing
wall. Architecturally, the desk should go under the east window. The view into
the woods, he assured me, was also a good one.
I didn’t dispute that, but it’s
Humpy that is my inspiration. It’s Humpy I wanted to look at during those long
pondering moments when I waited for the words to come. I did see Ela’s point
about the orientation of the nook, but the inspiration wasn’t the same if I had
to turn my head and lean slightly back in order to see Humpy. I shouldn’t have
to make an effort. The view should just be there when I looked up.
My solution was to put the desk
under the east window, then have my builder, Richard, build a fold-down shelf
just big enough for my computer under the south window. In my swivel chair, I can face the mountain to do my writing, then
swivel to the desk where I’ve set books and papers. I can move the computer
from shelf to desk as the light demands. My printer and my phone are on the
desk. The orientation of the nook is to the east, but to see Humpy when I
write, all I have to do is lift my head. Inspiration is abundant. I spend a lot
of time in my writing nook, surrounded by things that remind me of people I
love, looking onto a landscape I love. In my writing nook writing is a joyful
occupation.
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