My Writing Nook
My writing nook: simple, possibilities, refuge, peace, comfortable, enticing, spare, open, mine.
I used to want to move to a house with a big basement for my teenagers to entertain in, and a double garage so that I wouldn’t have to scrape snow and ice off my windshield all winter. It would have a fenced back yard with a deck so we could entertain family and get a dog. Now that I’ve fallen in love with my writing nook, I think this house will suit me just fine for many years to come.
My new writing nook is the upper landing above our very beautiful 1898 staircase. The first time we saw this house there was not much to support buying it, other than this staircase and two or three charming windows. From my writing nook I can see two of the windows, and the curved, carved oak railing is inches behind my back as I type.
I gutted the small triangle of all Barbies and boxes and kids’ books. An old office desk now takes up 80% of the available floor space. A set of 1968 Encyclopedia Britannica holds the printer and plump stack of white paper. I have a blue, rolling desk chair that was only $34 at Staples, but provides me with ten times that much satisfaction, after sitting here with a folding chair for the last several months. Ouch, my back.
My computer is a gift from God. I prayed for a laptop. In a matter of days, I discovered they were about to throw out a slightly antique laptop, in the trash. They were willing to let me have it. I have no internet on this laptop. I have no viruses! Due to its age, I treat it more like an old typewriter, than a computer. I just type, save, type, print, type, save. I have pictured myself for years with a laptop in a park typing away, or in my car, typing away. So far that hasn’t seemed necessary, as typing at my desk is completely satisfying.
My writing nook and I have bonded.
When I sit, the bottom of a large, old-style fan light window is about chin height. I look directly out to treetops. Our neighborhood has many old trees and tall homes, so the treetops are plentiful. The sky takes up the other 50% of the view. I can’t see the traffic down below or the people who walk by all day. We live on a boulevard, and people walk their dogs and walk their calories off all day and evening. You can always find someone to say hi to around here. But for writing, you don’t want the distraction of wondering if that large basset is about to do it in your front yard, or wondering what the UPS man has brought the lady across the street in such a large box. Instead you want the blue skies of possibility.
So far the temperature seems very comfortable. You’d think drafty, but heat rises so there seems to be a fair combination of both heat and cold, and plenty of circulation. My feet are warm, so that is a good sign. I can hear everything going on in my house. We have one of those houses with a front and a back staircase. The back one is narrow and steep. I used to have a list of architectural elements I wanted in a home, that appealed to my inner child so to speak. A second stairway appeals to the 22 year old who liked The Cosby Show.
What I don’t have on my desk: a telephone, an internet connection, clutter, lots of work, anything unrelated to writing.
What I do have on my desk: a dish of candy, a new lemon meringue soy candle my sister just gave me for my birthday, two kinds of paper clips and a pretty pottery jar full of pens, pencils and new highlighters. I have binders for my work in progress, a very inexpensive lamp. I have my favorite book on writing, “Escaping into the Open” by Elizabeth Berg propped in the windowsill. I bring a tray with a mug of hot tea and a pastry up in the morning, and I have several empty areas on which to set the tray. Miraculous.
Another factor to my nook is it’s unfinished quality. I have an empty wall, about 38” wide, just the spot for a nice tall bookcase. I have been looking for one for a very long time. I want it to be wood, and I want it to be cheap, two things that are hard to combine. I hope to find a beat up used bookcase and paint it a nice navy blue. And then I’m going to bring all my favorite books into my writing nook. Someday. And someday I will paint the trim antique white and the wall dark red. Someday the ancient linoleum will perhaps become oak flooring. And I’d like to add a dog bed, for when my new puppy is disciplined enough to sleep at my feet while I type. Possibilities.
And while my space is all of these wonderful pieces, the
puzzle isn’t complete until we add the crowning quality: private. The space is
not decorative or color coordinated but it is mine. It is my space in this
large, crowded house of backpacks, dishes, laundry baskets, vaccums,
bathrooms, pillows, everything is everywhere, but my writing nook is mine. It
feels a bit like a fort or a secret hideaway. The kids haven’t bothered me so
far, but I’m sure that is coming. So far they keep acting like they don’t have
a clue where I am calling them from. That is fine too. I realized the other day that since marriage, there haven’t been many
spaces you could call mine. If you discount my closet, which I am inordinately
fond of, and the basket between the two front seats of my mini-van, you have to
go back to my half of the dorm room in college to come up with a space that is
truly Toni’s. We’re talking 1984.
I know about myself that I
like solitude. That I prefer shopping alone to shopping with friends. But I
just learned that having my own space was a missing piece in my puzzle.
Mothers walk such a tight rope in life. We are reminded on every corner that life is short, and we should enjoy our children while we can. But sometimes life with children can seem long, oh so long, not short at all. Occasionally, I confess, the empty nest syndrome sounds like something I’m ready to try. But now that I have my own space, I feel like I can put up with a lot more. I can feel appreciative. I have perspective. Who knew that moving the toys from a corner of the upstairs and putting a beat up old metal desk in it could do so much for a girl? Now I know.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.