A Place to Write

A place to write–a cherry desk and a corner in a quiet room have been set aside just for me.  It isn’t a lavish space, but unless company comes, it is all mine.   My laptop sits open and ready for the written word.  Its charger and cord dangle down the side, almost hidden from sight.

My husband built the desk.  He is abnormally generous with his talent and time.  He keeps reminding me that the desk is not yet finished.  It will eventually have a top with storage slots and a compartment to hide my computer when company comes.  But the base is complete and the desk top is usable as it is.

For years, twenty or so, this room has held a bed, which gets used maybe twice a year; a chest of drawers for winter clothes and a bookcase full of business books I no longer use.  I have started to empty the bookcase of all the books that represent my past.  I plan to fill it with a life time of journals, first drafts and someday a completed novel. [Please note how positive that last phrase is.]

Although I have been writing on a folding table in the same spot for several months, the new desk, somehow, makes it seem more permanent—more mine.  It is a statement of sort, I guess.  It represents a new beginning, a time for dreams, accomplishments and no more excuses.


Three word Wednesday: lavish, dangle, abnormal.



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