A room of one’s own, revisited

Dear Reader,

I rearranged my writing desk again last week — the seventh time this year, according to my husband.

Some writers need order and perfect silence. I seem to need beautiful chaos: stacks of books, half-finished notebooks, dried flowers from last autumn, and far too many pens that no longer work.

Virginia Woolf was right about needing a room of one’s own. She just didn’t mention that the room will never stay quite how you left it. The desk becomes a mirror of the mind — messy, restless, always shifting.

Some days I sit down and feel completely lost. Other days the words arrive so quickly I can barely keep up. Both feel necessary.

Wherever you do your own creating — whether it’s at a kitchen table, on a train, or in a quiet corner of your mind — I hope you protect that small space fiercely.

With quiet gratitude,

Claire