A Room of My Own
By Liz Michalski | January 28, 2022 |
The writing shed of my dreams, not my actual office
I saw a photo of Alix E. Harrow on twitter recently. In it, she’s wearing a baby in a front pack and has a toddler tucked under one armpit, her eyes are glazed — probably from sleep deprivation — and she’s typing madly away. In the caption, she reveals that the manuscript she’s working on will eventually become THE ONCE AND FUTURE WITCHES.
The photo made me nostalgic — I wrote my first book in much the same manner — and it also made me laugh, because–although I cannot fit my almost-adult children on my lap or under my arm anymore, nor would they be caught dead in either position–the search for a private place to write twenty years later is still ongoing.
I had an office in my first house — a loft with a tiny balcony overlooking our yard. The view was so lovely I set my desk against the wall so I wouldn’t be distracted, and I motivated myself with timed breaks on the balcony. The house had an open floor plan, which was perfect for two adults. But babies are much more distracting than views and after our first arrived, my productivity took a dive. Thankfully, we moved to another house soon after. This one had no balcony but did have the benefit of an office for me on the second floor, complete with a door that closed.
The room was large enough to hold a small couch, and often when I was working at night the door would creak open and my toddler would tiptoe in, board book and sippy cup in hand, secure in the knowledge that so long as she was quiet I wouldn’t rat her out to her dad, who had bedtime duty. I stocked the bookshelves, not just with craft tomes, but also with stuffed animals and quiet toys, and I painted the walls kid-friendly pastels. I wrote for newspapers and magazines in that room, and finished and sold my first novel from there.
But as time passed, the kids grew up and went to school. I no longer needed to barricade myself in to finish an article or chapter, no longer had to work only during nights and nap times. Oddly, now that I had what I’d longed for — a few uninterrupted hours of writing time — the office felt far too quiet. I took to wandering the house with my laptop, writing some days at the kitchen table, other times on the living room couch. When I truly felt like I was going crazy in the silence, I packed up and headed to a local library or coffee shop.
And then Covid struck. Like most everyone else, all my chickies came home to roost at once, filling the house. The two teenagers stayed mostly in their bedrooms, which left my husband. Who needed a place to work with a door that closed. A place like … my office.
On paper it made sense. He has a job that often involves discussing confidential information, whereas most of my conversations take place with people I’ve made up in my head. Even so, he was reluctant to settle in, convinced things would soon be back to normal. But as one month turned into two, then four, my beloved toys and artwork got relegated to corners where they wouldn’t show up on corporate Zoom meetings. Coffee cups and button-downs replaced tea cups and cardigans, and the aroma of lavender and scented candles no longer lingered.
My husband offered to carve out a corner for himself in the basement or the bedroom, but neither of those solutions were practical given his working hours. And even if he found space elsewhere, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to my office. I’m not a big believer in cosmic energy, but I could feel that the room wasn’t the same. Instead of my cozy nest, it now had a corporate feel, and it would take more than rehanging some art to change the vibe.
So instead, once again I became a nomad, carting my laptop and bag of files and notes from room to room. The kitchen table worked until lunchtime, when my fellow inmates needed to eat and couldn’t understand why I was surly about stopping my writing mid-sentence. The bedroom made me sleepy. The basement was quiet, but the lack of natural light made me irritable. The porch worked well on days when the weather cooperated and there were no mosquitoes, which meant about once a week. During the first surge, coffeeshops and libraries were out of the question.
With every forced location change, I became progressively grumpier. And yet I couldn’t figure out why. Suck it up, I told myself. You’re lucky to be able to write, to have a house, to be well and have your loved ones home with you. Besides, I’d worked in all of these places — and much more uncomfortable ones — many times before. I’d scribbled notes in the car while waiting for the kids to get out of sports. I’d left the crowded house to dictate lines into my phone while walking the dog. I’d used the interminable wait at the doctor or dentist to whip out my laptop and get work done. So why couldn’t I be flexible now?
At last I had to face that giving up the office, as much as it was my choice, felt like an insult — as if I were less of a ‘real’ writer because I didn’t have a dedicated space, as if my work wasn’t important enough to deserve its own room with a door to use when and as I chose. Intellectually, I knew this was crazy. I’d written for years without a room, then written elsewhere when I’d HAD a room. But emotionally, it felt as if, after years of arranging my schedule around everyone else’s, my writing was once again taking a back seat.
Besides, I’d started working on a new book. A book I couldn’t see full on yet, but could only catch glimpses of out of the corner of my eye. A book that, unlike my nonfiction articles or revisions, needed to be invited in, needed time and quiet and space to grow. A book that needed an office.
So I made a list of what I wanted:
- Plenty of natural light
- Peace, but not silence
- Warm, friendly, magical decor
- A desk
- A couch or comfy seat to read and dream on
- A pretty view, but not so beautiful as to be distracting
- A door I could close
A big list. But I found exactly what I was looking for, in one of the last places I would have thought to look.
A few years ago, my husband and son had renovated a dilapidated garden shed — used for storing bird seed and tools — into a private hangout. They’d taken it down to the studs, swept out the mouse nests, put up new sheetrock, primed and painted. But my son, busy with school and sports, hardly ever visited it. After gaining his permission, I took inventory and found it had everything I required, with the exception of heat. I decided that was a worthy trade-off for a private writing space.
And so…My husband furnished it with much-loved castoffs from the house — the pink star curtains that hung in my daughter’s room when she was a baby, the rabbit rug that graced my son’s play space. A polka-dot chair my husband gave me one Mother’s Day. Twinkle lights adorn the ceiling. When I sit at my desk and stretch out my arms, I can touch all four walls, but somehow it all fits. A space heater, fingerless gloves, and a down coat keep me working on all but the coldest of days. When I look out the window, I see squirrels and bits of the sky. When I look down at my desk, I see — just barely — the glimmer of a new idea, curled up like a cat and waiting for me.
(If you’d like a glimpse of my office, I’ll be posting pictures on Instagram in conjunction with this post.)
Now it’s your turn — where do you write, and how has it changed since the pandemic?
Liz Michalski’s (she/her) second novel, Darling Girl, was published in 2022 by Dutton. Her first novel, Evenfall, was published by Berkley Books (Penguin). Liz has been a reporter, an editor, and a freelance writer. In her previous life, she wrangled with ill-tempered horses and oversized show dogs. These days she’s downsized to one husband, two children and a medium-sized mutt.
Liz, such a wonderful, thoughtful post on writing, family, and what we value! Thank you!
Thank you Heather! It definitely took me a bit of time to figure out what was going on in my head.
When I first started writing, I wrote the same way that I read…anywhere, anytime. But with time, the creative process that inspired my characters and worlds clamored for a proper home. I think it’s one part respect for the work, and one part a desire for constancy that feeds and safeguards my imagination. I can venture into the fictional unknown as long as I’m surrounded by the safety and comfort of the familiar. And some privacy never hurts.
I love how you found your special place, and I appreciate the heart it took to give up what you had for all the right reasons. You have a beautiful soul that shines through your words and I look forward to Darling Girl!
(I write with fingerless gloves too—love them. And you need a nice, little wood burning stove. <3)
Thank you, Denise! I think you are right — creating in the same setting makes it easier to relax and explore your story. I can revise almost anywhere, but starting a new book feels like it requires a safe space. (And I would LOVE a wood burning stove. Or a bee house — have you heard of those? The beehives are literally built into the wall. I got a “no” on both requests for safety, however.)
Hi Liz, I shouted “yes” several times while reading your post! Same here regarding the pandemic and Hubby taking over my writing room. What used to be my private creative cave turned into Zoom hell, telephone land … whatever. And yes, I did feel grumpy and slightly resentful. Hubby felt bad about it too, but it was the practical solution. I am now writing in the bedroom, at a small triangular desk that fits between wall and book shelf. Hubby crafted it for me, ordered a new (smaller) computer screen that fitted there. For a long time I thought of it as “temporary”. I only brought up what I really needed, but left most of my craft books, notebooks and colourful pencils in what used to be my room. But the pandemic is crawling on and I don’t see Hubby returning to the big office soon. So I finally cleared some shelf space (throwing out some of Hubby’s books, which felt a tiny bit satisfying, I have to admit – I found them space somewhere else though) and brought up all of my craft books, all my little resources, sticky notes, pencils … everything. It is still not ideal, but I am surrounded by all the stuff again that make me feel like a writer. It is still not ideal, but I made it my space, a space where I can spin the tale of my new WIP, a space where I rule (at least during the day).
My earlier response somehow didn’t make it through, Choosing, but I am glad this post resonated with you, and the struggle is real! I completely get it, and wish you lots of great writing time in your new, not-quite-ideal space!
Love this post, Liz.. My experience has been similar in some ways. I’ve experienced the ‘but now you have all of the time and room in the world’ phenom, as my grown kids didn’t come home during the pandemic. I, too, have found myself moving from room to room, looking for something to announce itself as the perfect place. Maybe it hasn’t because it was wrong for other reasons—an imperfect place in time, an imperfect headspace, an imperfect idea and plan and future outlook. An imperfect age for sitting for long stretches of time in a chair. Maybe we’ve entered an era of IMperfect as the best we can hope for, and maybe that’s enough if we let it be.
Thanks for making me think about all of this in a new way today.
“Maybe we’ve entered an era of IMperfect as the best we can hope for, and maybe that’s enough if we let it be.”
Words to carry forward. You are so wise, Teri.
Hey Liz – Well, all I can say is, wow, I’m hopelessly spoiled. I did start out writing on a tiny little antique desk, shoved against a wall in what is now my office (then a playroom). The first time my wonderful wife saw me sitting with my knees knocking against the too-small cubby underneath, she ordered my current desk, which commands the entire room and has a view. And although I frequently stare out the windows, as far as writing space goes, I’ve never looked back. I’ve written about 95% of my words in this spot since that day, about 15 years ago.
Really fun post, and I’m delighted that you got your special (if occasionally chilly) spot. (Anxiously awaiting the IG post to see.)
Your wife is THE BEST, Vaughn. Please tell her I said so. It sounds as if you have an amazing office, which should surprise no one, as the house you built sounds incredible. And I’m thinking of posting pictures during the snow storm that’s supposed to hit so it will be even prettier.
Hey, Liz,
I immediately went to insta to see your space — can’t wait until you post it. Sounds delightful!
My journey to find the “perfect” writing space is as long as your article, if not longer. Currently, my house (including my once-dedicated office) is filled to the rafters with 53 years worth of memories and family heirlooms as I sort through my parent’s belongings. It’s a slow process. So I’ve taken to a TV tray in the living room. Well, *three* TV trays: one with the laptop, and the other two with paperwork. The recliner is my desk chair, which comes in handy when I need to lie back and nap… I mean, *think*. Eventually, I’ll reclaim the space I need, but for now, I get by. Now go post those pics! Your eager fans await!
That’s a huge job, Mike, and I wish you the best with it. At the end may you find the perfect writing nook, although that recliner doesn’t sound too bad. In New England, we are supposed to be getting clobbered with a snow storm, so I’m going to take the pictures then!
Your shed sounds wonderful, Liz. I am a believer in cosmic energy and your reaction to the corporate vibe intruding into your workspace made sense to me. Things got re-arranged. Sacred space becomes sacred over time with continuous occupation. IMHO, even a well-worn trail from favorite spot to favorite spot can create a kind of magical path. I loved reading this. I too, shouted YES a few times!!
I’m glad it resonated with you, Susan! It really did feel like a different space, even though the furniture, lighting, etc.. was the exact same. The shed doesn’t exactly feel like ‘home’ yet either, but I’m working on it!
*sigh* This post hit home. I have a She-Shed built specifically for writing, because hubby assumed I couldn’t hear him when he’d yell at the TV for a dumb play by one of the Diamondbacks or the dog (who’s basically deaf). I told him he’d better be bleeding from a main artery or the house on fire if he disturbed me! I wrote three novels there, but we are picking up and moving to a new home where sheds are not allowed. House has a den…but it’s IN. THE. HOUSE. Life throws curve-balls at us sometimes, and perhaps I’ll get used to the new writing space, but I will miss my She-Shed terribly. If my next book is based on a psycho writer….you’ll know why!
That sounds like a winning book plot, Susan! And I so hear you on the extra noise — or rather, I don’t, because I now have noise-cancelling headphones that make a HUGE difference when it is too cold to go to the shed. Hoping the new den is soundproofed!
I’ve written here, there, and everywhere. I am always carving out a space for myself in the shape of my desk. However, I recently became an empty-nester, and I acquired a tiny cottage all of my own.The roses climbing outside my windows are already an inspiration.
I feel hope and joy. Especially after the last few weeks where members of my family and myself all had Covid (we’re all testing negative now, thanks be) and beginning the journey to recover mentally and physically. I’m healing, and my desk is arriving this weekend. I’m semi-eager to start engaging with the half-whispers of stories seeking me out, but I’ve promised myself to take a deep breath, meditate on all I’m grateful for, and begin again with my new POV.
Congrats on Darling Girl! I preordered it this morning, and I’m looking forward to the read. I know it will be an inspiration.
Bernadette, that cottage sounds AMAZING and I will look for pictures of it on Instagram and FB. I’m glad you are healing, and dthank you so much for ordering DARLING GIRL!!!!
Such a great post. I’ve been fortunate to have a room of my own for over twenty years, since we moved into this house from a tiny cramped condominium. I shouldn’t complain but oh to have more natural light. It was quieter during the years before my husband’s retirement and the daily “where do we keep?” or “do we have any?” questions. Right before the pandemic I painted it a deep shade of purple. They’re a welcome relief for my eyes when words do not come. The view? Not so much as I look out at the cars sitting in my driveway, usually going nowhere since the pandemic and my daughter joining the work from home crowd. I would say that has changed the most as I’ve gone from being alone with my cats to having everyone here every day. Still I’m blessed with a door I can close and that sure has helped my productivity.
I hear you, Christina. Everyone was home here too for a long time, and there was definitely an adjustment period for everyone, particularly me (and the dog). Was weird to feel the energy of the house change when I was used to roaming around in silence. Doors make a huge difference, and I wish you lots of writing time behind yours!
Liz, wow, I’m glad that husband of yours helped with the refurbishing, because you made a considerable concession to him in offering your office–he needs to give you chocolate and flowers at least once a month in perpetuity.
I am lucky in that my office is a ’66 Airstream trailer, fixed in place out in the yard. It’s been refurbished too, and it’s great for napping, daydreaming and watching all the different creatures—deer, coyote, bobcats, birds, cats—in the surrounding fields. Oh, sometimes I even write in there.
Tom, your office sounds AMAZING. I think I need pictures! And I’ll pass along your suggestion to my husband, although he’s pretty good about that stuff in general — he’s definitely a keeper.
I love this post. When we first moved into our house 16 years ago, I started working from home (this was before I was writing). I’ll spare you the long version of the story and simply say that my office ended up as a joint office (which basically meant that I worked there and my husband and son piled junk on their desks). I was convinced we needed to move to get my own space. But some creative room swapping and hair-raising furniture movement gave me my own office in the smallest non-bathroom room of our house. With a door that closes. And it has made all the difference in my happiness.
I hear you Erin. Even when I HAD an office in the house, parts of it became a catch-all for random stuff — medical files, children’s school records, etc.. Another advantage of the shed is that it is just a little too far for people to visit and leave their stuff!
Liz, I was so delighted to read about your writing shed. Truly, the universe offers exactly what you need when you need it. You paint a lovely picture of writing with your children–isn’t it amazing how much writing we squeezed into those cracks? I wrote mostly at the kitchen counter, and then at night on the family computer. But once the children started school we’d moved into a larger home that had an office that I shared with my husband, and it was lovely to have all those hours of quiet and solitude.
We moved yet again (across the country to SC) but this time my office is all mine. I share it with the pets :) I wondered whether I’d have to give it up when my husband started working from home but luckily, the formal dining room with the chandelier was always a hobby/craft/expt room for our family and after the kids left for college, my husband took it over completely for his brewing and starts (baby plants) so we set up an extra desk for his work and he’s happy amongst all the living things. Also, I have a door to my office so I can close it if he gets too noisy with conference calls or music. I love my writing space because it has everything I need–a desk, chair, two big bookshelves for all my reference materials, beautiful pictures and quotes to inspire me. And blankets for my meow mews :) But I write and daydream just as much on my back porch, my second office :) I love the symphony of birds and squirrels and crickets.
Your house sounds so inviting, Vijaya, and I love the idea of your husband working among plants and you working on the porch surrounded by nature. And I remember those days of writing with young children with great longing, although I’m certain it was more hectic than I recall.
Oh wow, your space is amazing from what I can see. I have my own writing space, that is if I agree to let the cat in, she’s a big girl and lays all over my work space. I do some how manage to get some writing done. I’ve been working on my memoir and a few books, I just love my Lizzie though.
The shed isn’t big enough for my dog, and I miss him! He’s one of the reasons you’ll find me at the kitchen table some days. I completely understand!
Hi Liz,
Having been a writing nomad myself for so many years, I can relate to all of this. I also started writing fiction with a toddler and a newborn, stuffing words into afternoon naptimes and scribbling lines on scraps of paper. Now that my daughters are teenagers, they (sometimes) remember to wait if I am typing frantically to catch a sentence. Sometimes, they don’t interrupt the characters in my head, the conversations they can’t see happening.
In November, we moved to a new apartment and I have a separate writing space (with a door) for the first time ever. It’s a former porch, with huge windows on three sides in an old house with spotty heat. So, I also write with a space heater, sweaters, and even a heating pad (highly recommended!). My view includes a horse barn and paddocks, and a school and lots of dogs. It is a enormous privilege, and I am incredibly grateful. But the interruptions are still there, and that’s okay. I’ve got a lot of practice writing stories in my head, scribbling lines on paper, filling up the margins of a day with words.
This is lovely, Lisa, and your writing office sounds magical. Wishing you lots of uninterrupted writing time.
I write in the car when I’m waiting for my kids in car line & after school activities.
I remember doing that, Pam. At the time it felt like a stage of life that would last forever. My youngest is 17 and driving now and I am secretly. nostalgic for those days.
HI Liz, thank you for such a thoughtful post. I recently upended my home office and moved it upstairs to a room full of light and quiet..but not too quiet. It was my daughter’s nursery. Now she has fledged and her little nest has become my own. And it feels like a place where things can be born and grow,
Lindsey, that is a lovely sentiment. It is bittersweet — or at least it has been for me – when they grow up, and this is a very sweet way to look at it. Thank you.