I’d suspect that most authors are in love with their offices, but my desk in particular, is my love. I don’t have a dedicated office. My writing space was tucked into a corner of my bedroom. Since Covid became a thing, it’s in a corner of my living room. We moved it when I began working my 9-5 job and schooling from home. We’re still doing both of those items part time.
I’d love to have a dedicated office space. I’ve got a Pinterest board a mile long of my dream office. A space I could go into and get lost in my writing. But to be completely honest, the last book I wrote was mostly written from the couch while Unsolved Mysteries reruns played on Hulu.
Nevertheless, back to my desk. I don’t write from her often but I still love her. Anyone who knows me personally, knows I love this hunk of furniture. Here is a quick biography of my desk.
I got her as a Christmas gift when I was a kid, sometime between ten and twelve. It’s my favorite Christmas gift, ever. My desk is a light colored, heavy-as-hell wood. She’s got two drawers on the left, two on the right and one skinny one in the center. As you can imagine now, she’s beat to hell, but still beautiful. Her drawers still smell like they did when I got her. That Christmas I got the desk, an electronic typewriter and a desk chair with wheels. I also got one of those old fashioned desk lamps, the one with the green glass lampshade that was about as heavy as the desk itself. I also got tons and tons of desk (office) supplies. Paperclips, organizers, stapler, tacks, paper, pens. I’m not kidding when I say that was my best Christmas ever.
My bedroom was roughly the size of a walk in closet. I had a twin bed, my hella awesome desk, a small TV stand and a wood cabinet for a closet. My Dad put my desk in front of my window. I set everything on it and was in heaven.
When I moved out when I was twenty, I left my desk at my parents house. At twenty I’d lost some of the admiration for my desk. I was much more interested in my boyfriend (which is okay, he’s now my husband). My desk stayed in my old room for seven years. Until I became pregnant.
Needing to empty our spare room / office to make way for a nursery, we ditched my husband’s huge desk and opted to bring home my small, more functional desk. I fell in love all over again. She was back with me.
We’ve moved from that house and she came with us. In our new house, my husband mainly used my desk to house our ancient desktop computer and I just picked up the laptop and parked it on the couch.
About three years ago I said NO MORE. I want her back. I want her to be mine and only mine. My husband bought himself a little Walmart desk and my girl was tucked into the corner of our bedroom to be wholly mine.
She’s pieces of wood barely hanging on but she’s held together with love and memories. I’ll never get rid of her. She’s the best. And she still smells good.