“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own



Since I don’t have much of the first, I spent the weekend making a room in which to write creative nonfiction.

One of the truly lovely things about sharing your life with someone is that, whenever a random thought pops into your mind, you can share it spontaneously in between the long spaces of companionable silence. If, however, you are wrestling to find just the right word and your beloved shares a popped thought at just that moment, the word vanishes into the ether, and trying to get it back is like trying to squish toothpaste back into the tube. So, after years of sharing a study, I have created this little corner in a freshly painted room, where I can gaze out at the trees … and close the door, if necessary, as I wrestle with the words. And, who knows? Maybe I’ll have a windfall some day. Stranger things have happened.

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