A Room Of Her Own

Virginia Woolf said “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction”.

Well, writing can be fitted around paid work, and I know several authors without offices, but it’s wonderful to have an office with a door that keeps out the real world. There are distractions enough inside my room. The original and very apt cartoon about a writer that my partner bought from a Bulletin artist back when he also did work for that publication.

The logo my second son designed for his rock band that a decade or so ago toured the world. Other family items. Souvenirs from my travels, too.

“The Ladies”, copies of paintings undertaken by Joseph Wright of Derby. The women therein helped inspire my historical romance, “The Heart Has Its Reasons”. Pictures and cards on a bulletin board. From my penfriend-since-childhood, Barbara (she also writes novels). From members of our HOGs critique group (of course, there are pig ornaments on one of the shelves, too). Reminders of past Romance Writers conferences, especially mugs with messages. “Finish the Damn Book” proved useful.

Rhonda, commenting on a previous blog, said: “You can tell what a person is like from the books on his shelves”. I like to think, in my case, it reveals someone who’s a polymath, but in reality it’s more likely a woman with a scatty mind. Yes, of course there are books. I’ve given away many and buy few these days. But somehow they’re still threatening to take over the office.