A Room of One's Own
Baby Girl moved into Oldest Daughter's former bedroom last night. (Oldest is getting a soon-to-be-redecorated guestroom for when she comes home, complete with her Audrey Hepburn Breakfast at Tiffany's poster.) Let me compare Oldest's room to Baby Girl's for just a moment.
Remember. It is the same room.
When Oldest lived in her room, you would not know that it was carpeted. Rather, you would have thought it was carpeted by clothes in some avant-garde new home decorating system. You would have been hard-pressed to know what the top of her dresser looked like. The closet spilled out to the room in some sort of hostile takeover . . . and remnants of meals were scattered in bowls, cups, wine glasses, and take-out boxes--you might be lucky enough to find a spoon in amongst the laundry, should you have needed one. This was a constant sore point between Oldest and me. My housekeepers, I am sure, muttered many Spanish cursewords under their breath at her. But . . . I love Oldest JUST the way she is. So . . . you know . . . it is what it is. Now it's her room-mate's problem.
Baby Girl has now taken over the room. Not so much as a pen is out of place. Her clothes are neatly folded in drawers--even her socks line up. It lis serene and looks fabulous. She has plans for a mural. She's growing into this room of her own.
If you have never read A Room of One's Own, it's something worth checking out as a writer, particularly as a woman, and even if you DON'T write . . . it's a great piece. I wish I could say I could write anywhere, anytime. In fact, though the stories run through my head constantly, I seem to require a room of my own to write. My office is in a central room with kids running through it all day long. This is my room, but it's not entirely my own. Nonetheless, I cope with that . . . and carve out a mental place. I have my Buddha statues, my lucky clock, my pictures of my grandmother. I look at my children's pictures, pull out pens from ceramic mugs the kids made me in art class. I have my iPod. But for me, maybe because I am a woman and a mom of four, the rest of the house needs to have some SEMBLANCE of cleanliness in order for me to feel settled enough to write. Unfortunately, my Significant Other doesn't "get" that--doesn't even try. So it's a chronic battle to carve out "my room." I cannot tell you the sight that greeted me in the kitchen after 26 hours of driving in two days. Cannot even BEGIN. So . . . today, after church, after driving to the food bank, after coming home, I will clean . . . I will play music . . . and I will carve out that room. It's as much MENTAL as physical.
I have come to believe Virginia Woolf wasn't far off. We each require something, I bet, that creates our room. What is yours?
Remember. It is the same room.
When Oldest lived in her room, you would not know that it was carpeted. Rather, you would have thought it was carpeted by clothes in some avant-garde new home decorating system. You would have been hard-pressed to know what the top of her dresser looked like. The closet spilled out to the room in some sort of hostile takeover . . . and remnants of meals were scattered in bowls, cups, wine glasses, and take-out boxes--you might be lucky enough to find a spoon in amongst the laundry, should you have needed one. This was a constant sore point between Oldest and me. My housekeepers, I am sure, muttered many Spanish cursewords under their breath at her. But . . . I love Oldest JUST the way she is. So . . . you know . . . it is what it is. Now it's her room-mate's problem.
Baby Girl has now taken over the room. Not so much as a pen is out of place. Her clothes are neatly folded in drawers--even her socks line up. It lis serene and looks fabulous. She has plans for a mural. She's growing into this room of her own.
If you have never read A Room of One's Own, it's something worth checking out as a writer, particularly as a woman, and even if you DON'T write . . . it's a great piece. I wish I could say I could write anywhere, anytime. In fact, though the stories run through my head constantly, I seem to require a room of my own to write. My office is in a central room with kids running through it all day long. This is my room, but it's not entirely my own. Nonetheless, I cope with that . . . and carve out a mental place. I have my Buddha statues, my lucky clock, my pictures of my grandmother. I look at my children's pictures, pull out pens from ceramic mugs the kids made me in art class. I have my iPod. But for me, maybe because I am a woman and a mom of four, the rest of the house needs to have some SEMBLANCE of cleanliness in order for me to feel settled enough to write. Unfortunately, my Significant Other doesn't "get" that--doesn't even try. So it's a chronic battle to carve out "my room." I cannot tell you the sight that greeted me in the kitchen after 26 hours of driving in two days. Cannot even BEGIN. So . . . today, after church, after driving to the food bank, after coming home, I will clean . . . I will play music . . . and I will carve out that room. It's as much MENTAL as physical.
I have come to believe Virginia Woolf wasn't far off. We each require something, I bet, that creates our room. What is yours?
Labels: Virginia Woolf
posted by Erica Orloff at 8:54 AM
28 Comments:
I've pretty much always had a room of my own to write in. At least since our 2nd apartment (the first was a one-bedroom and I worked at the kitchen table). In the 2nd apt., Before Kids (BK), I took over the 2nd bedroom as an office. Then our first house, BK, the tiny room off the kitchen. When we had Ian, it still worked out.
And our current house, miracle of miracles, when we walked in and saw the kitchen, I knew my wife would want this house--huge, oak cupboards, island, pantry. Then we walked down into the basement--partially finished with 2 rooms, one with a full bathroom and a walk-in closet. Not only did it have a room for an office for me (a big one), it had another room in it.
So although with a laptop I have worked in the living room on the couch and in motel rooms (poorly) and at airports and on vacations at various places, I very much need an office of my own. I don't wall the family off, the door is always open. (I just wish it were warmer in the winter).
My room of my own, like yours Erica, is right in the thick of it all. I have begun to feng shui the living room a bit, so there is a better vibe to it. It's not a very used room, until now. We have a family room that's busy, busy, busy...and busy crowded bedrooms, but the living room is between them and is the neat, clean, expensively decorated off-limits area. Until now. For a few months I'd been thinking how silly it is that the most gorgeous room in the house is for COMPANY. Huge bay window, stone wall, fireplace, Stickley furniture. Um, no. I moved myself in, with a view of the entrance (feng shui) and the fireplace and the window. It's a beautiful space unencumbered by laundry or an unmade bed or a television -- like my corner was in my bedroom. Plus, it makes me accessible -- even when I'm not. I have candles and photos of my grandparents, parents and children around me. Oh, yea, and three dogs and two actual (not in photographs) teenagers. Such is life. And a good one at that. :)
(It's not shabby chic, but I do love it) ;)
I have a finished attic to myself. It gets hot in the summer, but that's a small price to pay for a kingdom of my own. If anyone so much as adjusts a pen on my desk he learns the definition of "attic rage."
I was beginning to feel like a prisoner to "my room" since it was the only place I thought I could write. So, in June, when I wanted to go on a trip with my husband but was also facing a looming deadline, I bought a laptop, and just went, determined to write in the hotel room for a set number of hours each day--and---it worked! I felt released! And the stuff I wrote wasn't all crap! And even though I'm most comfortable in my room (and yes, it, along with the rest of the house MUST be in order!), it's nice to know it's not really the place where the ideas are born!
I used to have a desk and computer in my bedroom when the girls were younger. Then, we moved to our little log home, and we gained two spare rooms. I put my desk in one of those, and shared it with guests whenever they popped in. The other was a playroom for the grandkids, and finally I claimed the one upstairs. It occured to me that it was perfect for me, and necessary. I still travel with my laptop from room to room, but I know where my little nook is when I want it.
And, now it's airbeds on the floor during family visits. The grandkids have a room to romp, and I have my office. It's all good. And I can work in an unorganized house. I don't like it, but I can do it. Sometimes there's only time to write, and whatever else gets done is the gravy.
I have had my own study in most of our houses. My current one is on the main floor close to the kitchen and our bedroom so I don't have to move far between rooms, which is a blessing as our house is large.
I have a big, smokey glass desk, an armchair, which can be a problem because people settle in for the long haul, and two invaluable tall, narrow sets of teak drawers which act as my filing system. They keep my room tidy and organised. I confess I also have a TV. I have bunches of flowers all about and great paintings on the walls including one done by my son. On my desk I have all my travelling souvenirs - one thing from each country. My cleaning lady loves dusting my desk. LOL.
Good luck with the cleaning. I know it can be hard to concentrate on other things when the house is a mess. As for my own room, I wish. Instead, I've pretty much adopted the family room or living room, even the dining room table sometimes. If necessary I'll tell my husband not to disturb me and put on headphones just in case. Still, someday I'd like to have a writing space of my own.
I have no room of my own. Our house is too small and the office downstairs is too dark and cold for me so it is my husband's. Instead I write on the sofa - in my corner. It is my writing corner. But apparently when I'm not in it, everyone else wants to sit in it and I always have to kick them out!
Can't believe oldest is in college already, wow! Congrats to her! And I have similar personality differences in my house, except Oldest for me is very organized while the other two are messy enough to drive me bonkers!!!
Mark:
I would LOVE a basement--very cave-like for writing!!!
E
Hi Amy:
I like being able to hear them all . . . see what's going on. But there are times when I miss the ability to close the door and get away from it all.
E
Stephen:
"Attic rage" sounds very Norman Bates-like.
:-)
E
Alyson:
I actually work well on the road. But when I am home, I like my "space" here.
E
ladonna:
I didn't know you lived in a log home. How totally cool!
E
Suzanne:
You should post a picture of your workspace on your blog. It sounds really awesome.
E
Caryn:
Headphones with a Demon Baby would be a disaster. LOL!
E
ello:
Oldest Son is fairly tidy, too. I am determined to break the parental curse of their father who invented the word sloppy.
E
What's all this talk about a womb of one's own? If you're a woman, you have one. If you're a man, you don't. It's simple, really. You see, women have wombs (the scientific name being uterus), and men do not. If a MAN wants a womb of his own, well...
I have a certain table at Borders. I CAN be flexible and sit at Table Choice #2 or Choice #3, but other than that... And I love going to new Borders. Changing where I write shakes things loose.
But it's still gotta be a Borders. I'm thinking of trying to make a little place for myself in the basement. I'm not sure if I want to spend the money. (Granted, I'm just spending probably $100.) But still. How do I know I'll be able to write there?
Roseanne:
. . . never mind . . . .
:-)
E
spy:
I think if you carved a space for yourself, you could write there. BUT, for you . . . me . . . people who work from home, perhaps it's really healthy to get out there to write sometimes.
E
I would like to have a "room of my own" at some point, right now I write pretty much on the fly, in a few different locations. Though normally I'm at a computer desk in the living room.
Your story makes me think of me and my brother. Growing up I was always the messy kid and he was always the neat one.
Every time I give myself a space, a part of a room with a desk, laptop, paints and brushes its invaded. Its the spare room where everything is shoved when company comes. (I hate that they do this!) Its the place where the kid home from college stores her stuff until the new semester has begun. Its where the extra funiture settles after being expelled from other rooms, its where the treadmill landed when it was deemed in appropriate for other rooms. I'm a virgo. Clutter annoys me. >sigh< So most of the time I write on the couch, feet propped up, notes on the end table and I dream of a room of my own. One with a steel padlock.
My youngest dd has a clothes carpet too. I just close the door and let her find herself. Only yapping when it spills into the hall (which it often does!) I figure she needs a room of her own too.
:)
Zoe:
I lived in the basement as a kid/teen. So my world didn't really impact the "upstairs people." But one sister was neater than the other. Still is.
E
aimless:
I guess I feel that way about my room. It isn't MINE, all mine.
E
hehehe @ "the upstairs people"
This is one of the best parts of living alone. The whole house is at my disposal. Ahhhhhhh!
anti-wife:
Sometimes . . . that sounds like bliss.
E
I would just like to point out that Audrey Hepburn's apartment in Breakfast at Tiffany's was perfectly similar to how messy my room is.
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