a desk of my own

 One of my favorite reading assignments was A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. It’s a lecture originally given to the students at two women’s colleges in Cambridge and then published as a book in 1929. Woolf begins by explaining that she was asked to speak on the topic of “Women and Fiction.” Her answer to this assignment is to give her opinion of what a woman must have in order to become a writer. Her answer is now famous: a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write.

In 1929 Woolf had it out for a society that, as she saw it, prevented women from pursuing their creative interests especially writing. In 2010 one would say that our society has overcome many of those vices – “We’ve come a long way baby” and all that — right?

I won’t argue that there is a glass ceiling or a need for fellow suffragists to plan a march on the capital. But I do think that if you consider her argument it still resonates – at least in my house– today.

The money is needed to rent a room. The room is needed so that the writer has a quiet place in which to work. In the end Woolf’s argument is simply that a woman must contend with frequent interruptions because they are so often deprived of a room of their own in which to write. Without quiet, uninterrupted time they are not able to get anything done.

My own space is a desk in our family room – near the kitchen – where I am centrally located and best able to answer questions, get snacks, tie shoes, answer the phone, correct homework, hear the buzzer on the dryer, answer the front door, keep an eye on the kids outside, and help look for the missing soccer jerseys. Interruptions Ms. Woolf? Why I have no idea what you mean.

Last weekend when I voiced this concern to Tim – in not the most rational way – he looked at me and laughed. “When you decided you wanted four kids, where exactly did you think they would live?” he asked.

Okay, good point – but that still does not extinguish the desire to find a way to keep my family in balance, well-loved, and cared for while still pursuing my own interest in writing.  With a room of my own, away from all the commotion I  believe that I could really get a lot done.

On the other hand, that would open the door to a new question that perhaps Ms. Woolf had not considered. If I did find a quiet place away from the 8busyfeet – what would I ever find to write about?  Maybe someday I will have the chance to find that out, but for now I think I’ll have to settle for “a desk of my own” and a multitude of topic ideas constantly passing by.