For the first year after we returned to Toronto, I was lucky enough to have a room of my own for writing. Our first apartment, a rambling, spacious three bedroom in a turn of the century building, allowed me to have the space I was accustomed to for my writing practice. The only downside was that it was a third floor walk-up, and after several months, I developed Achilles tendonitis and a persistent pain in my right knee. We acknowledged that our days of climbing three flights of stairs several times a day could not continue. We moved once again last year, but the new apartment, although more expensive, offers an elevator and is located within easy walking distance to trails, shops and the subway. However, it has only two bedrooms unlike the three in the old apartment. Ever optimistic, I thought we would have enough space for our work habits and ourselves. Once moved in, however, the realities of a smaller living space quickly became apparent. My husband and I had to figure out how to share the smaller bedroom for our workspaces.
Despite Virginia’s Woolf’s famous statement, that “A woman must have money and a room of her own,” it is neither a requirement nor may it be feasible, nor is it required. Hemingway wrote standing up; Ben Franklin apparently preferred the bathtub for writing, while Patti Smith wrote in a favorite coffee shop at a particular table. As a mother, Toni Morrison wrote in a little motel room when her children were small, yet Jane Austen wrote her novels amid her family life. (Poets & Writers, 2008) I was lucky, I suppose. My writing habit was honed in a room to myself with a window that looked out to treetops and a canyon–a far cry for what I encountered when we moved to our current Toronto apartment.
My writing practice took a nosedive. I sought refuge in the front room, but my once quiet and solitary morning routine was constantly interrupted by my husband, passing through the room to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast. “How’s the writing going?” He’d ask as he passed my chair. His question and the interruption only served to highlight how poorly my writing time was progressing. Frustration became a frequent theme of what was written in my notebook. I felt unsettled and irritable. Little wonder, I suppose, since I’d written in a “room of my own” for the better part of thirty years. How could I offer writing advice to the men and women participating in my groups if, in truth, I wasn’t writing as I had always done for so many years?
My husband came up with the solution, no doubt weary of my irritability and complaints about my writing–or lack of it. For the third or fourth time in a year, we rearranged the shared office space, and again, thanks to IKEA, created a little nook in the corner where there is a narrow floor to ceiling window. I found a comfortable chair that fits in the small space and happily resumed the early morning writing routine I’ve enjoyed for much of my life. Now I look through the window at the treetops and Toronto’s cityscape in the distance.
A little over a week ago, I led several sessions on journaling as part of the Camp Ooch/POGO (Pediatric Oncology Group of Ontario) “Life after Cancer” conference. While the writing I do with cancer patients and survivors has been in a group format, journaling had been a lifesaving practice for me after my first husband’s sudden death. I am well aware that writing alone also has similar health benefits as writing together, improving mood and quality of sleep, reducing fatigue and helping gain insight into personal struggles and emotions. During the workshops, we discussed the healing benefits of writing and the many different forms journaling can take, for example, the gratitude journal, an art journal, a writing journal (where you’re creating something like poetry or memoir), or dream journal, among others. While there is no one way to journal, however, you need a quiet place that is comfortable and private in order to write honestly and without interruption. I now knew too well how difficult it was to try to write without that sense of privacy.
Writing can be done anywhere, it’s true, but it needs to be done in a space that is free of interruptions and distractions. You can create that “sense” of a room of one’s own, as many writers have demonstrated in all kinds of spaces, a space you shape for yourself: one a bedroom corner, a nook in a shared office, a library, even a table at a coffee shop. Bonni Goldberg , author of Room to Write, a favorite little book of writing invitations, explains her book title as not necessarily about “a” room to write in, but rather, “creating room for your writing,” meaning you make time and space in your life to have room to write. “Making room in your life to write,” Goldberg adds, “generates even more room for your writing.” How you make that room is as unique to you as your writing is.
Writing can be an attempt to make a room where you can fully live, even if that room is imaginary, invisible to anyone who doesn’t bother to read your work.–Sandra Newman, author
You have to create and protect the space you need to write, whether your writing is a kind of meditation, a prayer, for healing or to nurture your creativity. Without a place free of interruptions and distractions, your ability to write freely and honestly–so important to all kinds of writing–is compromised. In reclaiming a “space of my own,” and my morning writing routine, I rediscovered the mental and emotional space needed to nurture my creative life. It is good to have a place, a nook, however imperfect or small, because it helps me ensure there is room in my daily life to write.
In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.—Virgina Woolf
Writing Suggestions:
- This week, think about how and why you write.
- Do you make room to write regularly? Do you have a favorite spot or a place of your own in which to write?
- What role does writing play in your life?
- How have you created a “room of your own” that lets you bask in quiet and solitude, even briefly.
- Write…about writing.