A Place of My Own

It was Virginia Woolf who said, a woman should have a place of her own to write fiction in. I have several places I try to write in, but none my own. Read on.

I have two offices. One in my house that I share with my husband and the other one is my car. I spend as much time there as I do at home. I’m a taxi driver of sorts. I have two children. Need I say more? Since I’m Italian, I’m short. That means I have to sit close to the steering wheel to reach the pedals. Have you ever tried typing with your elbows under your arm pits? It’s like I’m tyrannosaurus author.

I’m not sure my office at home is much better. I have more arm room, thankfully, and a desk to spread out on, but I don’t like sharing the space when my husband is working at home. He gets on the phone and uses the speaker! Hello, sitting right next to you. Creative juices warming up here. I shove earbuds in, turn up the Pandora, and guess what? I can still hear him. And worse, the person he’s talking to. Sometimes its a conference call! I mean, really?

I’ve gone into the kitchen where it’s quieter, but instantly I’m loading the dishwasher. You should see me in action. I rearrange juice glasses like nobody’s business. I amaze myself. Who knew there was a talent in putting flatware into those little slots? You need your master’s degree to figure out the forks should go in tongs down as not to get caught on the bottom rack when it rolls out. Loading the dishwasher is an art form. 

Okay, I’ve ruled out three writing spaces so far. If the temperature is above 75 degrees, I can go outside, but I don’t live in Florida so that rules out most of the months of the year. I certainly can’t write in the bathroom. I know Stephen King locked himself in the bathroom to write when he first started out, but I’ll just want to clean. No windows in the basement. Another place off the list. What space is left? 


The kids’ bedrooms? I think not. My bedroom? Can you say, “nap?” Plus I share the bedroom. You see what’s happening here?

No place of my own. 


My children claim any room I’m in. Even while I’m writing this one of my children is trying to tell me something. I think I heard the words, “the book I read.” I’ll admit I’m trying to pretend I can’t hear. I think that’s a trick my mother still uses.

I wouldn’t know what to do with a place of my own. No socks on the floor, dishes in the sink, the sound of quiet echoing through the halls. You know, now that I think about it, do I even want a place of my own? 

Not on your life. 


11 thoughts on “A Place of My Own

  1. I write in the car too. Sometimes I move to the passenger seat due to the same steering wheel problems you shared. And sometimes I open the back of the Odyssey (or leave it closed if too cold), put the seats down and sit on a camping chair inside. When it’s warm, I set up my camping chair in the dance school parking lot. Yes, I do a lot of taxi service too. Moral of the story, keep a camping chair in your car at all times. It comes in handy. 🙂

    1. I love the camp chair idea! I have also sat in the back of my SUV, but not on a chair. Would you believe I never thought of sitting in the passenger’s seat? (Head slap!) Thanks for the tips, Kathy!!

  2. Hey Stacey (who looks as Jewish as I do): are you my sister from another mother? I drive really close to the steering wheel too–closer than MY mother who is SHORTER than I am, lol. I’m always reorganizing the dishwasher; makes for more efficient emptying, don’t you think? I don’t have a real space, and my hubby’s home all the time too. My biggest distraction, any day, every day. Sigh.

    And Kathy, I’ve done everything you’ve done in my car, not that I can sit in the back. I’m known for pulling out the camp chair at the skate park while boys are in and out of the car.

    Thoroughly enjoyed this post! Have a great day!

    1. It seems we are living parallel lives! (Let’s just stay out of the ER!) My mother has also been mistaken for being Jewish. Jews and Italians are all the same. I know because my husband is Jewish. Is yours?

      Why are you sitting closer to the steering wheel than your mother? My mother is shorter than I am and I have to move her seat back when I drive her car or my knees touch my nose. It’s the only time I feel tall. Well, then and when I stand next to my grandmother.

      I’m ignoring the dishwasher right now and headed back to edits.

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