A desk of one's own

Virginia Woolf's writing advice, free book, things I love & a poem

Virgina Woolf wrote in 1929 that the things keeping women from writing were a lack of finances (500 pounds a year, to be exact) and a room with a closing door. It’s not really about the closing door, in particular. It’s more about the freedom, the time and space to think uninterrupted thoughts without worrying about keeping children alive or food on the table. In “A Room of One's Own” she reflects on why there are not more women writers. She is a writer, of course, but she is not a mother. That seems to be the sticking point. She counts out the amount of time that childbirth and childrearing takes away from women (9 months being pregnant, apparently only 4 months to “feed the baby” and then five years to “play with the baby”). This last calculation, she says, comes from the fact that “you cannot, it seems, let children run about the streets. People who have seen them running wild in Russia say the sight is not a pleasant one.” 

She concedes that Jane Austen wrote in a sitting room with no privacy, that Elisabeth Gaskell had children, but all of these women wrote novels, and it is impossible to sustain the concentration for poetry in the midst of the chaos of motherhood. 

I, of course, don’t have a closing door. In our tiny house on wheels, I write on the kitchen counter, at the kitchen table, up in our loft, and now, at a tiny desk my husband built for me at the end of the bed (which mostly serves to hold my tea while I continue to write from my laptop in my lap). A tiny house does not afford much space for closing doors. It does help provide the 500 pounds a year. The freedom of not paying rent allows for one to do things like drop out of paid work to try to write a book. 

It was really strange reading this essay almost one hundred years after the fact (which I somehow didn’t end up reading in college? But it feels like I should have read it??Someone let me down there). 

My children still cannot roam the streets. They do roam outside quite a bit, but as soon as I crack open the laptop, their “mommy must be working” sixth sense kicks in, and they come running inside to get me to fix their duplo towers, convince the someone to share, or accept endless cups of pretend tea cooked in their outdoor kitchen. 

I have things a bit better than women in Virginia's day, because I have paid childcare most mornings a week. I have modern appliances. I did nurse my baby for more than four months, though. And Virginia, not a mother herself, makes no mention of sleep deprivation. People forget this is an actual torture device, and yet mothers somehow survive this trauma for years. Virginia argues that one cannot “think well, love well, or sleep well if one has not dined well. The lamp in the spine does not light on beef and prunes”. However, if we are not to dine on frozen pizza (which is what I believe she meant to write when she said “beef and prunes”) someone has to cook it, and that someone is me. 

Before children, I had an amazing education, the opportunity to travel (all things Virginia thinks women need to develop their minds). Unlike women in Virginia’s day, my husband believes in sharing the housework and childcare load. Things have changed in 100 years. 

But some things haven’t. There’s still only 24 hours in a day. There’s still the emotional labour of keeping a family with children afloat. And while we have a washing machine, these household tasks still take time. There’s an idea that was presented to me, along with my sparkling BA degree -- I live in the 21st century, I can do whatever I want. 

So it was strange to find out that, no, no I cannot. In many ways, the workplace has progressed to a more welcoming place for women, just not to mothers. “You are welcome to join us,” society seems to say, “Just make sure you’ve sorted your life out so there are no children involved.” We have the brains and the ambition to do the job, just not the paid family leave and the time off to collect our kids from school and be the kind of involved parents we want to be.

Before children, I had room in my life for work and family and writing. After kids, I realised I had to pick two. Some people have enormous capacity to work, create, and parent. I do not. For a while I felt ashamed of myself, like I was letting down our feminist grandmothers by dropping out of the paid workforce. If other people can manage, why can’t I? And if I can truly only “pick two”, is it selfish to pick the writing, rather than the work? 

I wish I could conjure Virginia to ask. Get her blessing for typing poems distractedly on my phone while my children roam about the streets (or at least the park), while silencing the ghosts of other women telling me I should devote every second to my children. 

But I think, perhaps, Virginia doesn’t give blessings.  

I’m going to have to give myself permission instead.

---

Can I get your opinion (+ bribe you with a book?)

So, I’m obviously a newbie at this, and trying to figure out what I’d like this space to be. I want this newsletter to serve you! I’d love it if you could take my 3 minute survey (just 5 questions) and share your thoughts on the newsletter — what you’re enjoying, what you’d like to see more of, and what needs to go! If you enter your email at the end, you’ll stand a chance to win a Kindle version of the book Placemaker by Christie Purifoy.

---

Things I love:

For kids: This music education podcast has my three year old rhyming and clapping, and episodes are short.

Get Lit: This literary history podcast also has super short (like 20-30minute) dives into famous literary figures, which has been fun, and perfect for my research. Learn about Anne Bradstreet here!

Placemaker by Christie Purifoy. I’ve been quoting this book this whole month, and if you know me in real life, I have probably told you to purchase it! To be honest, I was not that compelled by the description, but as soon as I started reading I was drawn into her beautiful writing, and her bigger theme of cultivating beauty in the midst of transition, decay, and our human failings. She raises lots of questions about the intersection of beauty + justice. Basically, just read this book so we can talk about it!

Mamma Writes Poetry : I’ve really enjoyed following Elisabeth Mowers instagram account for poems that reflect the experiences of motherhood.

A correct tea mug: We’ve been on a coffee kick lately so it hasn’t bothered me until now, but littlest son broke all but one of our mugs that are good for tea. (For the uncivilized among us, you may not realise that tea needs to be drunk from mugs or cups with thin edges or it tastes wrong. Coffee can come from fat mugs, it’s fine). I bought a new one and I’m protecting it like Gollum and the ring.

This spoken word poem: I’m thrilled that Lindsay Wallace now has a newsletter you can sign up for. In her latest newsletter she has a spoken word poem: stray/ home/ dogs/ bullets that’s worth a listen. While it’s always good to listen and learn from people of color on issues of racism and injustice, sometimes as a white person it’s useful to get “caught up” on our education from other white folks. She is a good one to learn from.

---

Tiny House Update

My husband built us a new storage couch! I love it. I love the extra bookshelf. And I love that we got a new foam mattress out of the deal (so we could turn our old one into cushions). :)

Stuff I wrote…

You can read what I wrote about the voices that appear in my head when I sit down to write here, my poem on the anniversary of Breonna Taylor’s death here, and how I essentially accept or reject people based on their view of matching socks here. On the blog is my “getting quiet is not quitting” manifesto (basically how I’m trying to set up a rhythm for being on and off of social media consistently). I’m super interested to hear what other people do in this regard… shoot me an email! Give me your ideas!! :)

---

A Poem

A Psalm of Petition

What I’m asking, the thing I seek,

Is that you’d pitch a tent in my wilderness, please.

Not the solid, brooding stone of Elijah’s cave.

Not the haunting bird calls and thundering waterfalls

Of David’s wild places.

A space, a pause,

Just a tent.

And not the wilderness of solitude and temptation,

But the one in the midst of the brood of children

Demanding water and quail and peanut butter sandwiches.

That wilderness.

A fragile, fabric flap, which lets in the sounds

Of laughter and tears and questions

But is somehow strong enough to shield the peace.

Not high up, on some mighty, manly temple mount,

But here in my kitchen, or possibly the laundry room.

I want to know if you will make a table for me in the presence of--

If not my enemies, then at least my own children--

If my prayers for parking places, snotty noses

lost toys, lost patience

Are still precious.

If you will still meet me,

still make my face glow.

I want to know

If the apron flung over my head

Can become a tabernacle.

---

If you got this far- thanks for reading! It’s an honor to get to share my thoughts with you. Share them back! You can comment publicly on this email through the comment feature, or just hit “reply”and it will go straight to my inbox. And pass the email along if you think of someone who’d enjoy it. :)