measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My nook Although the apartment is barely put together, I've already figured out my little corner of the universe: a big old rolltop desk set up at the crossroads of the apartment, thanks to [erich]. I finally have a place to sit down and write. And I'm psyched about it. Not so much about being able to finally sift through the literal boxes (yes, plural) of penpal letters and related items that are currently dwelling in our Stoughton storage shed, but because I finally will have a place where I can do more work on my Book of Moons (Shadows). Other than typed pages, I haven't had a comfortable, semi-private place to work on it since I moved out of Egremont in 1999. My poor Book of Moons has been damaged over the years, first by spilled purification water, and then by spilled lilac oil, which now makes the thing sometimes frustrating to use, since the palms of my hands will be overpowered by artificial lilac scent for up to 24 hours afterward. The pages have smeared a little, and the writing, while done in 1997 to simulate fancy arcane script, is frustratingly difficult to read by candlelight. It's time to recopy and expand my Book of Moons. I need a comfortable, wide desk to do that, so I can have two 8.5x11 books open on its top at the same time. The rolltop desk is one of those objects which I just get all giddy about. I've always wanted one-- my father has one in his den, and I loved sitting at it to write my letters during the summer as a child, while he was away at work. My dad's desk is a larger version of the one in our apartment-- Dad's has the hinged hideaway for a typewriter underneath the main desk surface (where he has hidden a still working 1920's era beautiful black typewriter-- one of those objects I hope to inherit someday). I think rolltop desks are one of those bygone era pieces, now outdated due to computers (but might find revival if laptops continue to become more affordable) and their bulky inability to sit on the desk's surface. I've always thought they were a strong artistic piece of sophistication-- they're not cheap pieces, and not exactly easy to port from place to place, either. Their bulk alone suggests establishment to me. I also always think of a non-descript scene from one of the old romantic-in-their-vintageness investigative crime novels: the frantic writer, illuminated by a dusty yellow lightbulb, chain-smoking cigarettes as they type away on an old typewriter to find that perfect story lead, continuing to chuck crumpled pages with discarded ideas into various corners of the room. I always picture them sitting at one of these rolltop desks for some reason. So my little nook is that romantic dream getaway for the writer. In my own apartment. I feel blessed. 1:35 a.m. - 10 September 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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