Renée D. Bondy’s Writing Space

I wrote the short story “Döstädning” (TNQ 172) in my home office. The word ‘office’ makes the space sound more substantial than it is. Bigger than a closet, but smaller than a room, it’s more like a nook. The ceiling slopes, and if I stretch out my arms, I can easily touch the walls. My desk, two small bookcases, and a tropical houseplant fill it to capacity. If anyone needed to enter, I’d have to step out. 

I’ve grown fond of my tiny office over the years. I love everything about it: the coziness, the plum-coloured walls, the little window which looks into the crown of an old maple. It’s difficult to calculate the number of hours I’ve spent there, but if I were to measure in words, it would be about 13 essays, 15 magazine articles, 16 short stories, and a novel’s worth – plus the dozens of lectures and talks I wrote when teaching at the university. That’s a lot of words. And the beauty of it is that, cocooned in my office, I know I could write millions more. 

Here’s the thing: we’re moving. My partner and I made this decision together, and from the start I knew it was right. Our new house is in the same city, not so far from our current home. It’s bigger, with a better floorplan and a modern kitchen. However (and I think you know where this is going), I will have to adapt to a new office. We haven’t moved yet, but each time I visit the new place, I stand in the room that will be my office and try to imagine writing there. It’s spacious and airy, with high ceilings and bright corner windows. I’ll have room for a larger desk, more bookcases, even a reading chair or two. I know I should be thrilled. But the thought of writing in this unfamiliar space is unsettling. Will I find my comfort zone, my flow, my words there?  

It probably sounds like I’m prone to magical thinking, as though my old office has the transformational power of Superman’s phonebooth. I know that entering an office is not the same as passing through a wardrobe or falling down a rabbit hole. But it is a portal, at least for me. It’s a place where, word after word, sentence after sentence, wholly new ideas emerge and grow. I believe there is something akin to magic in that, something I hope to conjure in my new office.