When we moved into our house, we had two kids and four bedrooms. One bedroom for my husband and me, one bedroom for each child, and one bedroom for my office, aka my writing space. A few years later, we had three kids, and I had no more office.
I didn’t realize how much losing that writing space had affected my writing until recently, when I reclaimed a bedroom and began the process of making it my own personal writing place. As I boxed up the Legos (how did we end up with so many?) and other assorted items that had overtaken every spare inch of space over the years, I felt like a weight had been lifted. And no, it wasn’t the pounds of Legos I’d picked up.
It was the feeling of freedom, of having a room that was all my own to tend to the writing life I’d neglected over the years. As I transferred my laptop from the desk in the kitchen up to my new office, and then my other writing supplies that had been shoved into this drawer or that cabinet throughout other rooms in the house, my middle son came up with a name for my new writing space: The Lair. I didn’t know my office needed a name, but once Brian had given it one, I loved it. It fits.
Various dictionaries I consulted defined a lair as a “den or resting place, often of a wild animal” (although I don’t think of myself as a wild animal, I have been known to take a nap on occasion in my lair), “a hideout or hideaway,” “a secluded or hidden place,” and a “secret retreat or base of operations.” (That sounds so official!).
Like most people, I wear many hats — mother, wife, daughter, sister, writer, counselor, Starbucks barista — with multiple wardrobe changes throughout the day. It’s been hard to find time to wear the writing hat. But now that I’ve found a place to hang that hat, I think it will get a lot more wear.
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