Why Is A Raven Like A Writing Desk?

I’m not good a riddles, so I don’t know the answer (and Google says that it’s still debated as everything from an actual riddle with an actual answer to a joke with no real answer at all). But I do know, I FINALLY have a writing desk of my own.

I have a confession to make. I’ve written 63,763 words sitting on my bed. That’s right. Legs crossed child-like, back hunched, no forearm support. I tried writing at the kitchen table before, but something about writing a story so personal to me in a common area (even when my mom promises to leave me be) did not work out.

So I’ve been ‘in the market’ for a writing desk for a while. I kept saying that once the concerts were over and I’d saved some money, I’d finally go to Ikea and buy a desk and desk chair like a normal person actual writer. But if you know me at all, you likely know my mom, Lola Baisden. I’ve either mentioned her or you’ve met her in person. We’re pretty close (and yes, for the record, I do still live at home) and I know she’s always looking out for me. At the concert on Monday, I got over-heated and I think my blood-sugar dropped and she was right there, pouring water on me and cracking peanuts out of their shells because my dopey self got too weak to do it. She’s a good mom. And like a lot of moms out here in the country (seriously, we live in the middle of nowhere), she stops at garage sales a lot. And I know she’s been watching for a desk.

Well, yesterday, she finally found one. I was at work and she called to tell me she just sent me a picture of a desk (and my phone promptly dings in my ear – picture delivered, lol) that she found. I look at it. It’s hard to tell from a pic, but she’s already got the lady measuring it and telling me that it’s a solid desk, only a couple of ding marks. $20. Done.

And it’s perfect. I’ve worked a desk job for most of my adult life, so I know what I like in a desk. I like enough space to rest my arms on the desk in front of my laptop while I write. I like enough room on the desk to have stuff – books, pens, my sweet REDRUM mug from the actual Stanley Hotel (you bet your ass I stayed there!). I don’t need a lot of drawers, but a couple is good. And it fits all of those characteristics.

I know it’s just a cheap, used desk, but man, it feels like another writing milestone. I finally have a place – and not my freaking bed! – to finish this book. And maybe write more, who knows. And now – here’s the best part – since this desk was used and so cheap, I can justify spending a little more on a nice desk chair! Win-win!

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