The romance and impossibility of a writing desk

A classic, torturous conundrum. Where and how do you physically write?

I rabidly consume *content* about people’s desks, especially if they are writers. I click on

Olivia Muenter

’s Desk Tour series as soon as I see it in my inbox. I think about the Instagram posts of New Yorker writer Rachel Syme’s magical, flower-filled desk regularly. Or about Danielle Steele’s absolutely epic setup.

I deeply envy those who have a beautiful home office, perfectly optimized and decorated for their writing practice. Or even those who have just a tiny dedicated writing desk in their tiny bedroom. Somewhere they sit every day, usually at the same time, and bang out thousands of words — or none at all, but are still able to take pleasure in the comfort of the ritual.

I am not one of those people. I always have a desk. But I sit at it rarely. Instead, its surface inevitably piles up with books, papers, various elements of stationery, a craft project I start and abandon. I can’t even sit at the desk to take a Zoom call because there’s nowhere to put my laptop. Instead, I sit or lie on the couch, in bed, on the deck/terrace/balcony, in a hammock, on the floor, alternating between at least 3 of these any given day.

Sometimes, I’ll make a table work, particularly if I’m not in my own house but at a coffee shop or a library and I have no way to clutter things up or distract myself (I do frequently send myself to a coffee shop or library specifically for this reason. Preferably the Center For Fiction in Brooklyn and the Rose Main Reading Room at the New York Public Library. Or Wrzenie Świata in Warsaw, a nonfiction bookstore WITH a coffee shop, the perfect place).

I know other people deal with this, too, but I can’t quite pinpoint the issue in order to solve it for myself (well, aside for a semi-diagnosed attention deficit situation). Sitting still is difficult, but sitting still in a chair for multiple hours — even if with breaks— with my feet on the ground is almost undoable. I’ve contemplated one of those spidery chairs specifically made for fidgeters, but they’re expensive and the reviews are mixed. Or the viral TikTok crisscross chair, but I am extremely averse to TikTok shop and therefore anything those influencers recommend. I’ve tried a standing desk, but I can’t focus on writing or research unless my body is wound up like a pretzel or prone. An extremely tempting idea is one of the Japanese legless seats that you plop on the ground, and that honestly might be my next move.

I’m not a complete heathen, crouched somewhere, my back broken from the worst imaginable ergonomics. And so, I do have some recommendations if you’re anything like me.

I adapt my writing location with a lap desk and this enormous Casper pillow, which is also amazing for reading. For many years now I’ve been using the ultra thin MOFT stand that’s permanently attached to the back of my laptop, and if you don’t have one yet, go do yourself a favor.

I do have some elements of a desk setup that I aspire to use: a pink keyboard with lil round keys and wireless pebble mouse (both Logitech), and I’ve recently bought myself the top inexpensive portable external monitor (shoutout to my former teammate Dave Gershgorn who writes reviews of these things at The Wirecutter and has the enviable title of “certified display calibrator through the Imaging Science Foundation!”). I feel like for book writing a setup like this might be key — because, like I mentioned in my last post, I must see as many elements of my story in front of me as possible. I just need to figure out... how to sit. I know: Multiple screens and an external keyboard and mouse for work? Groundbreaking.

I suspect the best type of workplace for my brain would be an austere one, optimized for my sitting quirks. But that’s neither my temperament nor my not my aesthetic. For instance, I subscribe to another newsletter that features people’s workspaces, but since many of them are extremely cool designers, their minimalist, streamlined setups do not speak to me at all.

Am I doomed to just be like this? I love it, but also my back and brain hurt

The aesthetic part of all of this is an annoying (and yes, very dumb) problem. My brain can’t handle spare and clean, perhaps unless it’s the puritan writing table of Emily Dickinson or Herman Melville with a beautiful window view, but it also can’t handle the clutter it helps create wherever I am. I hate how ugly the lap desk and pillow I use are. The legless office chair looks unsettling — although that’s perhaps to my American/European eye. Ergonomic and useful most of the time means ugly and unromantic, or achingly contemporary (or faux mid-century modern). Like comfortable shoes or bras.

I want flowers in vases and things pinned up on the wall. I need that giant cork board I wrote about last time to see everything laid out. I crave all my research books within reach, like an emotional support dog. I must have all my little stationery tidbits (or do I?) in front of me. I am absolutely a perpetual victim of the romanticize-your-life microtrend of the pandemic era.

At the same time, you won’t catch me yearning for a typewriter. I do sometimes wish I could write longhand more in my approx. 5-10 gorgeous notebooks, but I hold my pen in a death grip and I can’t sustain this for longer stretches. (Taking tips on this! And will write about my wrestling with longhand and notebooks more one day.) It’s my personal tragedy that I prefer writing on a laptop.

Three different desks of mine, three phases of what they look like 1) sort of orderly, clutter is sort of orderly (top left) 2) the clutter encroaches (bottom) 3) the final boss, in the background of an outfit selfie (top right)

Why do I have to be so twee?

I know the standard advice is that if something works for you, you should just write, and it really doesn’t matter when, how, and what it looks like. And that’s what I do, and have, for 12+ years. I just don’t think it totally works for my sanity. My lack of perfect setup doesn’t prevent me from writing, but I do think it often prevents me from experiencing the feeling of calm, ritual, routine, flow.

I think part of this is that I now can — mostly at least — devote myself to writing long (hooray for selling my book, sometimes I still can’t believe it!). This wasn’t as big of a deal when I was a daily news reporter, expected to churn out pieces day in and day out, and time for longer work had to be carved out here and there and fought for. It was fine for the newsroom reporter’s desk to be purely utilitarian. Efficiency was the name of the game. I’m still a reporter, but now, I guess, I’m also a writer? I think romanticizing your life is a part of the deal with this job. You kind of have to when you’re putting yourself through this agonizing process.

I’m moving shortly, and will be setting up my workspace — or aspirational workspace — all over again. I think my design approach will be “inviting regimentation.” How do you do this? Help?