I spent my weekend cleaning out my garage and storage room (and then recovering from the insane amount of physical labor that involved for my sedentary writer’s body). The storage room is two steps away from being my office.
As I took a shower, I planned how I was going to outfit the office to spur my creativity. My mind quickly turned to the subject of books. Which books will I put in the office, and which will I keep in the house?
Obviously, the copies of The Elements of Style and On Writing will move to the office, along with a few other writing and reference books. When I did a quick inventory, I realized I was missing the essential element from a woman writer’s book collection: A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf.
I read it in college–I don’t remember which class it was for or what lens we used when we read it. All I know is that I loved it, and I kick myself for selling that copy back when the term ended. I remember dreaming about Shakespeare’s Sister (and then getting so excited when I found the band Shakespeare’s Sister–who knew a former member of Bananarama was so literate). I remember thinking about the struggles Virginia Woolf faced as a woman writer. And I remember how Woolf’s exploration of the dearth of women writers helped coalesce my feminist tendencies into a philosophy that has guided my life.
I am proud to be following in the footsteps of the women writers who came before me, and I owe them all a tremendous debt. Thank you, Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Mary Shelley, Erica Jong, Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts, and all of the countless other women writers in our past and present.
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