From time to time, Facebook asks me if I would like to remember certain images. This past week, they suggested this one:

This one hit me hard. Not only because I am still, and ever will be, salty over what the powers that be did to the couple pictured above. I will put my fingers in my ears and loudly “la-la-la” until whoever is discussing the season three finale or anything after that. Nope, nope, didn’t happen. Abbie and Crane are happily ever after-ing and I will take no questions.

The other reason is the desk. This desk and I have a history. Literally. It’s older than I am. I have drooled over it since I was two. Before that, I drooled on it. This is a secretary desk, with a writing surface that doubles as a door I can close on the day’s work. while the screen is in the way of most of them, there are cubbyholes. Oh so many cubbyholes. Places for papers and stickers and sticky notes and all sorts of stationery related objects. There are drawers beneath the surface and a cabinet below that. At first, I used the top shelf as a bookshelf, and later moved the monitor up there so I could get at the cubbyholes.

This desk is now in our storage unit, where we put it during that first move. I still miss it. I will bust it out one day. At the same time, I love the desk I put together with my own two hands and a little help from my friends (cue Beatles.) I am grateful I have it now. Ideally, I would have both, in an office big enough for the two of them. The current desk would be for my desktop and the secretary would be for planning and journalling and all things longhand.

Some of the things on it, I have, and some that I also have in storage. The journal on the desktop is by Paperblanks, That particular book is in — you guessed it— storage, but I have other journals in that brand, and my EDC planner, in pocket size. I am not sure which mugs survived the moves, but I have different pen storage options now. My gargoyle pencil cup is once again in service, accompanied by new friends like a Plague Doctor plushie and an ever-growing calico plushie army. I also learned what Delfonics pouches are, and, I would hope, a lot more about writing.

The purpose of my desk is the same; to write books, to blog, and also make pixel art (okay, that’s new) but it feels different. It’s been a while since I felt like Writer Anna, or like Writer Anna had a proper place to do her/my thing. I do, though. It’s weird. I should know a better word for that, but I don’t. At least not right now, which is fine.

Back in the before-before-before times, when we still lived in the Old Country, I remember sitting in a Panera, trying not to cry in public because I had finished A Heart Most Errant, then called Ravenwood. I’d spent all that time with John and Aline, and there they were, happy. Home. Not quite “finished,’ as they will be happily-ever-after-in on page in the rest of the Ravenwood (series) books, my first planned historical series. Now, I am getting them ready to be my first independently published novella. Will I cry when Richard and Cecilia reach their HEA? Probably. Will I also be exited to pivot to Guy and Katherine’s story? Very much so, and the same when it is time for Juliana’s (Cecilia’s daughter) story, with a hero who will most likely be named Maximilian. How did I come up with that name? He told me, and it’s historically plausible. That’s how it works.

It’s also how my relationship with my desks works. We’ve grown together. There will likely be a desk tour in the near future. I have shelves and drawers and fairy lights. I also have a 3-D printed rose gold skull that was originally a yarn bowl (I don’t knit, but Housemate does; it was a gift from her) but is now home to a calico plushie.

What’s on your desk?