A Room (or Shed or Café or Library) of One’s Own

On Friday March the 28th 1941, in Sussex, England, it’s a cold spring morning. Virginia Woolf sits in her small writing room, pen in hand, writing a letter to her husband, Leonard. She faces the large windows that look down over the Downs across to Mount Caburn, her wooden writing board lying across her knees. Rebuilt 20 years earlier out of an old timber toolshed, the room is positioned directly beneath a loft often used to sort freshly picked apples. It stands at the bottom of the garden and hugs the stone churchyard wall. Woolf calls this her writing lodge, and it is here that she writes the majority of her classic novels – titles like Mrs Dalloway, To the Lighthouse and Orlando. This is Woolf’s creative space. Continue reading “A Room (or Shed or Café or Library) of One’s Own”