Don’t Write Alone | Where We Write

The Wet Desk

Smug behind my snug desk, working so far from New York, these many months gave me distance to write about catastrophe in the rest of the world.

This photograph shows a cute gray house floating in a wharf. It has window boxes and a bike sitting on its porch. Other various floating homes in oranges, blues, and browns, are behind it.
Photograph courtesy of the author

This photograph is a picture of an otter standing on a wet deck. It's peering over the edge of the deck at the water and a canoe
photograph courtesy of the author

s not going anywhere. Twenty feet from my desk hides my husband’s desk behind the bathroom wall, and in between is the kitchen/dining room/living area, flooded by light from the skylights above and what bounces off the water from the windows. Its six-hundred square feet is much cheaper than anything else with a view—and it doesn’t rock (too much). I’m also not distracted by having to mow the lawn.

This photograph shows a green desk with a laptop on top of it. To the left, we see a printer with rainboots piled underneath it. A mirror behind the desk reflects a comfy chair and a lamp further back in the room.
Photograph courtesy of the author

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