She knew what she had to do, and yet she kept inventing other things to do first. She had created a writing corner for herself, after finding fault with all the other arrangements she´d tried before.
Yes, she did have a desk, but it was a computer desk, and it wasn´t adequate for writing by hand: it was too high, and full of other things like printers, files and cables. And for this kind of writing, she really preferred to write by hand.
She had a table, but it was a dining table. It was also a meeting table, where people gather to chat and to learn. It was an excellent table to spread papers around, but it wasn´t a good table to leave things on. It was too public.
She had even put together a traveling writing kit – a briefcase with all her writing materials, that she could take anywhere, work anywhere, and then put everything right back in. But it´d been like a month, and she´d never felt even remotely tempted to use it.
No, she wanted a proper desk, meant for writing by hand. And she wanted it in her bedroom, to keep her personal writing separate from her workspace, and all distractions it offered. Besides, she had just the perfect corner by the window, with a lovely view of the trees and of the horizon, and other things known for their poetic potential.