Marilyn's Musings

It’s very small, measuring about three and a half feet by two feet. It’s generally clean, very well-lit, and contains things that are either useful or that make me happy. It is, of course, my desk. I think a lot about the concept of home. I was fortunate to have a stable, lovely home growing up, a house out of a fairytale, truly; but as an adult I’ve been somewhat peripatetic, living in a number of different places and different environments… I’ve not always even been sure what country is home, much less what community. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’ve grounded most of my fiction in a definite sense of place, why I’ve given my characters clear and generally beloved “homes.” They get something that’s eluded me. The one constant throughout all my adult life has been—you knew we’d get back to it!—my desk. I once answered an author questionnaire that asked where I write, and I felt a little at a loss. I’m not very exciting. Apart from some very bad self-absorbed p...