Writing Wrongs

December 22, 2005

So I came home the other night to find that Bob wouldnít allow me (and the kids) up the stairs. Something was going on. Through the railing, I could just see a hint of my motherís day silk flower bouquet, in all its rainbow glory.

After some mysterious shuffling, Bob lets us walk up. Then what to my wondering eyes should appear? A brand new writing desk. Correction. A brand new, big ass writing desk. Okay, technically, itís an executive desk. Big ass. Executive. Same thing.



Football boy at the desk

See? Thatís a big desk. Thatís a real writer desk. Uh, I think I need a few book contracts to justify its existence in our house. And of course, I canít keep the kids away from it. Somehow the computer is more enticing on this desk. Go figure.

This is a solid desk. Itís expansive. I feel as though I can write good words here. Iíve been trying it out. Long hand, a few paragraphs on the computer last night.

Yes. I can write here.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 11:15 a.m.

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