You don’t need a dedicated writing room to be a writer.

You don’t need vintage bookshelves or a leather chair or a view of the sea.

But you do need somewhere that tells you—this is where the words live.

It might be a desk in the corner of your bedroom. A spot at the dining table after the dishes are done. A laptop perched on a pillow while the cat takes over half the couch. Wherever it is, that place becomes sacred by repetition. It becomes a writer’s space because writing happens there.

All of that said, if your life is such that you can have a dedicated space, it’s worth it. It lets you craft your own little haven, your nook of sanity. If you need to consider the ergonomics of it, you can get a good chair, the right height desk.

My space? It’s a desk, upstairs in an otherwise unused nook, with a keyboard I’m still learning to love. A shelf of writing books, both inspiration and reference.

My desk has a small cabinet that used to be my father’s, a helpful raven, satanic duck, an octopus paperweight, a stack of black index cards and white pens to write on them with. Last week: a new addition to my space. A pink neon sign (resting on a mounted Joy Division poster) that simply says:

Write

It’s not subtle. It’s not intended to be.

Sometimes, I need things to be not subtle.

For me, the best creative spaces are a little loud about their purpose. They remind me, even when I woke up too early and couldn’t go back to sleep, or it’s late and bed is calling but I have to get this idea out before it dissipates, that I’m here to make something.

That this space belongs to the part of you that believes in the story—even when the rest of you isn’t sure.

Make the space yours. Not for aesthetics. For permission.

So when you sit down, even for five minutes, the space whispers back:

Welcome home, writer.