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Famous novelist simulates grad school apartment in fancy home

Today’s NY Times simply delighted me to no end. I love reading about the introverted, Bohemian ways of writers who’ve been well-off a long chunk of their lives. “The assumption is that writers can write wherever they can sit down,” Roxana Robinson, wife of a retired banker, said. “But the main thing you need as a writer is a sense of certainty that you won’t be interrupted.”

I know what she means. It’s been so nice to have a place where no babies are crying in my neighbors’ apartments, no rock bands or packs of wild dogs upstairs. But, really, what a writer needs is an apartment not over-run by roaches, like one of my last places in Columbia. Seriously, waking up with a roach in your bed – finding five of them in the bathroom any given trip – has a negative effect on your process. Not to mention the fifty bucks you spend on RAID and fumigation bombs eats well into your paper and ink cartridge budget.

Here’s a description of her writing space:

Ms. Robinson, whose home is an 11-story apartment house on East 68th Street near Park Avenue, writes in an 8-by-10 space that faces a tan brick wall and was formerly a maid’s room. In décor and design, it is as spare as a monk’s cell. The spartan furnishings include a brown wooden chair, a small white bureau, an old-fashioned metal radiator with peeling gray paint and a cotton rug. A white coverlet lies atop a twin bed. The first thing in the morning, after having her coffee but before speaking to anyone, Ms. Robinson retreats to this room, sits cross-legged on the bed, places her laptop on her knees, and writes for several hours.

That strikes me as very similar to the kind of cheap apartment a grad student holes up in. She could’ve saved herself a lot of money by moving into a one-bedroom apartment here in Greensboro. Hey, Robinson, come live with me. Why have one Spartan room? Your whole place can be as spare as a monk’s cell! We’ll split the rent even-steven.