The Writing Life
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie writing in Washington Post, remembers the desks where she learned to write
In 1997, I left home to attend college in America. When I returned four years later with the final page proofs of my first novel, my parents had put a desk in my room. It was square and sturdy, and I spread out my page proofs and edited and marked them there. Two years later, when I returned to work on my second novel, my parents had installed an air conditioner; the lights blinked when I turned it on. I transcribed interviews and edited old writing at the dining table or at my father's desk in the study, where new television satellite wires trailed under the door. But I wrote only in my room and, from time to time, I would look out at the veranda, where years of rain had stained the floor a dull gray.
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