Where Vanessa Hua Writes
It’s my childhood desk, which I began using again after my father passed away and we moved in with my mother.
I didn’t want to give up my view of the oak-studded hills behind our house, but when we went through the hassle of rotating my desk and moving it to another wall, the move felt transformative. With this new orientation, I felt focused and energized—in part because it forced me to clean up my desk, but also because I’d invested in myself.
We scavenged the fancy chair from my husband’s office, which cleared its space during the lockdown last year.
The other night, while visiting a friend’s creative writing class, I pedaled away while answering questions, the students none the wiser. It whirs almost silently as I finish edits on my next novel—the first one I wrote, but the third book that will be published, in the spring of next year.
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