10/11/2026
I only meant to tidy up an awkward corner. That turned into a whole thing (because of course it did)… and ended with an antique typewriter bolted to the wall.
My upstairs bedroom has a narrow dormer alcove - an architectural oddity too awkward for most conventional furniture, but just right for my century-old spinet desk. I’ve always loved finding opportunities to turn something unusual into a thing of beauty, and this awkward nook seemed like the perfect space to transform into a little refuge for journaling, letter writing, and the pleasure of putting pen to paper.
If you know me, you know I’m a collector, an archivist, and an incurable logophile. I’m drawn to things that bear evidence of a life already lived: worn gilding, frayed bindings, weathered pages, curious bits of antique hardware. I’m just as enamored of what they once were as I am of what they might become.
And I’ve never been particularly interested in keeping art politely confined to its frame.
So I went rummaging through years of accumulated treasures, rediscovering forgotten favorites along the way. An antique folding typewriter, tattered books, and a peculiar assortment of brass hands found unexpected new purposes here. Even the writing instruments became part of the artwork.
One favorite discovery was a 1945 copy of The Way of the Storyteller, opened to a passage comparing words to the colors on a painter’s palette. I can’t imagine anything more fitting above a writing desk.
And the loveliest part? This is the view from my bed - the first thing I see when I open my eyes each morning. An overlooked corner has become a quiet homage to words, imagination, and objects with stories to tell.
Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with my bedroom all over again. And now, surrounded by objects whispering their stories, I have a beautiful little place to write a few of my own.
May your Sunday leave room for a little ink, a little wonder, and a space that’s entirely your own. 🖋️
