The Writing Desk Novels & Stories

I couldn’t let my guard down. I ran a hand over the sleek mahogany desk, appreciating the smooth finish. My office was simple yet refined, just the way I liked it. Behind it sat my leather chair, comfortable enough to spend long hours in, but firm enough to keep me from getting too relaxed. My laptop, a few writing materials, and stacks of files lay neatly on the desk, waiting for my attention.

The space was just wide enough for me to shuffle in. Taking everything in, I decided start at the small desk that looked to have been made in the Civil War era. It was pushed up against the far wall, the one that backed to the hallway on the other side. It was worn, a bit weathered, and had a thick layer of dust. It had an opened storage shelf and a small, rickety stool. The small, wooden filing cabinet was pushed up against the wall to the left of the desk. Opting not to trust the stool, I knelt before the desk, deciding to look at the contents neatly placed inside the desk. There were several journals from the late madam. Leaving them on the desk, I turned to the filing cabinets. Unfortuna

And a pen please. He held up the board and I rode a brow. "Out of all the things in the world you chose paperwork? Jeez you're something else" he smiled and shrugged as he wiped his board clean. I walked to his office and went inside. It was huge with a ginormous mahogany desk and 3 shelves lined with books. There was a carpet, a white couch and fireplace with 2 huge Windows on the walls. I grabbed the folder off his desk when something caught my eye. There was a picture frame on his desk and I picked it up to look at it.

The walls are a warm cream color, adorned with tasteful pieces of art that reflect the personal style and taste of a pop music art lover. The centerpiece of the room is an oversized wooden desk, made of the finest cherry wood and polished to a golden high shine. It dominates the space, but not in an overbearing way. It exudes elegance and sophistication, just like the rest of the room. The comfortable leather chair sits behind it, backing us and facing the large window overlooking the city. On the walls surrounding me are bookshelves, filled with leather-bound books, some of them first editions, a testament to maybe the boss's love of literature and his dedication to lifelong learning. There

A comfortable chair sat behind the desk, with two visitor chairs opposite it. Off to one side was a small couch with a coffee table, the kind of place I'd imagined curling up with a manuscript whenever I needed a break from writing. It wasn't overly fancy. It was warm. Comfortable. Exactly the kind of office I'd caught myself daydreaming about on countless nights. Something stirred in my chest. For the briefest moment, my heart swelled with something I didn't dare put a name to. I shut it down almost instantly. No.

I am going to enjoy the peace of it myself. My desk was a huge red cherry wood. It had drawers on both sides, marble accents, and a paisley looking design around the edges. It was very similar to the one I had at my home office. The chair was huge and looked like it was going to be really comfortable to sit in, even though I was sure that I would be in my lab more than in here. There really was nothing that I could complain about. I may add some color to the room to give it a feminine touch, but other than that, I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Naomi said, effortlessly guiding me past Vivienne’s frozen form and leading me toward the enclosed desk at the head of the room. When we reached it, I couldn't help but let out a quiet breath of satisfaction. The setup was beautiful. A massive, sleek L-shaped mahogany desk sat positioned perfectly to catch the natural light filtering through the large windows. On it rested a brand new, dual monitor setup, an oversized digital drawing tablet, and a neatly organized tray of high end drafting pens.

They were the piece's beginning — the first emergence of the argument into language, the first time the thoughts that had been accumulating for seven months found their form on the page. The hotel room was the room they had chosen for its desk — Don had identified, in the pre-trip planning, that a piece of this complexity would require the writing during the trip rather than only after, and had asked Ernest to find a hotel with a desk of the right quality. Ernest had found it after reading reviews of seventeen hotels in Beyoğlu, cross-referencing the photographs of the rooms with the specific requirements Don had listed: solid construction (not the flimsy desks that wobbled when you wrote),

Typical Isabella. The desk is made of beautiful mahogany wood and the chair is leather and the windows overlook the bay. A fresh purple orchid sits in the corner of her desk beside a decanter of whiskey on a little tray with crystal glasses beside it. She even had a couch against the car wall. Isabella really took my words ‘make yourself at home and ran with it.’ She's made herself at home. Isabella is sitting cross-legged behind the desk with a cup of espresso in her hand.

It had heavy curtains on the windows framing them and there was perfect work embroidered in hues along the border-adding even further beauty to the place. On one side was a refined work station: a polished, even immaculate wooden work desk fitted with a comfortable chair. A notepad, pen, and a small welcome card with her name written in neat cursive rested on the desk. A coffee maker and a selection of teas were just beside it.