On Writing

Memories of the Craft from... and About... My Desks

Becoming a writer was synonymous with my very first writing desk.

Anytime I’m asked about when I started writing, my memories flit back to when I was four years old, and my grandfather salvaged an old school desk from the neighborhood elementary school. Nankipooh Elementary, the same school my Daddy and Uncle Les attended from Kindergarten to sixth grade, was within walking distance from their home. When the building ceased functioning in the late ‘70s, the School Board parceled off the furniture, and Granddaddy came home with the little desk pictured above. This photo was taken Christmas of 1980. I had just turned four on December 1 and woke to my very first desk stocked with pop-up and coloring books, crayons, markers, and pencils. I remember sliding onto the wooden seat and opening my favorite of the coloring books, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Although I couldn’t yet read, I pointed to the lined images as I colored them in, sharing Snow White’s story the way I’d remembered my Gran reading it to me.

That little wooden desk was the start of many desks to come, and today I’d like to share my memories of and about the myriad of ways in which the writer’s desk has served my craft.

The Christmas I turned eight, my grandparents sent me a brand new bedroom suit. My Granddaddy passed in March of ’83 and a year later Gran remarried. My Granddaddy Don had been her high school sweetheart and the two reconnected after she’d received a card of condolences when Don had heard of my grandfather’s passing. Granddaddy Don was a character of a man, so much so that I wrote him into my duology The Scars We Choose. If you’ve read the books, you’ll know Roger Rose, owner of Jolly Rogers, the beachside restaurant built by pirates and hippies. My Granddaddy Don was his muse.

By fall of 1984, my father had moved us to Montgomery, Alabama, for a new job he’d taken. Around Christmas that year I woke one morning to a van delivering new bedroom furniture. If you were a kid of the ‘70s and/or ‘80s, you’ll know the style: creamy white with gold trim and ornate brass pulls. Although the set included, gasp, a canopy bed with Strawberry Shortcake bedding and curtains, my favorite piece was my brand new writing desk. I’m pictured here sitting before it. Gran had also sent the collection of literary classics you can see perched between my TV and my crayon carousel— Black Beauty, Little Women, and Treasure Island were among the titles.

The summer after my new desk arrived, my mother took me to the Sanrio store at the local mall where she bought me my first diary—a primary colored Hello Kitty diary I still have to this very day. Sadly, I no longer have my white writing desk—I don’t remember what happened to it, probably lost in a move—but every time I think of it, I’m reminded of when I first started journaling. Since that day back in the summer of 1985, I have kept a diary and/or journal, and sometimes several at once. From lockable, secret-keeping diaries to journals with specific themes—art, birdwatching, dreams, gratitude, reading, and tarot—I have been capturing my thoughts and memories on their pages for almost four decades.

Many of you know the story around how and when I wrote my first and second novels, The Decembers (now out of print) and The Scars We Choose (Book One). My husband, sons, and I moved to Florida in the summer of 2013. Our home was on a lake not even one mile from the Gulf. I would wake every morning and have my coffee on the dock, listening to the sounds of tiny fish kissing the water’s surface, watching gulls and pelicans plunging from the sky and making a briny breakfast out of them. The ideas for my first two books came to me while we lived there, and pictured here is my PawPaw’s desk where I sat to write them. PawPaw was my maternal grandfather. A prolific writer and communicator, he’d been a Pentecostal pastor his entire adult life, so when I inherited his desk, you can imagine the stacks of sermons and other notes I was delighted to find.

After living 16 years with Alzheimer’s disease, PawPaw passed in December 2004. Although I’ve since transitioned to a different writing desk, his rolltop desk sits here in my office, now an altar of writing supplies and childhood memories.

I’m a magpie, through and through, and my wayward Sagittarius spirit has kept me wandering through life, collecting doodads and whatnots, and attaching memories to them along the way. Bless Shederal, Jalan, and Devan’s hearts. They’ve always been such sports. We’d settle for a few years and then either a wild hair or circumstances beyond my control would have me packing up my ephemeral hoard and schlepping it to our next destination. PawPaw’s desk has traveled with me for several years. When Shederal, Jalan, Devan, and I returned to Georgia from Florida so I could become caregiver for my Gran, I brought PawPaw’s desk back with me. At the time, we’d moved into a house that didn’t offer me a writing space, so I tucked the desk into a corner of my dining room. Those years after leaving Florida and the subsequent struggle of providing care for my grandmother had been emotionally taxing. It didn’t help matters that I had moved from my dream Muggle job to working for a boss I absolutely hated. I drank a lot. A LOT. But even more than searching for happiness at the bottom of bottles, I escaped through writing. From 2016 to 2018 I sat in the corner of that dining room and wrote A Bright Light, The Missing Lamb, The Heartbreak Bucket List, and Searching for Signs.

When I was finally able to escape from under the rule of that horrible boss—and it was quite literally an escape, but that’s a story for another day—and moved into a new role at my Muggle job (which I adore), we packed up and moved into a new home. The place was full of light and life. The birds, squirrels, neighborhood cats, owls, and other critters who visited my back porch were a delight, and I shoved my writing desk in front of my new office’s wall-size window where both my writing and I thrived. I got sober in front of that window, started my business in front of that window, and there I wrote Always Remember November, The Scars We Choose (Book Two), the back story that accompanies it, and Only the Rocks That Float. Because we lived in that home during “the pandemic years,” that window is where I also started penning my first nonfiction book, which I just finished earlier this year and is being published by La Panthère Studio next year!

Today, both my office and my desk have evolved. Ever the magpie maximalist, I’ve arranged three writing desks into a U formation, a nod to MegaDesk for all you fellow fans of The Office, and my current critter friends and I have never been happier. I’ve painted my walls the perfect shade of haint blue, I’ve grown my business, and most importantly, I’m continuing to make healthy changes to become the best possible Mandy I can be. Here, at this desk, is where I’ve started my new fiction series. Who knows how long we’ll stay here? When the winds of change come howling, my restless spirit will most likely listen. Speaking of, before posting this photo on Instagram yesterday, a haiku bubbled to the surface:

Sagittarius

is my spirit, encumbered

by my magpie heart

My fellow writers, if you don’t already have a copy of Stephen King’s memoir, On Writing, I highly recommend it! If you’ve enjoyed this peek into my own writing practice and desks, then you are sure to enjoy Uncle Stevie’s memories of the craft.

As always, THANK YOU for your support of my creative dreams.

In friendship and love,

Mandy

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In her more than thirty years as a storyteller and visual designer, Amanda “Mandy” Hughes has written and designed over a dozen works of literary, Southern Gothic, and women’s fiction under pen names A. Lee Hughes and Mandy Lee.

Mandy is the founder of Haint Blue Creative^®, a space for readers and storytellers to explore, learn, and create. She holds a Bachelor and Master of Science in Psychology, and she has worked as an instructional designer for nearly twenty years.

When she’s not writing, Mandy enjoys the movies, theater, music, traveling, nature walks, birdwatching, and binging The Office. She is a tarot enthusiast who uses the cards to enhance creativity and foster wellness. She lives in Georgia with her husband and four sons, two of whom are furrier than the others (but not by much). Visit her website at haintbluecreative.com and follow her on Instagram @haintbluecreative.