When I read A Room of One’s Own, I thought about how much I took for granted. As an only child, I always had my own room. Each morning I would wake up and go to class. When I returned to my room, I would play some music in the background and study while munching on a snack. I always liked having my own time in this room with no outside distractions. There would be an inevitable distraction every once in a while, whether it is a knock on the door from my mother, or a reminder of an upcoming deadline.
However, despite these distractions, I would always have a few hours of complete silence. With my mother asleep and having no siblings, I value the few hours I decide to stay up a little late to have my own free time in complete silence. Woolf placed an emphasis on the importance of having one’s own room in being able to write fiction. I was always a struggling writer, but these silent hours always helped me think freely and put these thoughts on paper. Usually, it would just be a typical diary entry- but other times I would free write on things that lingered on my mind. A few years ago, I wasn’t sure if these random late night entries would serve any purposes but now I come to appreciate these random pieces of writing. Over time, these entries became an inspiration to write my own fiction, whether for personal enjoyment or for English classes. I don’t consider myself a talented writer, but when it comes to brainstorming for potential stories, I always have a lot to look through because I always had my own room.