In 1929 Virginia Woolf wrote that “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction” (Woolf 4). Eighty-one years later these conditions still seem to hold true.
Although I’m not a creative writer, I find a room to be no less important to me, than it was to the protagonist in Woolf’s essay. So I don’t underestimate the lengths to which a college student will go to make a dorm room feel like her own.
It was with much thought and utmost care that my roommate, Holley Ledbetter, and I arranged and decorated our space. Like in any good relationship, there was compromise involved. I admit that most of the pink came from me; the Indian tapestries are Holley’s. And while the two together may sound strange, like our friendship, it just works.