Building a Writer Shed: Redux
Eight years of writing and creating in the shed
This year, 2024 marks eight years since a crew trucked in my writer shed, dropped it on gravel ground, augured it to the earth, and I began the work on the interior, nailing and sawing my way as the ghost of Dylan Thomas swirled around me.
I return to the shed now because I’ve been asked to. And I’m delighted. With spring coming on, our thoughts turn to renewal, freshening up, gardening, outside life, and reawakening. And with the seasonal adjustments, and thoughts of “projects” to take on, several people have asked about the “shed life.” A crafter wants a space; a painter wants a studio; a woodworker needs a place to let the sawdust fly.
Since the first months of my shed life, I’ve learned a lot. I’m on my second space heater, something much needed in the winter. The technology and efficiency have improved over the years. I have electrical power on a timer with smart plugs. My wife says the utility bill has improved. I’ve cleaned it out several times, giving away some books that had begun to seemingly multiple and live on the floor. Journals, which I love, are piling up on the desk. But most of all, I’ve written stories, poems, books, and songs in that shed. It has weathered ice storms, big snow, windstorms, and stifling heat. I’ve taught a few writing classes via Zoom inside the shed. And I’ve been silent — reading, thinking, mediating — for hours at a time as the sun rose or set, and the local crows cawed or the owl that lives in the tree above it hooted.
And now, in honor of the shed and for those who have wondered about life with a “place of my own”—I thought I’d revisit the post I dropped here years ago about the planning, the construction, and its birth.
Below are some recent photos. And further on is the original story from the early days of the shed.
The shed has given me so much solace, inspiration, moments of introspection, and enlightenment, more than I could have imagined.
Long live the shed.
BUILDING A SHED: Finding a place of your own
—Originally published in 2019
There are hundreds of pictures, paintings, photographs of Dylan Thomas’ writing place — the shed above the old boathouse in Laugharne, Wales. The wooden desk, the beat-up chair, the whitewashed walls, and ceiling come together to create a workspace worthy of a poet. I have always loved that boathouse, its simplicity, and the stunning views it offers of the Taf estuary. What a glorious place to write.
Thomas was not the only writer who had or currently has what many would call a writer shed — a small, specifically defined place of their own. George Bernard Shaw had a hut; so did Roald Dahl. Virginia Wolf had a shed in Sussex where she worked in the summers. Thoreau had his cabin. Michael Pollan wrote a book about building his writer shed — A Place of My Own.
So, what would it be like to have a place like that, my own place, my own “boathouse,” my very own writer shed?
Getting Started
I asked my wife what she thought of the idea, building a small shed in our backyard. Not a “man cave” or “getaway” but a real writer shed, where I would steal away to work.
She said yes. Did I tell you she’s the greatest?
But I wasn’t quite ready. I needed something to get the wheels turning, some measure of creative inspiration, a little nudge. So, even before creating a plan, before the nailing and the sawing, I began to write. In five minutes, these words came to me.
A Writer’s Shed
My sacred space emerges among the gardens of my home,
Among the flowers of a lifetime; among the seas all alone.
Words are never written inside the roses one may tend,
But are found in heaven’s spaces alongside the time I must spend.
Lost in my heart forever, pouring out from blood-soaked vines,
It is here that I am with the angels; it is here I find the lines.
The truth of what I’m thinking and every solitary shift,
These are the discoveries of angels, the sincere and lonely gifts.
— David W. Berner
The poem set everything in motion.
The Real Work
At first, my plan was to build the shed entirely from scratch. But that quickly changed after finding a company that had an already-made structure displayed on its lot a few miles from my home. The salesman was willing to sell the shed at a discounted price. The shed was sturdy and strong and could be delivered already complete. All I had to do was finish the interior.
After crews maneuvered a small flatbed truck and a big forklift into my yard, dodging power lines and tree limbs, the shed was placed on tamped gravel and augured to the ground.
Insulation was tucked between joists and barn wood paneling nailed to walls. Tiles glued to the floor. Nail by nail, and saw cut by saw cut, it came together. And as I worked, I felt my father’s presence. He worked with his hands, a carpenter by trade. With every plank of wood that I attached to the studs, I thought about him. I could see him with a pencil behind ear, wearing his stained painter’s pants, and his old golf cap on his head. He would have been pleased to help me build it.
I had to remind myself of how to use a miter box, how to trim around the window, how to measure so that flaws — and there were some — could be hidden. I had to drill out a small hole in the back of the shed and another in the nearby garage so that an electrical line could be snaked inside. I bought a portable heater for the winter months; a fan for the summer. A desk was placed at the window. A small bookshelf on the far wall. Another near the door. An old chair for reading in the corner.
The Fruits of My Labor
I have been very fortunate to have been the writer-in-residence at the Jack Kerouac house in Florida and the Ernest Hemingway home outside Chicago. I drafted the final edits of my book Any Road Will Take You There at the Kerouac House in Orlando a few years ago and part of my novel Night Radio was drafted in the attic office at the Hemingway Birthplace Home in Oak Park, Illinois. But now I have the shed, my shed, my very own creative space, and this spring, the first manuscript to be entirely written inside its walls will be published, a memoir entitled The Consequence of Stars.
Discover Your Own Space
Not everyone who writes is able to create a workspace like mine, or even wants a shed of any kind. But, if you write, I urge you to find a unique place that you can call your very own — a certain room in your home or apartment, a secluded table at a nearby coffee shop, a corner of the library, some cranny of the world that you can occupy and stake your claim. Where we write matters.
Three things to consider.
- Quiet or busy. Discover what works for you, a secluded place, or a busy place. Some writers love to work in bars and cafes where there is conversation and the hum of humanity. Others need solitude.
- Cluttered or sparse. Some say a messy office suggests a cluttered mind. That may be true and that might be you. Others like it clean and minimalistic — one candle burning and a notebook, so they may think of only one thing: the story.
- Morning or night. I’m a morning writer. I like the early light, so my shed’s blinds are open to receive it in the early hours of the day. Others love the dark corners. Being certain of your time-of-day preferences is important to make sure the space you choose matches you.
I’ve been working in my shed — winter, spring, summer, fall — nearly every day since it was completed nearly two years ago. I only write and read under that roof, and occasionally play the old acoustic guitar that leans against the wall. No emails. No Googling through websites. No online bill paying. It is my creative space, and nothing is going to taint that.
Since the day the doors of the shed opened, a watercolor painting of Thomas’ boathouse, a gift from my wife, has rested on the back of my desk, a constant reminder of how a one-time dream became one writer’s reality.
David W. Berner is the author of several books of award-winning fiction and memoir. His book Daylight Saving Time is due out this summer and is available now for pre-sale. Sign up for the free monthly newsletter, The Writer Shed here.
