It does not look much like one because it frankly isn't one any more. Before I inherited children, this room was my domain. The walls were lined with books and my desk sat under the west facing window which drew in light from the setting sun. Now my study is here:
Or my bedroom, or kitchen table, or car. I work were I find myself being able to open the laptop or turn on the tablet. Do I miss my study? No. Not really. I miss seeing my books on shelves organised by author and type. I miss the thought of having a room because I assumed that I needed a space to be a proper researcher. Yet I know differently now. I am a researcher wherever I go because it is more of a state of mind than a room. So, my thesis has encompassed the whole of my house and life which is quite apt for someone writing in an autoethnographic style. Life imitating art and all of that.
