Van Reid and His Writing Space

Dark, red, sometimes noisy. These are words I could use to describe the place where I write. The library, my study. Dad's room to the kids.
There's the dark. I make excuses to people who visit, if they ask to see my study. The shades are pulled, the walls are relatively dark, the wall to wall, Persian-type rug is dark as well. "I'm a bat," I say. I don't know why this is so. I don't care for direct sunlight, except on a cold winter's day. I'm a nighthawk. I'm a bat. I darken the room, pull...