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I always loved the description from The Magician's Nephew of Polly's little hideaway in the attic:

Polly had used the bit of the tunnel just beside the cistern as a smugglers' cave. She had brought up bits of old packing cases and the seats of broken kitchen chairs, and things of that sort, and spread them across from rafter to rafter so as to make a bit of floor. Here she kept a cash-box containing various treasures, and a story she was writing, and usually a few apples. She had often drunk a quiet bottle of ginger-beer in there: the old bottles made it look more like a smugglers' cave.

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Interesting connection between hideaways, escape, and dreaming. It is the first time children begin to define their personal, private life. It marks privacy and growth at the same time. When I was 18, I pushed into a storage closet to set up my first writing area with a door. I worked a lot at that desk. A different hide out. I love my home desk now. Very different than my work desk. The last remnants of private, creative space where I can just be again.

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