Lagos,Nairobi,Dakar anyone? Evan Hughes in the New Yorker:
More here...A relatively new institution, the shared writers’ space, fills a niche so small that it isn’t covered in Saval’s book. At these urban oddities, members get access to a quiet room or two full of desks, often with an adjacent eat-in kitchen, perhaps a couch—in other words, an office. But without a boss. And you pay them, instead of the other way around.
image via the writers room new york
Selectiveness varies, but at the one I belong to, in New York, no big-league credentials or book contract is required, only “serious intent and a strong drive to write,” though references are checked. Members don’t get dedicated desks, but enrollment is capped to insure that a free one can almost always be found. Lockers are available for an extra fee; some people keep their laptops and papers there more or less permanently. Wifi is, of course, supplied, as is a serious laser printer (B.Y.O. paper). Writers can help themselves to the coffee, the tea, and the bowl of candy, and read the communal copies of newspapers and magazines.
It’s a different beast from the “co-working space,” where, as I understand it, startups and entrepreneurs gather under the banner of cross-pollination and ideation and use whiteboards. My writers’ space, by contrast, sternly enforces silence in the main room. White-noise machines, earplugs, and cough drops are provided, and a sign advises, “PLEASE WALK SLOWLY & LIGHTLY.” (The library-like atmosphere does present difficulties for reporting; I have called sources from the stairwell, as others walked past, to discuss their days dealing cocaine.) Outside the inner sanctum, though, some networking and griping and encouragement takes place in the kitchen area, which also hosts events such as roundtables with literary agents. Replicating the water-cooler experience with ersatz colleagues is part of the draw, relieving the loneliness inherent in the job.
