When I moved out here to the farm a month ago today, I thought, “I won’t be working. I’ll have the time to devote to our novel EVERY DAY.” Turns out, boxes that are stacked three high and covering 90 percent of the spare-bedroom floor scream for attention like toddlers for Happy Meals. You just have to give in, so I unpacked until I ran out of room to put things, at which time I changed gears to making space, and my husband and I emptied another bedroom, which I’m now painting (including the floor) so we can move some stuff in there.
I think Larry and I have that as writers, if not in spades, at least in Old Maid. Our male beta reader turned in his critique and compared our novel to the movie "Snatch" which is VERY cool, because it’s one of my favorite movies.
I’m highly motivated to get our boxes unpacked and organized, but there just isn’t space for it until we create some. Creating space means emptying attics and outbuildings that are still full of stuff from when my husband’s mom and dad lived here. That’s all extremely time consuming and exhausting, so motivation for working on our book has taken not the backseat, but the trunk.
That’s what I need to develop. At the other house, I had a dedicated spot for my laptop and plenty of workspace to spread our manuscript out for revision, so it was always ready for attention, and I was driven by habit to attend to it. Here, my poor laptop has lived in a bag and the manuscript waits patiently in a binder on the kitchen table, stacked precariously atop a filing box surrounded by the KitchenAid mixer, Cuisinart food processor, and miscellaneous bags of carbohydrates: sliced bread, an Italian loaf, and English muffins.
Apparently, if I needed a laptop to prepare a meal, it’d have a dedicated spot. So by next blog, I promise myself I’ll create a space for my laptop, and it can behave as badly as the stacks of unpacked boxes do, screaming until it gets attention.
One Transformers Happy Meal to go, please!