Tuesday, December 30, 2008

One of the boxes must have my stories in it...

Not the printed ones... the ones that usually play through my head.

We've been moving into our new house. For the last week and a half, I have spent nearly every waking minute working on and moving into the house. And it feels like it'll never get done.

Luckily, I'm so busy that there are only a few minutes to even miss writing. I miss crafting stories and polishing up snappy dialogue for maximum bite. I miss finishing a story and feeling all the little peacock feathers fan out in appreciation of my own genius.

I can't even get into the room that is designated my office. Since it's not "important" to the running of the house, it is last on the list of the places to deal with. (This is my determination, not Hubby's.)

I think somewhere, in the piles of boxes that contain my office things, is my writing. My story telling ability. My mind has been strangely quiet as we've embarked on our journey into indentured servitude home ownership. No snippets of stories or great ideas have nudged my cerebral cortex while I've worked on washing dishes, painting, or hanging up curtains.

But, after all this time, I think we're finally getting to the end. Soon, things should be much quieter in life. And hopefully much noisier in my brain.

I like being crazy... the people in my head keep my company.


pattinase (abbott) said...

Enjoy it. All of it. Even those voices.

Barbara Martin said...

This time away from writing will end up with your creativity being improved from the break. Enjoy the time, like Patti says.