Like any writer worth his/her salt, I work in a garret.
Well, a back room in our house, anyway. It’s reasonably garret-y.
But the time came to expand my study into a larger office, one that would accommodate more shelves and an extra desk. And that time came, and went, and came back again, until two weeks ago we decided ‘okay, time to move furniture this afternoon’!
…it took longer than an afternoon.
Possibly because this was my workspace, the place where the magic happens:
It contained the normal things you would expect on a writer’s desk: papers, more papers, Post-it notes, index cards, bits of Lego, dice, pens, photographs, coffee cups, toast crumbs, character sheets, thermal gloves, assorted cables for devices I no longer own, CDs for albums I long ago converted to MP3, vitamins, cufflinks, a really big thesaurus, poker chips, clothes pegs painted to look like Batman and Wonder Woman, tax records and dust.
So much dust.
Anyway, most of that material got put somewhere for safekeeping…
…while the rest of it moved about four metres down the hall.
This process took two weeks.
In my defence, I also assembled a bunch of furniture in the process. And broke-and-then-fixed the internet. And discovered that you shouldn’t mix tequila and major painkillers.
Oh, what an adventure that was.
But! I’m happy to report that I’m in the new office, along with my wife and our dog. All the shoes are lined up neatly, all the graphic novels and D&D sourcebooks are in a neat Ikea-grid, a new office chair that won’t break my spine is being picked out…
…and I’m back to the writing. Of course.
(PS For this, and for other reasons that mostly involve Real Life and me being crap, The Obituarist II is behind schedule.)
(At least try to look slightly shocked.)