Tomorrow We Move

The cars are all loaded,
(But not yet the bed)
The helpers we goaded
Wish they’d do anything instead

I used miles of packing tape
Several trees worth of boxes
I would rather escape
The whole things makes me noxious

But moving we are
And tomorrow we shall
Set a new bar
On this deed most foul

Poems may seem
Insufficient to say
Despite breaking my theme
I wish we’d moved it all yesterday

Okay, I really don’t know what that was all about. Let’s just slowly back away and pretend it did not happen.

What? From what are you backing away in such a slow manner? I see nothing, and it cannot remember if I am trying to forget something.

We just turn our backs
Fully coated in denial
Because poetry by hacks
Is most likely–

Okay, I do not know who put that there, but it certainly was not me.

Anyway, the point is that I am packing up my little family of two and stepping on down toward Muncie, IN. My wife works there, which makes it a pretty sensible move in that regard. The rent is less sensible, but we got the best deal that was available to us.

In many of the immediate ways, I am, of course, dreading this move, because, hey, news flash, moving sucks. I do not care for cramming all my junk into boxes and then uncramming it a few days later. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe I am okay with that. Plus, there is all the effort of moving said boxes full of junk, and in this case there is the driving, as we are moving around twenty-five miles away from our current dominion.

To be fair, calling our current location a ‘dominion’ might be a slight exaggeration, but that leads me to the part where I say why I am not entirely hating this. I will actually have a dominion of sorts when I get there.

Heidi, in her effervescent wisdom, has deemed that I rate an office in which I may do my work.

An office, people. I have never had an office. At my highest, I ranked a desk in the corner for an entire summer, and that was pretty fab. This will be an entire room devoted to making my brain work the way it is supposed to so that I can juice it for all it is worth.

Granted, this is a bedroom, and that means it won’t be perfectly accommodated to my needs. Also, this bedroom is part of an apartment complex that belongs to someone else, so I cannot make drastic changes to the room that might make a difference.

But it is a room, and it is a room in which I am expected to work. That means a lot, mentally speaking. I have found that a lot of the effort that goes into writing is mental — not the ‘well, duh’ effort of coming up with stuff to write, but the ‘I should he writing’ effort that goes into fighting the inertia.

In many large and obnoxious ways, writing every day is a mental game. Any advantages I can find, and shortcuts I can create, all work to raise my chances of keeping the brain flowing. One of the shortcuts I won’t shut up about is the Magic Spreadsheet, which has helped me slowly but surely draw-and-quarter my inertia and sluggishness. Tiny incremental increases in the minimum amount of word work I expect from myself has allowed me to survive it.

(An interesting factoid that I noticed. If I keep consistent with the roundabouts +50 words per month that I have maintained, then in November of 2015 I will be expecting 1700 words a day minimum from myself. All I need to do is start a fresh project November 1 and I will be set for NaNoWriMo!)

(The other interesting statistic on the horizon is that, again if I stay on track with Magic Spreadsheet consistency, I will reach my one millionth word in early 2016, at least as far as words I’ve tracked since last June. I have heard something about how an author needs to write a million words before any worthwhile utterance can pass through his fingers or somesuch nonsense, and so now I can anticipate when I will finally ‘arrive’ as an author.)

(In case it was not clear, I wasted a bit of time today messing around with a spreadsheet.)

Well, if I survived writing each day through attending a convention, I ought to make it through yet another move.

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