...because I cleaned my office. It's a miracle.
I tend to find that while I'm writing a book, my office is a nightmare of filth. I just finished writing book four and suddenly I was no longer blind to the seriously unsanitary conditions and precariously stacked empty diet coke cans teetering unsafely in the stagnant breeze.
Because I do not want to get Tetnus and also because I had nothing better to do, I cleaned up my office. It's a banner day that comes about once a year, I think, so I'm going to celebrate with this post, which I will call:
Jenny's Office: By The Numbers
(Distances are approximate. Void where prohibited.)
400 books of various genres and subjects
200 feet to Jenny's doctor's office from her office.
50 Disney trading pins
16 ugly unicorn statues, suncatchers, pictures and general bric-a-brac
14 decks of tarot cards
11 folios of sheet music
8 Bertrice Small novels
7 Earth, Wind and Fire albums
5 Musical instruments (trombone, acoustic guitar, bass guitar, Yamaha keyboard, bodhran)
4 quartz crystals
3 Little Apple Dolls
2 pictures of Herman Melville
1 crystal ball
Other assorted clutter includes various wigs and hats, a framed steak knife and a cross stitched sampler of my favorite phrase "Nevermind, I'll do it myself" translated into Scots Gaelic.
How does this enviroment, when free from dirty dishes, empty cheetos bags and discarded black jelly beans, help me focus my scattered creative energy and funnel my ideas into one, cohesive fictional vision?
I have no idea.
In fact, I'm sure that if I was mauled by bears at a camp out and dragged off into the night, the family member assigned to sorting through my things and putting my affairs to order will probably give up half way through the job, shaking their head and saying, "It's a good thing she died, because she was clearly insane."
There was a point to this. Probably some Virgina Wolf-esque, room-of-one's-own type thing.
My office is clean! Wheee!