Sunday, August 19, 2012

The glamor, it dazzles

It's official; I can barely move in my writing office. The available floor space has shrunk to the point where this room is an obstacle course. And it's not going to get cleaned up until I finish my current revision, in a couple of weeks.

I have begun to ask myself just what is all this stuff in here, anyway? And could it be illuminating to those who are wondering how much junk can accumulate in a writer's office? In the interests of scientific research and procrastination, here is a partial inventory:

--Boxes of promotional bookmarks
--An empty box
--A box of Kleenex
--Papers to be shredded
--A paper shredder
--An electric fan, to point at myself on hot days
--Stacks of books: books I'm reading, books I've read that need to be reshelved, books to be donated, books to be read someday in the future
--Candy wrappers, tabs from peel'n'stick envelopes, newsletters I've read and need to throw away
--A jug of water
--A pile of papers relating to my retirement account
--A pile of paid bills to be filed
--A box of files
--A bag of empty, reusable paper bags and bubble mailers
--A box of photo albums and other personal mementos
--A stack of royalty statements, records of this year's writing earnings, and this year's charity receipts
--A rolled-up throw to use when it's cold
--The bag I take to signings, filled with pens, bookmarks, handouts, and one copy of each of my books

No wonder I can't walk in here. I'm rather amused at how different this list is from the stereotype of the wild & crazy author. You would think I would have empty gin bottles and gifts from rakish ne'er-do-wells littering the floors. Instead of, yanno, financial records. Based on this list, the wildest thing that has happened in this office is the eating of some chocolate.

Turns out that most of the glamor of writing is what happens inside the writer's head and on the page!

6 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. I guess it just proves that everything in a writer's life is material. ;]

      Delete
  2. This is great, Jenn. I can relate to the messy office. And, like you, no empty gin bottles to kick around. How boring. : )

    ReplyDelete
  3. No gifts from rakish ne'er-do-wells? Well, there go my writing aspirations.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well, we're writers, so we can always pretend.

      Delete