This weekend I had to clean the office. My mind felt as cluttered as my closet, my body felt overwhelmed with the weight of half-finished paintings, papers and articles saved and never looked at again, and the assorted flotsam of the past few years.

Funny how some focused housework clears the path to your brain. I don’t mean the everyday, never over, lifetime drudge of cleaning.  This is the personal, I want this clean, just for me cleaning.  It sounds odd to go on about throwing away stuff and moving things around, but I think, in a strange way, this is how you retake your space. This is how you regain control of that illusive creativity that’s crushed behind old magazines, cassette tapes, and sketches of the characters, towns, and battles you write about.

The first hour or two I felt as if I was re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic but, after a while, I saw the light and it wasn’t an iceberg!  Look, it’s the top of the table, the ream of paper once lost, now found, and the second draft of chapter three I looked for a year ago!

Now, I can finish Lesson Six.

Lesson Seven I have you in my sights!




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