That’s what I fit in.
Well, not me exactly, but my writing life. How do I know this? Because every time we have company stay with us, that’s where I have to squeeze myself–into two bags, a basket, and a little bit under the bed.
If you were able to peek inside you’d see:
- The typed manuscripts (8pt, narrow margins, single-spaced, scribbled pencil edits in the margins and on the backside of every sheet) of two novels.
- A dozen or so typed short stories–multiple drafts of some.
- Receipts, envelopes and other random bits of scrap paper with “notes” all over them.
- Two journals, nearly filled.
- A box of index cards with, you guessed it, more notes. 😉
- A few books on The Craft (of writing, not the witchy kind).
- A few novels and magazines I don’t feel like “sharing a passion for” with people in my RL, for various reasons each.
- Every book I’ve ever appeared in.
- And front and center?–my Netbook. My baby. Soon to be joined by my Kindle–which is also loaded with things I don’t care to share, for various reasons.
What’s under the bed beside the dust bunnies? The plot bunnies. Yep. They are the bastard cousins of the dust bunnies. 😀 Slid under my bed is a large whiteboard with more index cards, taped on and connected by lines of dry-erase marker, attempting to make sense of a plot that’s gotten completely OUT OF CONTROL.
What’s it all doing tucked away like this? Hiding. That’s right. Hiding. As is the case with many writers, I don’t really care to share that part of me with people in my RL. I know, I know, *groan* another insecure, tortured creative type, right? Well…yeah. 🙂 I’m not sure that’s ever going to change.
For more on why…see this recent blog post by a fellow blogger buddy and talented writer here. The post and the comments following it are perhaps the best, and most honest, discussion I’ve ever read on this common writerly phenomena.