Very little writing has been done at my address. There's the occasional e-mail, sure, but no fiction. Not since the submission of Thieves' Honor, Episode 12 to the Overlords at Ray Gun Revival.
No, I haven't lost my odd obsession with words (for instance, I hate obstreperous, because it's such a clinical-looking term for rowdy behavior), nor have I run out of ideas for stories. All the fantasy and science fiction projects are still in the works.
The house has been undergoing a spring cleaning -- summer cleaning? There's no cleaning like summer cleaning, like no cleaning I know.
(gulp) Did I just paraphrase a show tune?
Okay. All better now.
Despite tossing out bag after bag of old manuscripts and worn-out story notes, I still have two huge plastic tubs of notebooks, research, and ideas. It's a mother lode of my own making, but some of the material is so old that I'd forgotten it, so it's almost like receiving treasure from a total stranger.
Books, DVDs, crazy bits of nostalgia, clothes, the odd shelf or old coffee mug, they're all hittin' the road. The place looks bare, but I don't miss a thing. Stuff is a chain, and the mind clears as the space clears. There are still shelves stocked with hundreds of books and dozens of movies; if I didn't like them so much, need them for research, I'd send them down the road, too, just to create more space.
My imagination expands to fill the void, and I can hardly wait to get back to the business of creating.
------------------------- And now a note for the insane: -------------------------
Over at M. Keaton's blog, Speaking of the Mad, is a tongue-in-cheek, laugh-out-loud post about his theory of Quantum Irrationality. Please, do go read it. Your chakras will thank you.