We’ve been in Virginia for almost two weeks. After the initial frenzy of packing, selling our house, moving many hundreds of miles, and unpacking many (many, many, many) boxes, life has settled down into a less frantic pace. Instead of trying to do it all and cramming everything into every hour of the day, I’ve decided to pace myself. So, everyday, we do some school (get in math and language arts, ramping up on history, science, and social studies), unpack or organize a little, venture out into our new neighborhood, whether it’s a trip to the grocery store or library or a walk around the neighborhood.
Moving to a new location requires a steep learning curve, and that’s not just for finding my way outside the house. It holds true for indoors, too. My mind and my body are still used to the layout of our old home, and I often find myself reaching for a phantom cabinet or looking for something in the entirely wrong place. Having to think about where the dishes go makes it a lot harder for me to drift off into story land they way I’ve been used to.
Case in point: My bedroom.
Back in our old house, D. and I had the smallest bedroom. In this one, we have the biggest. It’s embarrassingly big and it has five (yes, FIVE doors) leading out of it. One door goes to a walk-in closet, another to a private den/study, one to the corridor, one to a bathroom and one to the laundry area. Strangely enough, the bathroom and the laundry area are in one long narrow room, so that when you’re off to take a shower you have to remember to close both doors. Then there’s the fact that the owners of this house didn;t seem to believe in towel bars (but they believed in two sinks and space galore under them), so one has to wander around disconsolately with a wet towel afterwards (I usually put mine on my clothes drying rack in the laundry part of the space).
We’re so unused to this place that we spend far too long doing something as simple as getting showered and changed for the day, as we traverse the Big Room multiple times from bathroom to closet to laundry area to bathroom to back to the bedroom. My husband confesses that the other day he took three trips to the laundry basket just to get his dirty clothes put away.
All this to say, my head is full of “Where’s the cheese grater?” and “Where do I hang my wet towel?” and not about stories. But I’m beginning to feel that writing itch again (can’t suppress that for too long) and getting back into the game with a revision on Rainbird.
What about you? If you’ve been swamped by life, how do you ease back into writing?
With one sentence. Then, later, when I feel like it, another. Eventually, it will hit critical mass and whole scenes will begin to coalesce again.
That’s a great idea. I started writing little stories (sort of like your drabbles) based on the planets (I have astronomy on the brain) today. I’ve also been copyediting some short stories and working on revising a novella. Good times. 🙂
I haven’t done any book this week and am frothing at the mouth with frustration. Tomorrow, I’ll sit down at my desk, get the file out with the ms, get the HTRYN file and find what I need to do for 1C. I know exactly where I want to be and what needs doing (unusual for me!).
Your story about fiting into a new house gives me the jitters! Mr Prue sometimes talks about moving. We’ve been here 16 years. Although I’d like to live further in the country that whole reaching for cupboards and lightswitches that are no longer there, and having to find a new home for EVERYTHING fills me with horror! It takes up so much time and is so tiring.
My thoughts are with you and your familly; fitting-in-quickly-thoughts 🙂
If we hadn’t needed to move, I’d have stayed put in our old house a lot longer. I’d have complained about the place, of course (*grin*), but moving is such a monumental undertaking, I wouldn’t have done it just to move across town.
Congratulations on arriving in your new place! My best friend likes to relax me with a line from Beauty and the Beast: “These things take time, Lumiere.” It will feel like home in time.
Thanks, Alina. 🙂