This post by L.Leander, Author of Fearless Fiction
I don’t like it when someone moves my stuff. I didn’t realize it until recently, although I’m sure I’ve made it known a few times. My husband, on the other hand, is very vocal about his stuff being moved. He wants everything right where he put it, no matter that it’s in the middle of the living room floor (where someone might trip over it) or added to the stack on his desk that threatens to topple over at any moment. Since I’m a bit of a neat freak and like things organized I am usually the culprit when his things go missing. I always put them in a safe place (the trash counts, right?) but often forget the item is in the witness relocation program under an assumed name and am unable to locate it for him when he needs it.
Hubby knows where his things are at all times. It doesn’t matter that it was 1977 and he put a dollar bill in a drawer under a pair of socks – he knows right where it is thirty or forty years later. Of course, he couldn’t have foreseen the night we really needed to make a run for ice cream and were a dollar short. (Hey, I always planned to put it back – I just forgot!)
My things stay pretty organized. I like plastic shoeboxes with labels, file 
folders and pegboard. It’s easy to keep everything at my fingertips without having to dig for what I need. My life as an author is hectic enough without spending hours searching for an article or research I did for my next chapter.
As writers we all have different ways to meet our goals. Some of us like an orderly desk while others work best with a mound of files and paperwork surrounding them. I’m a little of both – I need to start with the neat desk, can work with the mound of paperwork, but then have to return everything to normal (neat and tidy) when I’m finished for the day.
But what do you do when you move? Literally, I mean? I don’t know about you, but I’ve moved way too many times to count. In fact, today is one of those days. We are moving to a friend’s condo for the rest of our stay in Mexico. I’ve known this was coming for a month or so (actually, a few months but who’s counting?).
Granted, the concussion I suffered five weeks ago and the dizziness I’m still dealing with has greatly reduced my ability to pack and organize in my usual fashion. I’m unable to bend to pick anything up because the dizziness threatens to lay me out cold on the concrete and I end up hanging onto the nearest stable object while I regain my equilibrium. And, I have no idea how we have managed to accumulate so much stuff in another country that I now have to get rid of. Normally I pack everything in neatly labeled, taped and stacked boxes, ready to head for the new place and go in their respective areas. This time we knew we had to downsize and planned to end up with four suitcases (and a backpack with computers, a guitar, a fiddle and giant purse as carry-ons on the flight home).
But back to moving stuff. I write in a sunny area of our house on the second floor. Everything is arranged to give me easy access to whatever I need while crafting my stories. But piece-by-piece my world has come down this week until I’m relegated to a tiny table with one printer in a big empty room with piles of things threatening to tumble at any moment. No whiteboard for scheduling, no floor mat for easy chair rolling on the tile and no file folders – except the ones on my computer. Stacked around me are the vestiges of a life in transit. The furniture movers come today to take our things away to their new homes. You see, here we share with friends when we leave. In a way, it’s kind of neat knowing my favorite room divider with the big pink flamingoes will now live at the home of one friend while my pots and pans go to another and my plants to a sunny terrace where one of my closest friends will nurture them until we return.
What’s hard is finding my stuff. I’ve really tried to stay organized, but this dizziness won’t let up and I’ve not done my usual stellar job of packing. This is our last day in the house and I have no idea what I’ll wear today or where my clothes even are. Although I packed our four suitcases long ago, I now have a couple of additional plastic tubs, a bag or two of miscellaneous, some food and my knitting that has to make the trip to our friend’s condo. I figure I’ll sort the rest there (is that a bad idea?) and repack everything before we head back to the US in three weeks.
I am proud to say that a few things have remained visible. I’m sure they’re what we need most. My current embroidery project (because I like to work on it while I watch television in the evening with hubby), our coffee scoop (we brought it from home, but I seem to have lost the coffee canister), the telephone book (all in Spanish), and a glass full of pens (sans paper) are on the kitchen counter and ready to take to our new digs tonight. Of course, I may go over there in a pink fuzzy winter bathrobe (it’s in the 90’s here now) since it’s the only garment that I can see from here that I’ll be able to find after I shower. And the hubster was complaining a little yesterday that he couldn’t find any underwear (hey, I told him to keep track of his own stuff!).
My one happiness is that my current work in progress is on my computer and all the little files and folders are contained within. I’ll just get through today, go to dinner with friends (and hubby, of course!) and sink in a big oversized chair by the window and stare at the ocean. It’s my right – I deserve a break today. But I’m sure I won’t be able to sleep – I’ll be worrying about where my stuff is!
**Note** I plan to ply hubby with tequila this evening. Hearing
about where his stuff is (or isn’t) is more than I can bear at this point. He’ll be happy, get a good night’s sleep and so will I!
How about you? Do you hate to see your stuff moved? Are there items you need next to you when you write? Are you adaptable or rigid about your writing space? Do you love new adventures or are you most happy in your comfort zone?
Books by L.Leander:
Keira's Place 