Last week, I was talking about making plans. I was also being a bit vague, as I was not yet ready to make a big announcement about the plans. This week, the cat’s been out of the bag a while! We are moving to the Dallas Texas area. Planning for this was interesting, as I had a lot to do, and very little time to do it in. About a month, from ‘maybe this is happening’ to now, where I am in the throes of ‘well, that plan isn’t going to work, switch to backup plan!’
It’s exciting, and terrifying, although I am (once again) finding that once I am in it, I don’t have a lot of time to be terrified. With the plan unfolding in front of me, I’m focused on the next step, and maybe the one after that. Then, I can look further ahead… but the big strategy has already been plotted out. When I have time (hah!) I’ll write an amusing saga of this move, how it came to be, and the weird turns it took. For today?
I thought as I staggered off to bed last night, exhausted and realizing I am allergic to something in Texas, that I cannot keep up my routine with MGC. No, no, it’s not that I can’t keep writing here. It’s that I have got to stop procrastinating. I’m sitting at a friend’s table with my laptop at 6:30 Central time, pounding away at this blog. Next week? I’ll be working four ten-hour shifts, Weds to Saturday, from 2 pm to 12:30 am. Yeah. I need to be soundly sleeping at this time next week. The move is going to force me back into planning ahead.
This post isn’t about writing, much. It’s about the way the inside of the writer’s head is full of stuff (and some snot, sorry about that) and sometimes you have to plan for there to be no writing. Last weekend I was at a not-con and sometimes-writers gathering (which was also related to moving, but had been planned a year in advance) and I was getting sparks of stories dancing in my brain. Then, I drove 3000 miles in a week, plus packing and loading a moving truck, and, well, they are in there somewhere.
I’m not worried. When the plans have been executed, the muse will reappear. I need to give it some time, not force the issue, and accept that the stories will come back with a vengeance when I am least expecting them. In the meantime, I’ve got to wake up a teenager and go meet a man about unloading a truck into a storage unit. While trying not to panic about the psuedo-homelessness (we have a house, which the First Reader will be trying to sell over the next month or so, it’s just no longer a home) and focusing on the next stage of the plan: start the Day Job, and find an apartment which is not, as the Little Man says, above a meth lab. Also, learning to drive in the city again.
Plans change. Adventures happen. Adventures are far more fun when they happen in a book, or to someone else, way over there. I console myself that of this, will come story fodder.