Good Morning. Last week, as I reported, James Taylor and I ripped up the rug in the front hall. I set aside my revisions and cleaned my house. Well, yesterday, I decided to go bat shit crazy and rearrange the furniture. Yeah, what was I thinking.
I was thinking that I didn't want to work on my revisions. Some life I lead, huh? If I'm not writing, I clean.
Anyway, we have this room -- my mother calls it a den, I call it an extension of the kitchen. (Because the kitchen is a little box separated by a wall with a pass-through window.) In this "den" we have the tv, Monster's toys, my "other desk" (for household/school/bill stuff) the table where we eat, a love seat, and a couple of bookcases. Like I said, the room is huge.
We live in this room. Mind you, I have a dining room, a formal parlour, a foyer, and 3 bedrooms. However, this is the room we congregate in. (I don't think Monster has played in her bedroom once.) When we moved in, I put the furniture where I thought it should go and left it that way.
But it's always bugged me. This room faces the north side of the house, has only two windows, and the paneling is old Canadian pine board. (very thick, beautiful, and something my father absolutely refuses to allow me to paint) Needless to say, it's very dark. Only one overhead light.
So yesterday I decided to rearrange the furniture. See if I could get more light in. I took out a desk, moved two small pantry closet things, added a shelf, moved the big pantry thing, rearranged Monster's play area, and brought in some plants. Then for some crazy reason, I decided to take the desk downstairs to my office and rearranged all that furniture too.
On top of all that, I dusted, did laundry, vacuumed, washed dishes, cleaned the laundry room, and went to the grocery store. When I finished I turned on the tv and watched 3 hours of the Castle marathon on TNT, then switched over to Downton Abbey.
Now mind you, I should have been working on the revisions for The EE. I'm almost finished with them and want to get this book published. It's been my driving force for the last two months. So why would I forego that to clean my house, you may wonder.
Well, I'll tell you. The revisions I'm trying to do (suggestions from my wonderful critique partners) have made me realize the book was not everything I wanted it to be, everything it could be, as perfect as I thought it was. Yes, I made them, 99% of them in fact, and now, heading into the final edits/read through/copy line edits, I understand that I'm stubbornly refusing to acknowledge I'm not a first, second, third, or even fourth draft wunderkind. I thought I was, I really did.
Vanity, they name is woman.
And that bugs me.
What it all boils down to, is that EVERYTHING needs revisions. From where you put your furniture, to how many times you change your blouse in the morning, to how many times you need to revise your manuscript. Nothing is perfect the first time. No matter how perfect you think you are. But I have to say, now that my furniture is in a much better place, there's so much more light, I think my brain is as well. It's Monday and I'm ready to dive back in to see what else I can do to make my book the best that it can be.
Tell me -- Does your "mental" clutter drive your "outside" clutter? Or vice versa? Do you procrastinate getting things done in a timely manner like I do, or do you dive right in? How many times have you rearranged your furniture?