A Room of One's Own, part deux

Remember my office? Remember how I excited I was about it? How I promised to clean it up? Hmm. Let's just say it got to the point where I would just crack the door, toss junk inside, and slam the door before anything fell on me.

This week, though, it was suggested to me by the guy from that show Clean Sweep a very wise friend that clutter in one's work space is a sign that one is terrified of the novel one is supposed to be writing not taking one's work seriously. Obviously this person has access to my internet records doesn't know anything.

I worked and worked. I bribed Destructo with all the masking tape he could eat and we worked for two hours. And voila!














I know. But look at the clear desk top! I sat there for two hours today and wrote and wrote and wrote. Baby steps, people.