Getting Naked

I’m posting a picture of my desk. This is a little—no, a lot—like getting naked in front of strangers. Okay, I admit I cropped out the worst of it, but even I look at it and make a judgment about that writer. What a mess; what disorganization. How can she ever get anything done? What does her sock drawer look like, I wonder?

Heck, I bet she doesn’t even have a sock drawer. Probably just a sock basket and throws all the socks in directly from the dryer. Okay, that was me, but it was a long time ago and I had four kids. Who had time to mate? Oh, stop…stop right now!

My desk is an archeological dig—muddled layers that accumulate like debris in a medieval kitchen midden. (Tip to other writers with desks like mine—use colored paper between the important layers.) Sometimes the piles are relegated to the floor and occasionally I sit on important items because it gets my attention especially if it’s 30 pages or more. Otherwise, it’s easy to overlook something until I stand up.

Where others file, I pile…on the twin bed in my office, on the dining room table, any flat empty surface is game. There is a pile for each volunteer job I do in my local writing community, a pile for each writing project which at the moment includes two rewrites of TV scripts, a feature movie script, early notes for a novel and the play for the Avalon. Oh, and the renewals for Eastern Shore Writers Association and their member directory that I am compiling (deadline Sept 23), and Bay to Ocean Writers Conference stuff.

But it all seems to get done and on time.

I know the things I need to accomplish each day although how people got along before Post-It Notes is a mystery. I used to make a list every morning of what I needed to do that day, and I always put a couple of things at the top I’d already accomplished so I could cross them out. It made me feel better.

My disorganization is only perception. I know what is in that pile to the left of my keyboard. I do look through it every couple of days to make sure there isn’t something I’ve forgotten. And the trail of Post-it Notes from my office to my kitchen cupboards to the door to the garage and the steering wheel of my car are crucial.

2 thoughts on “Getting Naked

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