The joy in inherent in opening up a new document and just letting the words flow. The joy is less inherent when you are in the middle of another project, don’t have it with you, don’t know what still needs to be done vs what has already been done, know that it is a steaming heap pile of what the heck, and still feel the urge to write, but don’t want to muck it up any further than what it already is.
I am an organizer. I grew up in a disorganized house, and the only domain I truly had control over was my own room. Also despite the house being a clusterfuck of everything everywhere, my dad who would leave his tools all over the place, would preach to clean up after yourself and put your stuff away right away. Somehow I became a firm believer in the final destination of organization. Don’t just put a thing someplace temporarily, but think of where it’s final home should be and place it there. That way you never lose a thing because it is always in the final home, never just in transition, temporarily floating about. That being said I do have several transition areas in my house. I have the dining room table, that is a catch all that gets sorted once a week, and I have my bedside table with books I am reading, or want to read, and that always rotates, and I have my knitting that is always traveling all over the house. Those are transitional pieces, but they end up in certain zones, so I always know what zone to look for it in. and then there is the top of my dogs cages, this is where things to if they need to leave the house. This is the exit zone, but I don’t yet know where it is exiting too.
And there is my brain. I need to clean that out too sometime, and write things like the above before my psyche is clear to be creative. Housekeeping done. Rant over, moving on to the creative bits. Stealing some writing time 🙂