Calling Hercules

I have an account of my awesome trip to San Antonio to post, and I promise I will, just as soon as I get the pictures settled. But at the moment, I'm in one of those brief and useful lulls between revisions and copyedits and I'm taking the opportunity to sort out my office.

The problem is, the more I work at it, the worse it gets. It's like chewing raw squid. It's just not going away.

Maybe I'm just aerating the mess, but I'm starting to think there is something evil going on, because I'm bringing piles of manuscript out to the recycling bin, putting books back on the shelves, physically removing things from the place, and after three hours, my office is worse than when I started. Admittedly, it wasn't great before, but it was navigable. There was a sort of equilibrium, and now that's been disturbed. We're not that far from the coast: Perhaps The Old Ones are displeased.

Friends have suggested A.) renting a leaf blower, B.) using a flamethrower, C.) getting a goat, or D.) moving. I try to explain that's why I have a door on my office. As an archaeologist, I'm fascinated by what I'm finding, but somehow that isn't going to see me through this endeavor. It's going to take guts and tequila.

While I'm plagued with images of the Augean Stables and the Hydra, I'm also finding all kinds of things that remind me of how much work I've been getting done in the past few months. In addition to the book (Ashes and Bones) and the short story ("The Lords of Misrule"), there are essays, lectures, notes from traveling from the fall tours. It's been a busy time, and I need to remember, this is just what happens when life slows down.

Enough procrastinating: I'm going for Option B.