That floor is a thing of beauty.

That floor is a thing of beauty.

I believe that humans are creatures of ritual — renewal and rebirth, migration and return. We are dependent on the ebb and flow of tides and the circle of the seasons. Even now, when we are largely creatures removed from the need to hunt and forage, when we are no longer dependent upon growing seasons, we crave that sense of marking time. It’s no longer the first and last frosts, or the equinox or the solstice, or the tide and the phases of the moon. When we don’t have that instinct┬áthat it’s time to move on to the next hunting ground or to follow the sun south, we make our own rhythms and our own cycles.

Y’all, I just cleaned out my office. The manuscript is complete — well, that was done a while ago, but now, the second draft edits are done. I didn’t take a before picture because I couldn’t even stand to go into the room. It was a landfill. Paper everywhere, books everywhere, ┬ámusic all over the place — it was horrendous. I couldn’t find anything, and there was stuff falling out of shelves and cabinets. But behold! A clear floor. The ritual cleaning of the office is complete. The old project is put to bed, and I have cleared space emotionally, physically, and mentally.

So you all know what this means, righ?

Time to start a new novel.

 


2 Comments

Janet B · April 10, 2016 at 7:46 am

Love this! Wish my cleaning was as thorough . . . In recent years it’s been more of a perpetual effort, with spasms of open space and renewals of chaos. Great to read your words.

Patrice Sarath · April 10, 2016 at 5:20 pm

Thanks! I think the heat death of the universe is centered upon my house. Disorder is everywhere and systems break down. All of this is a fancy way of saying that I am a terrible housekeeper, and yet I love the process of restoring order to my space.

Earlier today I got to work on a writing project that I had to set aside while the novel took precedence, so the ritual cleaning always frees me up for relaxed, creative work.

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