Things have been quiet on the blog because things are tumultuous at Fangs and Clause Central. We’re preparing to move. This Saturday. I’ve been quietly packing for weeks. It’s a game of “What can I live without?” Clearly I’m a terrible poet, because my poetry books went into boxes a month ago. What do I still have around me as I edit on the floor of a house equipped solely with a mattress and a coffeepot?
1. The APA manual. I know, I know, I’ve always said that I’m a Chicago girl, and I am. But I have a functional working knowledge of Chicago and am confident in my ability to fake it (and I do have my copy of Chicago upstairs in an open box), but my knowledge of APA is limited to citations and head levels, and even those I have to recheck.
2. My research books. I’m writing a nonfiction project about something I know little about. All books I think I might need are sitting upstairs nestled next to my Chicago Manual of Style in an open box.
3. My cats. They’re not allowed in the new house until the floor has been polyurethaned.
4. My paperwork. I know if I move my internet info/tax returns/work contracts that I’ll need them desperately and will be unable to find them.
This is a list of my insecurities. I still have the things around me that I do not have confidence in. They are my notes I take into an open book test. My paperwork is a dragon that I fear to prod too hard in case it wakes up. My style manuals are material proof to back me up in editorial decisions, as if people are challenging me at every turn, which they aren’t.
And you can pry them all from my cold dead hands.
What’s the last thing you put in a box?