We just moved into a new house that we are renting. A house that was not cleaned, painted, repaired or in any way made ready for our presence. We have about 40% more stuff than can easily fit in the storage spaces in the house. Upon move-in we discovered three gas leaks, one in the stove. The stove is crammed full of food residue, and the floor underneath it is caked with grease.
Our landlord is doing everything they can to fix the problems and get the house up to snuff, but we’re still 20 steps back from where we wanted to start moving into the house.
I’m in a local production of Hamlet, playing Claudius and the Ghost. I have to be off book [all lines memorized] by Thursday. I’m about 30% of the way there, and have a full work week, plus rehearsal every evening.
So at work, in the evenings, getting up early to cram my lines — doing the best I can to unpack and get the new house squared away.
Plus this wacky-ass writing experiment, Runeclock on top.
So, upshot — writing on The Riddle Box has ground to a halt. I’ve been trying to snatch some time here and there at work, but right now learning my lines is the most pressing.
I’m going to try my damndest to at least eke out 4 pages this week, bringing the rough draft to a nice 85 pages — but I’m kind of riding the whirlwind this week.
I honestly love weeks like this where I’m creatively taxed in multiple directions and mediums — but the extra toll of moving, unpacking, and sorting out the problems with the new house are making me feel stretched out and paper-thin.
But hey, the show opens next week! Then all that’s left is the crying. And the drinking. And the unpacking.