Leave It Where I Can See It

The Manuscript in Question.

            I got home from work, changed out of my clothes and into jeans and a t-shirt, sat on the couch, and stared at a drawer across the room containing my manuscript. Finally, I got up to open the drawer and look at it: it's bound together, professionally done by Staples, with a clear laminate cover and black back. As I stepped to the drawer, a scuff mark on the wall in the dining area caught my eye. We live in an apartment. When I say "we," I mean me, my wife, my daughter, and our small dog Paisley.

            I approached the scuff mark and noticed there were 4 more areas around the scuff where the paint had chipped off. Then, I remembered: we moved a cabinet some time ago, and it grazed the wall in the move. Even though we're renting, I still take pride in our home's appearance. Fortunately, the apartment maintenance person gave me a small container of paint after I complained about some missed areas around the apartment.

            I dug into my toolbox, removed my small paintbrush, shook the paint container to mix it up, and proceeded to cover the scuffs and chips on the wall in the dining area with quick, purposeful brush strokes. As I cleaned my paintbrush and put the paint away, I realized I had dirty clothes to wash. So I entered the bedroom and began sorting my dirty clothes by darks, lights, and vibrant colors.

            I felt thirsty, so I went to the kitchen and got a glass of water before loading my clothes into the washer. While I stood next to the sink, drinking my glass of water, a flashing yellow light caught my right eye. It was the coffee pot, reminding me it needed a deep clean. This consisted of a fluid to add to the water reservoir, along with 10 cups of water, and about 45 minutes for the mixture to run through the maker and clean out the insides of the appliance. I prepared the coffee maker, hit the "clean" button, turned towards the dining area, and returned to the bedroom to get my dirty clothing. Along the short walk, I saw the drawer that first whispered into my ear, "You took a year off to write me. It's time to finish what you started. It's been 18 months."

            I stopped, smiled at myself for getting distracted by every corner of our home, turned to the drawer, pulled the manuscript out, and read the notes from my editor, Linda. Baby steps. Then, after 15 minutes of refreshing my memory of Linda's developmental feedback, I pulled out my laptop, sat at the table, and began writing this.

            There are many things I could call this site: a blog, short stories, my journey, or any number of catchphrases to label it. That isn't important. But my manuscript is significant, and I'm not putting it back in the drawer. That would make me sad. So it stays out where I can see it. It stays among the scuffs, dirty laundry, and coffee makers needing to be cleaned. But, like all those things, my writing deserves attention too. I need to see my manuscript to paint, sort, and clean its prose in preparation for publication.