I had to move recently–and it’s not really until you move that you realize exactly how much stuff you have.
After dragging almost a dozen hulking, heavy book boxes up my steep (and somewhat perilous) outdoor stairs, it crossed my mind that I didn’t really have a place to put them. I jammed book upon book into any open shelving unit I could find, into crevices and in thick stacks where the back row was essentially bricked up and invisible, leaving no real space for my actual belongings.
But that was all right. Up until then, books were the one thing that no one would ever criticize me for hoarding. I mean, I’m a writer, after all. Books are my life’s work. I read a lot. I buy books a lot. I buy them so I can review them as soon as they come out, to support authors–but mostly, just to have. And that was okay, because they were books. (more…)