This End Up

By Barbara Poelle

Husband and I are moving all day this Friday, so I hope that I can count on some of you for either an alibi or bail money.

See, Husband and I have moved across the entire country together and had a grand old time. I swear, these seven blocks? It seems like traversing the Gaza Strip. Someone is always digging something out of the “donate” pile that the other one tossed out. And someone is always crabby. And someone is always tipsy. Sometimes that someone is the same person, and is gesturing and yelling, splashing her martini into the open boxes.

Yes, it’s true, I suppose I could take soooome responsibility for the warfare, as I can oftentimes have a bit of an opinion on how, well,  things, are done. (Like, I don’t like it when people stir their coffee and the spoon dings against the rim. That is just so totally unnecessary. You can mix it up just fine without touching the spoon to the sides of the cup.  I have been known to whip around at a restaurant and hiss, “I think it’s blended lady.”

She knows what she did. )

All I know is that I have never in my LIFE said the phrase, “the devil is in the details” and I think I have screamed it eleven times the past weekend, wielding it like some sort of incantation against the movers being late or the electricity not being switched over or the packing tape continually sticking to the roll so you have to dig and dig at it with your fingernail while it comes off in tiny, sticky curls that then are on the bottom of your footwear for the rest of your life. And our new place is so sparkly and fabulous, but in this old place I ALREADY KNOW that the neighbors have illegal rotating day care on Monday and Friday afternoons and the chick upstairs sings live jazz on Mondays and brings home people to keep up the groove until the wee hours Tuesday morning.  I have no idea what hookers are buried in the walls at my new place. I mean before, we were our classiest neighbors and WE ARE FOR SURE NOT NOW. What if they vote me out like some sort of reality show? WHAT IF I CAN HEAR THE NEIGHBORS STIRRING?!?!?!

 I AM PANTING RIGHT NOW, I TELL YOU.  PANTING.

I think we all know what this calls for.  Some sort of magical story about publishing told through pictures of baby animals that strangely parallels something happening in my own life.

So, look at you with your fancy writing career!

What’s that? Moving to a new publishing house? Well that is always an adventure. First and foremost you are going to have to get acquainted with your new team. They sure are shiny.

And then you turn in your first manuscript to the editor, and you think it is sleek and fabulous and you are certain there will be ZERO revisions, except for a missing comma or two.

And the editor sends you back the changes needed.

 

So you do the next logical thing and eat your feelings for a while.

And then the art department comes up with a new look: FUSCIA , and the title is being changed to include the word “Lugubrious”, and the editor is sorry to say the original promotions planned are not going to happen because of a tornado in Uganda, and your publicist has you slated for a 30 site blog tour starting tomorrow and ending tomorrow with original content only please and your shiny team in now terrifying and unknown.

AND YOU JUST NEED A MINUTE TO THINK!

But then you remember why you made the move in the first place and although there are growing pains and a little bit of bumpiness, your new house becomes your new home.

And you flourish.

And no one ever, EVER stirs anything again.

The end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[Mary]

I have laughed my way through both your house move and publisher move. I'm sure you didn't laugh as much. Sorry about that!
Good luck Friday.
Maribeth
Giggles and Guns

[Lauren]

I feel like your animal publishing biz demonstrations aren't complete. Where's the great white shark/literary agent weaving drunkenly through schools of guppies, crying "ONWARD!" while blowing a snot-bubble and weeping a little?

[Maria]

In that last shot with the antelope/gazelles, there is a cheetah just out of sight ready to gobble the writer, isn't there????

[Alison Janssen]

Good luck with the move, Barbara! And I'm sure your new place's walls are thick enough to mute any stirring noises. I think you could check the building blueprints to be sure, but I'd bet all the walls are classed as Grade 9.7 ding-proof.

[Cori]

You made my day. I almost wept. Maybe there's still space in the walls for any neighbors who don't know how to handle thier coffee cups.

[Carrie]

LOVE the pic of the common snapping turtle. I've been feeling like that turtle for the last three weeks, man.

[Roy Innes]

Sympathy re the packing tape curl, but since men don't have fingernails, getting it started again is totally woman's work.

[Indigo]

I couldn't help choking on my drink, at the Puffer fish reference. Dreams blow up, that quick huh? (Hugs)Indigo

[FertilAid]

WWOOOOOOW!!! Hamster! I love Hamster...
i really do..hmmm so cutee!!

[rvr]

I'm going to take that Gaza Strip reference as a shout out to me, so thanks for including me in the blog this week! And think of all the new and exciting hookers that you might find in the walls - maybe even a hobo or two...?

[barbara]

IT WAS TOTALLY A SHOUT OUT TO YOU! (Kids, that is my friend Rachel who is living in Isreal. I think she is getting tired of my, "Need a job there? When in Gaza: Strip!" jokes.)

[barbara]

From your lips to God's coffee cup, Ali.

[barbara]

No, no. That will most certainly be used when I demonstrate "So you are changing literary agents." AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, LAUREN.

[Mark Souza]

May the walls be two-hookers thick. Nothing but the best for you.

[Mark Phialas]

Egad.

It's Wednesday.

[Tracy]

Umm, I hope you don't burst any blood vessels during this whole process. :) Good luck!