I have spent the better part of the day packing boxes, getting them ready for movers to wisk away into the portable storage container that’s sitting on my driveway. The moving company is called College Hunks Movers. I saw them advertised someplace, and called and that was that. I don’t shop around unless Steve makes me. They are reputable enough to have a customer service script, so when I called to book my movers the lady on the phone said,
“How many hunks will you be needing for your move?”
All I’m saying is these guys who show up tomorrow better be hunks. And better be enrolled in college.
I received formal feedback on my novel today. It landed in my inbox several days ago, but because Gmail is the worst when it comes to email threads, I missed my editor’s letter. Even so, I have not looked at the attachment yet because A. I am packing my house, and B. I am terrified. When I’m ready to do work again in a week or two, I will take a few deep breaths and tell myself how serious and writerly I am and not be a baby about putting work into something so it doesn’t suck. There is no overnight success. There is no free lunch. There is no Santa Clause.
While I packed, though, I started thinking about my next book (because that was fun to do) and have decided that I want to use time travel, somehow, in the story. My informal study on time travel led me to the issue of Schrödinger’s cat, which is conceptually hard to understand and requires some base knowledge of quantum theory and quantum superposition and even some high school level chemistry. Four YouTube videos later, all I can tell you is that all particles (electrons, in particular) exist in a superposition (as in exist in multiple states) until they are measured. Observing something is a form of measurement. Somehow this forms the basis of at least four Marvel movies, and maybe hopefully someday, my second book due out in the far-flung future.
But! I’d better get back to packing. My stuff won’t pack itself, no matter how much I stare at it.