Wednesday, April 25, 2018


When I wrote "DOWNSIZING" for Analog back in 2015 I had no idea of how quickly the situation would apply to me.  We are in the  midst of moving from a 2700 sq ft house filled with years of memories to an apartment one third that size.  Choosing which furniture to take and what to dispose of was easy but as the triage procedure continued it becomes fraught with emotion over the memories evoked. Each piece of art brings to mind the where and when of its acquisition or creation and the images of happier times plays across your mind.  A cheap vase has no intrinsic value but as a goad to memory it is more precious than the expensive silver teapot. But the winnowing must proceed as moving day approaches and the number of people who would take ownership dwindles. The kids have come to take what they wanted (early Christmas gifts to my mind) and now we are left to make our own painful decisions.

The worst part for me was getting rid of my bookcase filled with reference material, beloved novels, textbooks, and , of course,  my private collection of every piece in which my stories have appeared.  The realization hit me as I put these in book boxes that I will never see these again.  Inscribed books from other writers are as hard to pack away and perhaps might end up at the SFWA auction sale or as gifts to close friends.  Some of the signed first editions, like Vonnegut's PLAYER PIANO and Martin's GAME OF THRONES, have considerable value and might be e-Bayed when I have the time.  Since most of my writing life is electronic I have few paper files to deal with so I am spared the agony of trashing drafts and sketches.

Needless to say, damn little writing is taking place until we are settled.