The Other Closet

There is another closet that I write inside, one with far less clothing, but more dust bunnies. The cranial closet.


My cranial closet is big. Strike that. My cranial closet is enormous. Ever read House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski? My cranial closet is a lot like that house: much bigger on the inside than on the outside. There are dark places, light places, hidden stairs that send you plummeting into abysses, and delightful rooms peopled with friends, family, and characters of my own creation. My favorite room contains an upright piano. My id reclines on this piano, looking fabulous in a slinky cocktail frock, drink in hand, doling out the things my filter must stop before they come out of my mouth. I love her. She’s proof that there are no real mind readers. Someone would have mowed me down by now.

Fear carpets the floor in my cranial closet. Thick, lush, sink your toes in it, shag carpet. And it’s loud. Casino loud. Fear of judgment, fear of rejection, fear of the unknown. You name it, there’s a pattern in the weave for it.

The wallpaper is ever changing. Most days, the closet is covered with my insane belief that if you say it, you must do it. The art of dreaming out loud is something I have lost from the walls. Sure, I say things I don’t do. I’m human. But, to say this thing… this writing thing, and not do it. I would never forgive myself. (Yeah, that’s in there too.)

My day career, as I put it, has only added to my closet. Working in books, I am naturally surrounded people who write, want to write, and dream of writing. I do not knock them. It’s just not me. (See above paragraph.) So many of them say they are going to write a book or talk about their book, and nothing comes of it. I don’t know if I could stand it if nothing comes of this.

I venture outside the closet every once in a while. I joined the Writers’ League of Texas. I’ve been forcing myself out at least once a month for the journey to Austin for The Writers’ League 2011 Third Thursday Series. I’ve talked about my book more, dabbling the light with my toes.

At the end of next week, I will be spending three days out of the closet. I’m attending the Writers’ League of Texas Agents Conference at the Hyatt Regency Austin. My id is already packed. I hope there’s a bellhop to carry the piano.