This weekend has seriously put the 'labor' in Labor Day – who would have thought that merely moving two rooms downstairs into two rooms upstairs – and moving another person in – would result in almost the entire house being uprooted and shaken up? I exaggerate, of course – all storytellers do, which is what makes us storytellers – but really and truly, there is much chaos afoot around here. Jeepers.

I am, however, thoroughly excited about the new studio. It's not done yet – not by a long shot – but it's a very cool little space. It has approximately one-fifth as many windows as its predecessor, but it also has one-fourth as many doors (by which I mean it has exactly one of each), and so it goes a long way towards restoring my need for what Laura (and most of my other friends before her) refer to as my 'cave'. I prefer to think of it as my studio. Whatever. Today Laura's dad and I built a twelve-foot shelf just below the angle of the eave, an it looks fantastic. It's a great display place for coffee mugs, papers, and action figures (I have the three Four Horsemen staction figures of the Evil Horde from Masters of the Universe up in the corner over my monitors, next to which are my Mezco Comic Series Hellboy figures – good Lord, I'm a dork, but really, they look awesome).

My stress about deadlines has been set aside while I get all this housing stuff straightened away, but it's nice to know that even my heroes stress about deadlines, albeit in a much more literary manner:

Big Deadline is still a thing of madness. The other two little deadlines at its feet chivvy and squeak and grunt and bare their sharp little teeth. Several smaller deadlines howl impatiently from the bushes outside.

argh.

Me, I'm taking a break to check my email and catch up on my weblogs. With a candle burning and a glass of port close at hand. Hey, I may be a dork, but at least I'm a snobby dork.