Fan-Tastic; Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Home Improvement

Ugh.  What a weekend, and a long one at that.  If you have been keeping up on my current events, I think you’ll know that I’m currently in the process of moving from my abode of the last 9 years — a large, center-hall colonial house on 3 acres — to a condo in an old high school building in Fredericksburg, Virginia.

I hate moving.  I detest it. And I can’t wait for this move to be over.  But I am so ready to live in the new place. It’s within walking distance of galleries, restaurants, coffee shops…yes, it will be a wonderful change.  It makes me think I might actually be able to live the life I think I’m living than the one that I’m actually living. Don’t get me wrong — I think my life is pretty good.  Good job, — wait, in today’s economy that’s good enough. I have no complaints, and if I did, I’d be a complete ass for complaining. I’ve got a job, good enough.

But getting back to the life I think I’m living.  It’s the one where I am writing to live, drinking red wine, listening to jazz (or the Sex Pistols depending on how the mood strikes me), and hammering out all of the great stories in my head — mostly science fiction, of course — but that’s not me.  The real me has to go to work every day, and when I get home I am completely beat down. The idea of sitting in front of my computer for an hour or two creating fantastic stories…wow, that’s a heavy lift.  But I did it a couple of weeks ago (Thanks to Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction challenge).  I need to do more.  I need to be the guy who can write while holding down the 10-12 hour a day job, who has spent the last 4 months getting his condo ready to live in, moving, fuck! Whatever.  That guy.  The one who is busting his ass to get those stories out there. That’s the guy I want to be.

It’s hard.  It’s real fucking hard.

So enjoy my homage to fan fiction.  I installed three of those ceiling fans in my new place — and did a whole lot of other non-writing-related shit this weekend — but it needed to be done.

But here’s the deal:  In space — you know, the decades-long voyages when people are in suspended animation — does anyone even think about putting up new ceiling fans or playing golf, or whatever it is that we spend most of our time doing? The whole idea of the reality of life in a space-based future — that’s what intrigues me.  No, I’m not going to head down to the WAWA and then over to Lowe’s and maybe stop off at Dick’s to check out golf clubs — none of that shit exists in the space-based future.  So what does? What does life look like on  ship in interstellar space in the year 2247?   I want to know.

And I may not know, but I’m going to tell you what it is like anyhow.

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