Clover Autrey

I'm on a throw-out-unnecessary junk phase. I love doing this. Anti-clutter me. (How I want to be. The reality: I live with 4 males.)  So I'm in my closet, going through clothes, and I look at the rainbow. Yes, my closet is color-coded. Blacks and browns together. Whites alone. Pinks & purples, then blues and greens. Not a hint of yellow because I don't care for it. Reminds me of puke and snot and makes me look sallow.

Geez, you'd think I'm trying to be charmingCharlies. 

But anyway, it dawns on me that I am a tad up-tight in some things. Even in my writing. I am a Plotter. I have to have all my details and scenes lined up in pretty little color-coded rows, and will stare at a blank pad of paper, twiddling my pen if I don't know beforehand where my scene is going. Free-writing-spirit I am not.   

Though sometimes I'd like to just let my story go where it's going to go. I do envy writers with that Pantser's Spirit. (A Pantser: a writer with the ability to write by the seat of her pants.)

Ah, well, plotting works for me so I'm going to stick with it. Just like I'm going to keep my closet system. It makes me happy.

So what does your closet look like?

Note: So as I'm writing this, Pat goes and puts a red shirt right in the middle of my whites and strolls by my desk, grinning.