“That’s all we are in the end. A pile of boxes.”
That’s a line from the 8th episode of Torchwood. The team has to go through the belongings of a dead colleague. This came to mind this week as my husband and I got ready for new carpet.
Everything had to come off the floor. The closets wouldn’t work as everything on the closet floors had to go up too. We filled the bathroom with shelves and loaded the shelves. On the patio we pushed our trunk, our dresser on top of that and our son’s dresser on top of that. More shelves. Stools. Lamp. Boxes and boxes of books. Chair, desk and sofa on its side in the kitchen. The main table and our bed outside.
Then it all had to go back.
You can spend years writing a book. Find an agent. Get published. Be acclaimed! And your book is still going to end up with dust bits clinging to the top of the pages and pushed into a box. Books I love go on shelves where I can see them (instead of the out-of-the-way bottom corner shelf). Maybe that is the best you should hope for. A book that someone takes out of the box when they move and puts on the shelf everyone will see.