The way shopping therapy works is that everything on the shelf is clean and the shop is organized. This is why things glow and appeal and whisper, "Bring me home!" Unshopping therapy is possible when you know this, unclutter your living space, get rid of half of the junk in it, get rid of the dirt, and clear yourself of junk. You have to do this periodically. Today I got rid of a coat I have never worn, a dozen books, some "useful" dowels that have been gathering dust in a corner for months, and a stack of papers. Sometimes great big things lie to you and tell you that once they are cleaned or mended they will be useful to you, when in fact you need to haul them out of your space forever. Old blankets the dog has lain on, heavy old shawls no one in their right mind would ever wear, copies of the history of England according to Winston Churchill or Peter Sellers. Tile-cutting machines lugged home by your husband and left in the kitchen. If you love your husband you can put the tile-cutter under the back stairs, outside, instead of getting rid of it. If you don't love him enough to do this, maybe you need to get rid of him, too. Unshopping therapy: it clears the space, and clears your mind, and it doesn't cost a thing!
On August 29th, 2010 04:11 pm (UTC), (Anonymous) commented:
Not sure how to send you an email, so if I may take advanteage of this format...
About Annabel. Just finished this debut novel (would never have guessed it was your first). I couldn't put it down and will be recommending it to my friends.
It was lyrical and poignant; you handled psychologically and technically complicated subject matter well. The characters were beautifully defined. I have never been to Labrador and now I feel a sense of its isolation, its complex community, its pluses and minuses.
Can't wait for your next book. Thanks for this one,
Colleen Biondi from Calgary