Back in February, my husband and I moved into our dream apartment. We were in a horrible living situation, saw the listing online, looked at each other, and both asked, “What if we just went for it?”
So we did.
I can’t tell you what an amazing difference this living space makes in our mental health. Since before the pandemic, we have lived in tiny and/or barely habitable places. Mostly, these were always supposed to be “temporary” solutions to a housing problem that became permanent. In Reno, we had a kitchen with no working stove or oven. In Seattle, we paid $1750 a month for 600 square feet. Then we moved back east into a place that had sat empty for over a decade. Mice and mold. You can imagine.
Now, every morning, I wake up so grateful to be right here right now. I lie in bed and look at the exposed brick, the wooden decks, and the industrial pipework and can’t help but feel like I’m on a ship. My bathroom really feels like a boat. We have two lofts and a catwalk with all these nifty architectural details that just delight the senses. My kitchen is a dream. Our secure building sits on a gated site. And yesterday, as I finished laying out the print interior of Space Hysteria, I realized I finally got my ship.
I feel just like Captain Ruby Harlow.
Every novel is like leveling up in life. And this one was long overdue.