"Where the hell are my notes?"

Then it occurred to me: I probably put them in the designated project folder.

Which I didn't see in its designated place on the shelf behind me.

The paper manhunt began.

Over twenty minutes later, I finally found the folder underneath the fourth pile of papers and other miscellaneous stuff I looked under.

The folder was empty.

I felt a rustling at my feet. My valued notes were on the floor.

Right next to another pile of papers.

And a few books.

Absolutely pathetic.

I didn't even bother asking why my notes were on the floor. One look around my office answered that question. The place looked like an office supply store was dropped on top of a public library, then exploded, then got hit by a tornado, then exploded again. During an earthquake. In the four-plus years I've been working out of this office, I unknowingly build the Palace of Disorganization.

In the next few seconds, I began to remember a story one of my former software managers told me. On a one-to-ten scale, I'd give this particular manager a mid-to-high three in leadership, and probably an even lower score for overall professionalism, but at least he told good parables.

This particular parable tells the plight of two tree cutters. They both had the same type of saw, and both worked at about the same pace, so each cut down the same amount of trees per day as the other.

After three day's worth of solid work, the fist tree cutter took two hours away from the trees to sharpen his saw, while the second tree cutter kept right on working. Obviously, the second tree cutter tallied more trees than the first worker that day...yet, he noticed that his own end-of-the-day total was one less than the day before.

Three days later, the first tree cutter again walked away from his work to sharpen his saw. Again, the second tree cutter continued on...although, he noticed that the work was getting harder with each passing day. And it was about at that point he noticed his productivity declined by at least one tree every day.

Days passed. The second tree cutter noticed something else. Except for the days where the first tree cutter took time off to sharpen his saw, his opponent's daily output was exactly the same as it was when he first started. Meanwhile, his kept declining. And his opponent also didn't appear to be working as hard as he was, either.

I looked around at my office again. I was wrong. The place was beyond disorganized by orders of magnitude. It was more like working inside a booby trap. Every time I looked for a folder or a piece of paper or a CD-R, something would fall on the floor.

No, my office was worse than that. It was a hall of detriment. I hated to admit this to myself, but I was spending almost as much time looking for things that were supposed to assist me with my writing as I was spending on actual writing. I never wanted to stop, even for a moment, to clean up and reorganize my primary place of creativity, because I was convinced it would take away valuable writing time and break my all-important momentum. My realization: it was the work area itself that was siphoning away my time and derailing my creative momentum.

So, starting now, I am taking time out every few days to sharpen the tools I use to create my stories.

As it translates to my situation: I am taking time out every few days to clean and organize my office!

Now, as it just so happens, today is Saturday, so this is the perfect time for me to slow down a pace that will by its very nature be running on half throttle anyway. It's very possible that this project could take until the end of the century. Next century. But, I at least want to make an effort to see if my efforts to de-clutter my place of art will lead to better output.

Of course, that parable said nothing about the distractions caused by my kids.

Maybe, I should have them go outside and saw down some trees.