Everything today in the choppy sea of my work is hidden from view. Getting ready to flee the Southern Hemisphere means taking the clay of my book in a suitcase and that’s tough. One foot wrong and I’ll curse myself next week. I approach the task in different ways – sometimes sorting physical piles of crap, sometimes sifting through folders of files, sometimes gleaning from past notes on what to do – and slowly clarity emerges, or at least the deception of clarity. Some material I take as softcopy, using brilliant cross-device aggregator Evernote. Some I print out at Officeworks, slip into folders, and stash in my suitcase. All of it is heavy with meaning, with import. A sense of thrill gooses my neck.