The Engine Room moves downtown.

What happens when an independent publishing company with somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred and fifty titles decides it’s time to finally move out of the garage and into a warehouse?

Short answer: CHAOS!

Last Thursday, the decree came down from the top. We were moving. That weekend. Wheels had been in motion for weeks, leases signed, notices given. We knew we would be moving, but the announcement was still a bit of surprise, coming immediately after Jason recovered from World Fantasy (the flu, I believe, but an entirely Jason-centric mutation). Books would be moved over the course of the weekend; office pack-up, I assumed, would start on Monday. I left that evening after reserving a 24′ truck for the occasion, and feeling like I was leaving the move in more capable hands.

Monday, sure enough, Jason’s garage was empty. Maddie sniffed around at the Styrofoam scraps scattered around the emptiness as we wandered back to the office, where she settled in to her bed under my desk and I booted up my laptop. While we settled in for the day, Hannah the Intern arrived. We chatted for a few minutes, then I checked my e-mail. A quickly-typed message from Jeremy, subject line: MOVING AND SH*T. “Warehouse is a disaster,” it read. “I need you and Hannah to head over.”

I considered bashing my head against the keyboard. Instead, I said, “Looks like we’re headed over to the new digs, Hannah.”

I loaded Maddie into the car, then drove across town, talking music, city life, science fiction, and academia with Hannah, wondering just what we’d gotten ourselves into.

Needless to say, the place was a mess. One garage and two storage units worth of carton after carton of science fiction, fantasy, and horror hardcovers, trade paperbacks, and mass markets, loaded onto a truck, then unloaded in nearly random order. Our mission: Sort the books onto pallets, like titles together. My back ached to think about it. A few hours of tossing around twenty-to-thirty-pound boxes of books, and all the weird similarities of genre fiction titles titles become painfully obvious. We navigated our way through piles of PRADOR MO ON FLIGHTS, climbed stacks of PRECIOUS DRA GON NEVER SLEEPS, and eventually we’d made a dent. We called it a day. I loaded Maddie back into the car, gave Hannah a ride to where she’d left her bicycle, then drove home, sore, dirty, and exhausted.

Maddie wasn’t terribly happy working in the warehouse on Monday. She complained about the cold concrete floors and noise all the way home, so she stayed home today.

Here are a few pictures from today:

As we dig into the stock, I keep expecting to find the Ark of the Covenant. I did find three pallets of John Langan’s HOUSE OF WINDOWS, but they appeared to be guarded by natives. If I can manage to smuggle a case or two out, I may be able get pre-orders shipped, but is it worth the risk?