I have a thing for eves.

Christmas Eve, New Year's Eve, All Hallow's Eve -- even the eves that don't get official designations, like birthday eve or anniversary eve or, in this case, moving eve.  The night before means almost as much to me as the following day...sometimes more.

It's amazing how location can define you.  When I told a friend of mine I was moving he found it hard to believe, and just said to me "Kyle lives in Los Angeles."  Because that's who I've been -- I'm the guy who lives in Los Angeles.

Part of that is my own making.  Living in Los Angeles is something of an oddity for people from Ohio.  New York and Chicago are generally the big cities of our choice.  I found that whenever I returned home and told people where I was living, they were genuinely surprised.  In a lot of ways it became my defining characteristic.  Word got around.  I became the son/grandson/brother/uncle/friend who lived in Los Angeles.  And I'll fully admit that I took some pride in that, as if it made me special, or at least unique.

This isn't to say that being associated with Los Angeles has always been a good thing.  Sending out query letters and submissions to agents, publishers, and literary agents has always concerned me, because I felt like my address undermined my ability.  I felt like being a writer living in Los Angeles made it seem like I wasn't serious, because everyone in Los Angeles was a writer, even if they were all writing screenplays.  I felt an imaginary bias against my location.

The part of me that's still in his 20's doesn't want to leave Los Angeles.  The part of me that turned 36 today is ready for the next step.

Ready or not, Danville, California, here I come.