I broke my collarbone in spring of 2018 which meant I was stuck inside with my right arm in a sling and forbidden to bike/run/horse ride/hike/swim/freakin drive for the entire summer. I very much wallowed in a stinking vat of self-pity that year. At one point (it re-broke which lengthened my time in the sling through fall and I was not a very compliant patient), my exasperated and extremely hot surgeon asked if I like to ski. It was a weird question at the end of a re-check in the dog-days of summer. I gave him a weird look to match the left field query and said no. As in no way, I can’t stand snow. I hate the dark and cold of winter. Why would you ask such a stupid thing?
I think he read all that in my attitude and said, “Oh, so you’re a summer person.” As if that answered all of life's questions. But yes. I am. All my favorite things are mostly summer (or at least decent weather) related.
And yet.
The days are shortening now in mid-September here in the mid-Atlantic. But September is beautiful. As is October. And even the early part of November. There’s a release in the cooler air. I’m not as busy outside, running around doing ALL THE THINGS until dark at 9 pm, only to flop into bed after a quick shower, exhausted but gunning to repeat it all the very next day. I’m reading more again (currently being emotionally gutted by Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver). I’m getting back into the writing mood (notice my last post was in June . . .) by saying hello here and sending out more agent queries for my SF novel, A Different Kind of Danger.
And it feels good. Like things have been brought back into balance.
For several years I would feel guilty when June rolled around and I refused to make time in those long summer days for writing. By August, I would accept the truth: I don’t write in the summer. And after some time, I've decided that’s ok. I write September to May, like following the school year. If anything, that should push me to make the most of the writing time in those nine months. Get stuff done, send it out for possible publication, or let things stew so I can revisit with fresh eyes/fresh ideas come fall.
I like this. And, I dare say, I welcome fall.
So, here’s to Summer People. We know who we are. We can’t help it. But the Mr. Hyde to this Dr. Jekyll is nice, too. Let’s roll with it. Here we go.