I neglect my writing in the summer months.
Since my children got out of school 10 weeks ago I have posted precisely four times, and two of them should barely count as blog posts, since one was a photograph with a single sentence and the other was a 200-word writing exercise.
Maybe this shouldn’t count either.
You see, I have set my alarm for 20 minutes—yes, exactly 20—and have promised my daughter that when my alarm goes off I will hit publish and get back to our day, because she is more important than filling the blogosphere with more words and opinions or even stories and feelings.
It isn’t that I don’t have anything to say (who doesn’t have something to say about the state of the world right now?) or don’t long to sit and craft something lovely with words. On the contrary, I have a lot to say. And, yes, I could go to a coffee shop or hide in a bedroom like I’m doing right now or write in the wee hours. I know that I could. I could have worked harder at getting more posts written. At maintaining my “online presence.” But you see …
I don’t want a blog post or a silly “online presence” (oh, we writers are beat over the head with this idea) more than I want my busy, productive, fun-filled, sight-filled, and wonderful summer.
And just because I’m not saying all the things doesn’t mean this season hasn’t been rich with creativity. It’s doesn’t mean these hands have been idle.
I have reupholstered two vanity stools (refinished one of them too!); repainted a hope chest recently passed down to my daughter (she did about half the work herself and has since filled it with books—take that, patriarchy); made a lovely throw quilt for my bedroom; turned an Ikea twin duvet cover ($8 at a garage sale!) into bedroom curtains; turned two matching twin bedskirts into one Cal king bedskirt; made three baby blankets; painted lamps for same bedroom no less than two times (STILL can’t find the right orange!); and so on and so on …
You get the idea.
I’ve edited five books. I’ve planted. I’ve baked. I’ve scoured G-sales. (I think it’s a PNW thing. Don’t ask.)
Life during this season of summer has been time with family; tears and giggles on Voxer with friends; coffee on my back porch swing; feet on downtown streets and in the cold water of the lake and the ocean; movies on Netflix after dinner; hands on a 20-year-old sewing machine at midnight; science fiction on my Kindle at bedtime; head on my pillow until shameful late hours of the morning; and dinner with good friends and family around fancy tables, foreign tables, tiny tables, picnic tables and campfires.
It’s been a season rich with memories. Rich with love. Rich with the stuff of blog posts and memoirs and novels and sermons to be written on days when I have more than 20 minutes to give to the luxury of my own words …
And there it is. My alarm has sounded. My 20 minutes are up.
And I know another season is just around the corner.