Saturday, July 15, 2017

Time's Ticking Away

I'm in a slump.

I'm reading a lot.  That's positive.  So far this summer I have read mystery, science fiction, literary fiction, chick lit, young adult literature, memoir, and literature in translation.  I think I'm up to eleven books, and I'm deep into two others at the moment.  You can find me on GoodReads if you'd like to keep up with my frenetic bookshelf!

I've also signed up for a cooking class where I will be learning to bake sweet summer treats and make ice cream.  I'm hoping this will be a great experience so I will be driven to sign up for another class that involves entrees...but we'll see.

I've been traveling this summer.  I went to Tampa overnight to the U2 Joshua Tree 30th Anniversary tour (one of the best nights of my life, hands down), journeyed to St. Augustine with the hubby and kids where I toured a pirate museum, ate too many donuts, and single-handedly kept the Rita's Italian Ice open.  I also read five books that week.

I just returned from Georgia where a trip to our family's farm for my grandmother's birthday turned out to also include the surprise wedding of my mother (yes, that's right, a surprise wedding).  While there I did some outlet shopping and went on long walks through the fields with my son.

Back home, I've taught a college essay writing camp and tutored several kids in a variety of areas involving writing.  I've had the opportunity to catch up with some amazing former students.  My family and I have been tearing through our "Summer of Fun" jar, including travelling to a city in North Carolina we'd never visited, and having the worst best-looking-burger I've ever encountered.

All along, I've been editing Miranda, and it's coming along quite well, but I haven't had the time to write fresh words.  Which has me thinking, is it in fact that I haven't had time, or is it that I haven't made time?  I've never been one of those writers who sets a daily quota or schedules time to write.  I'm someone who can be going along with her day and suddenly it hits me: that turn in my stomach and tinge of pressure in my chest...it's the story trying to get out.  And when that happens, I write until I cannot possibly write one more word.  It just flows out of me like a purge of emotion and life.  It's an amazing experience.

And yet I think I've been ignoring the feeling, setting it aside in order to do the other things I feel compelled to accomplish (or to binge-watch episodes of Friends while working jigsaw puzzles...a mindless pleasure).  My arms are aching as I write this post, because the sequel to Sweet Divinity is inside me, and it so badly wants to live on the page.

So maybe I'll second guess the scheduling and quota.  You can't force good writing, that's for sure, but I'm beginning to think I should spend a little time setting the mood.  Maybe I'll lock myself away and light some candles.  After all, I clearly have a love affair with words.

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