thoughts on a monday afternoon in august

For the last six weeks, thanks to what has turned into an unusually hectic and full summer, writing time has been scarce to come by. The few windows that I have managed to carve out have not felt very productive. Slower than molasses and a little too much staring out the window. Summer is the hardest season for me creatively; my creative mood and the weather are connected on a deeper level than I generally care to admit. The words have never come easy in the summer.

Today, due to the misfortune of my daughter not feeling well and therefore not going to swim practice, I ended up with a window to write after work. It was a productive time, though nothing spectacular, just the standard time grinding away that any writer serious about their craft has to put in. But I made progress, and sometimes that's enough. I also submitted another story, and there's a certain satisfaction knowing I'm continuing to push myself in that regard.

The last year and a half have been very difficult for a number of reasons, and some of those reasons are still very much present. It affects the time I have available to write and sometimes affects the actual work. Yet today I was surprised to realize: I actually believe in my work. I actually think it has value. And that regardless of what happens as I stick my toes in the submissions water a little more, or struggle with same creative stasis that every writer wrestles with, I'm still doing meaningful work. Perhaps it's only meaningful to me, and it certainly comes much slower than I would like, but it is not time poorly spent.

I still dream of taking a three week holiday in a cabin and doing nothing but writing and revising, but if such a chance never comes to fruition, I at least know that I'm working constantly. Perhaps not as hard as I should be--I fear I'm lazier than I want to admit to myself--but steadily. If I fall off the horse, I get back up on it. I have days like any creative person where I feel I've never done anything good and never will, days where the words won't come no matter what, days where the pull between the creative life and "real" life feels like it will snap me in two...but I take those days one day at a time, breathe, and continue working. It's all part of the cycle. And it's still exciting. And just maybe I believe in myself more than I realized.