Summer Scribbles
Where I’m at with my writing
Summer has always been the best time for me to write. When I was a kid, summer meant that I had extra time and fewer responsibilities. TV seasons ended and there was nothing but reruns — or even worse, the news. There were no computers or smartphones to keep us occupied. I went to the neighborhood library every week to select books, and spent long afternoons reading them.
Without a constant stream of interruptions, I was free to journal and work on stories. I wrote in a notebook while riding in a car to and from my family’s long day trips. I once worked out a tough plot hole on a story I was working on while sitting by a lake, watching my brother swim. I kept a mini notebook by my bed to jot down ideas late at night.
Writing was also an escape for me. When I got a computer, I spent cool summer nights with the windows open, typing one of my imaginary adventures. The only sound was distant traffic and the constant click-clack of keys. I dreamed about becoming a famous novelist.
Now, of course, distractions reign supreme. We have more shows than ever at our fingertips, available on demand. I have a full-time job that doesn’t give me summers off, and a home to maintain. I haven’t dedicated as much time as I could to my writing.
I also learned the hard way how difficult it is to make a career out of writing. Sometimes I think about throwing in the towel, giving up on it entirely. I find it difficult to talk about my writing, to say, “Here’s something I completely made up, based on my feelings and experiences. It took me years to plan and write. What’s your brutally honest opinion about it?”
But it slips through into my day-to-day life. The other day, I was at work typing away, and one of my coworkers said, “Wow, you type fast.” I paused, thought about the hundreds of thousands of words I’ve typed in my spare time, and just said, “Yeah, I do.”
I still wake up in the middle of the night with ideas, jot them down on a phone app, and struggle to go back to sleep.
Tonight I transferred a lot of those phone notes to Word files. I backed up the novels I’m working on. I opened the windows and immersed myself in the pale glow of the computer screen. I typed while the rest of the world was asleep.
And isn’t that what it’s all about? Showing up to the keyboard, hacking away at a novel, one word at a time. I’m still a writer, and I have tales that need telling.
