A writer's summer life

 Summer always feels like a mishmash of competing interests and attractions, with little sustained direction or goal. Especially up here in Canada, after enduring many months of cold and darkness, we greet summer with a kind of frenetic euphoria. We tend to cram a lot of living into the brief months of sun, heat, and long, languid evenings. Friends to invite over, trips to take, family to visit, and there doesn't seem to be enough days in the week or weekends in the summer for all our plans and wishes. Serious life seems to take a back seat.

But a writer's life doesn't take breaks. The inexorable march toward the deadline continues, the momentum of the current WIP has to be maintained, or else we'd forget where the story is going. As a novel writer, I have developed a habit of trying to write one scene every day. It's the only way I know to actually reach the end. But in the summer months, with all the visits, trips, and outings, that plan is often derailed. I alternate between feeling guilty about neglecting the obligation hanging over my head and believing that there are other things in life and the summer is too short to miss a moment of it. 

So I find myself writing in fits and starts. I have a modest but beautiful lakeside cottage and I love to have family and friends come for a few days. We swim, we boat, we cook and eat, we laugh and play games late into the evening. I ignore that little voice that says this novel is not going to write itself.  In between visits, to compensate and appease that little voice, I binge write, burying myself in my writing and churning out several scenes each day, emerging from my cave disoriented but euphoric at the end of the day. Sometimes, I take time off, but that is usually filled with the other boring details of life like doing the laundry, battling the weeds in the garden, and shopping for food.

In the past couple of weeks I have hosted two "writers' retreats" at the cottage with two separate groups. These are informal get-togethers with good friends, that have taken place every summer for years. I have to confess that although we talk about writing, brainstorm the odd plot problem, and gossip about the book industry, we seldom do any actual writing. This weekend marks the end of the lazy summer season; after Labour Day, life gets serious again. I know I have to buckle down and get back to my daily writing ritual. The deadline awaits.

But man, this is fun and rejuvenating while it lasts!