I hit it. The end of summer lethargy, the words in my head not making it to the paper blues. It happens. I think about writing daily, but between work, home, the weather – I have a million excuses for not making time to write. None of them are especially valid but I have successfully avoided posting anything for a month. I couldn’t even get inspired to write 100 words every Friday. That’s pretty bad.
One reason I have been holding back is that a lot of what is bouncing through my mind lately feels too personal to process here. I imagine that seems like a stretch, considering some of what has been shared to date. However, I wrote a lot of that before I started using a blog to share and posted it after the fact. Somehow, writing something specifically for sharing takes on a more significant shape in my head. I’ve been over thinking things. I am prone to over thinking.
I’ve been reflecting lately on how much I enjoy the month of September. It has become my favorite month of the year. The summer is winding down, school is starting up and the changes from the first weekend when we celebrate Labor Day with my mom’s side of the family to the last weekend when we slide into autumn are pronounced. We have some of the nicest weather in September. Cool, hazy mornings that bloom into warm afternoons, the air laden with the scent of ripening fruit – blackberries, apples, pears – it is a heavenly concoction that mixes well with indolence. I am reminded of walking home from the first few days of school through ravines or empty lots, stopping to pick sun-warmed blackberries along the way, thinking about summer’s end and the excitement of a new school year ahead.
This year, I have been looking ahead to the 27th with a mixture of dread and wonder. It is the first anniversary of my sister’s passing and I have had way too much experience now dealing with those kinds of firsts. They are both important and awful. I feel compelled to mark them in some way for my emotional healing, but I dread them because they are another reminder that time continues to move by and my link to those people I loved becomes more distant. I don’t know yet how I will mark the day, but it is on my mind a lot as I see reminders of Jan throughout my day. Little things, they make me wistful and melancholy. Sometimes it’s just a big old ache in the gut kind of missing her, wanting to call her to talk about the latest twist in the fabric of my life, but I realize that one of the people I could call who knew my story as well as I is gone. The shorthand of being able to call, fill her in on the latest, and know she’d both be there and understand – I miss that.
I aim to renew my commitment to writing with better discipline. I have now organized a pretty decent sized stack of old writing that I either need to finish or pitch or glean out the best parts for reuse elsewhere. I would like to end the year with at least 3 short stories (not 100 words short, real short stories) that I feel good about. It would get me closer to becoming a dedicated practitioner of the craft. That alone is a worthy goal.