Summer, to many, is not just a season, it's a feeling. That's what makes it to hard to write about.
I've been writing this blog over the course of the last three weeks. When I began the night sky was flashing with intermittent lightning while a modest rain pelted the windows and siding. As I finish, it's two days before school starts, and it's cool, quiet, and sunny. The last rounds of lawn mowing are taking place outside my office window. There's a keen scent of crispness to the air. A precursor to autumn.
And so winds down another summer; my second being entirely at home. Our family situation is fortunate enough that I don't have to work in the summertime, thus being able to spend the days with my daughter (who is just shy of 2), which has afforded unforgettable experiences that no amount of pay from any job could ever compensate for. I get to watch her - and be there - for a significant amount of time as she grows up.
Last year, around this time, Maddie was just about to take her first independent steps. Most of the summer of 2015 had me right there with her, attached at the hip every step of the way (couldn't help myself there). From the age of six months on she wanted to stand and walk, quite badly might I add (because that's what everyone around her was doing), she just wasn't quite there yet in terms of skill, but she's proven a fast learner. Maddie wasn't much into crawling - didn't really care for it (again, because, even though encouraged, she saw everyone else walking) - and wouldn't master that skill until after she'd walked; something I learned is not all that uncommon. So my three months off last year was defined by her wanting me available almost every second to assist in her attempts to move using her own two feet. Thank goodness my back is in good shape for all the leaning over to hold her hands as she practiced taking steps.
This summer, though, has been surreal in regards to her progress. She, independently, can climb and play on the playground (though I still tend to hover nearby just for surveillance sake). At home she pinballs back and forth between her areas of play in the living room/dining room/"foyer," inviting me to play along or help her "make dinner" with the toy food in her kitchen set. She climbs and descends stairs with ease, sometimes now refusing assistance ("Maddie do myself!" she insists.). We've lost track of how many words she uses - it's beyond even counting now as she's into longer sentences. Her abilities with imaginative play are growing exponentially; she talks to her toys, talks about them, loves to call people on the phone, and interacts with her favorite show by answering questions asked to viewers on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She can count to fourteen without help, knows her ABCs, and, thankfully, loves to read (imagine that). She remembers most books in that she can recite the pages when prompted, sings to her baby doll while rocking her to sleep, and would much rather spend her time outside (at the park or carousel, if asked for her preference) than watching a screen. This may all sound like the bragging of a proud father, but, as previously mentioned, these are unforgettable experiences, and I'm beyond thankful I get to spend this time with her.
Which makes going back to work after tomorrow (Labor Day) all that much harder.
Not only does going back to work mean the number of my hours with Maddie will shorten, but my writing time also decreases once September comes around. As it is, I've been working during Maddie's afternoon nap, which allows me somewhere in the vicinity of ninety minutes to meet my quota of one-thousand words per day; on days she's visiting her grandparents, I work to double that output. When school is in session, I write during my half-hour lunch, and really try to keep it at that, regardless of how many words I produce (until it gets beyond first draft and I have to use my laptop), because by the time evening falls and Maddie's in bed, it's just my wife and I for a few hours before we're trying to catch a few hours to recharge - that 5 a.m. alarm always seems to go off earlier and earlier - and I'd much prefer to relax with my wife than push myself to work more.
My brain's also pretty fried after 8 p.m.
As it is though, in a bit of surprise to myself, over the last six months I've hit a rather unusual stride of inspiration that's led to the completion of three first drafts - one short novel (The Long Road Home), a second YA novel (Among the Lights and Sounds of the Carousel), and a novella (Something Above the Stars) - all of which I've been very happy with the quality of said first drafts. I also completed and sent in my latest draft for An Unexpected Visit (which you'll be able to check out next month).
I've never been this productive.
And I attribute that to the decision I made a while back to not publish anything in 2017. Making that choice took off a lot of pressure. If I were planning a book release for next year, I never would have been able to focus on writing anything brand new, let alone three brand new stories. Just not how my mind works. I can't multitask stories.
The welcome increase in my output, the invaluable time with my daughter, both make summer difficult to acknowledge its passing until next year - only ten months away...
Though, and I can only wonder as the clock reads two in the afternoon and the last hours of summer break pass with a dreadful briskness, would this time be so cherished if it weren't finite?
If every day were like this would I appreciate them as much?
I'd love to say yes, and I believe I would.
Who could say no to a forever summer?
Forever Summer. Hmm.
Sounds like a story I may have to write.
