summer is supposed to be a time of relaxation, of sunshine and sunscreen, of picnics in the park, of beaches and pools, of long, lazy hours that blend together.
or maybe that’s just the summers of my childhood because i can’t recall a summer like that in recent years. nowadays, i’ve barely added the white back into my wardrobe post memorial day before the fireworks are popping and labor day shuts down any fantasies i had about going to the beach. it’s one thing after another — work, trips, sports, friends, family, etc — and pretty soon, the leaves are changing color and i’m putting the blankets back on my bed.
so where does that leave me time to write?
it doesn’t really, so i have to remember to make writing a priority, to squeeze in the words any way i can: on a lunch break. on the train. before bed. when i’m tired. when i’m happy. when i’m bored. when i’m busy. when i’m cold. when i’m sick. when i’m healthy. whenever, wherever i can.