Summer in Iowa is a little different from the season I grew up with in North Carolina. There isn’t as much shade in the middle of farmland as there was under the pine forests I wandered in as a child. That said, Summer is still my favorite season. Seeing it draw to a close is bittersweet for me this year.
Until this year, my son spent the season with us before going back to school in Colorado. This year he’s more focused on the next steps in his life and I’ve missed him terribly. In his absence, the house has been filled with grand children, there have still been hours of pool parties, and visits by friends. Cook outs, story time by the fire, and our annual Fourth of July party also bounced back from the pandemic.
One thing that has been missing over the past few weeks (or longer) is new fiction writing on my part. I wrote the introduction to Gari on Torthal, and am rewriting that. Otherwise, I haven’t put nearly the effort into new writing that I expect. I plant my butt in the chair as always, but I’ve worked on other projects. I’ve caught up on critiques, read books on my TBR, and found every other excuse to keep busy without writing new material.
The end of Summer means the house will quiet down again. Kids go back to school, my wife goes back to teaching, and maybe the solitude will help me get back to what I love, creating new adventures. The characters are there, my muse is patiently waiting, and new worlds await my fingers on the keyboard. I’ll be sorry to see the cold weather return, but I’ll be glad to get back to the strange company I keep with my stories.