And the time starts now!
Summer’s nearly over. Can you believe it? I love the summer. Love that it feels more carefree. That I don’t have to worry about driving through snow and ice. That I’m not freezing when I pump gas. To me, summer feels like the very shortest season.
I know. It’s not gone yet. But–it’s on its way out, dang it!
Summer means so much to me, I write about it a lot.
Once, a million years ago, when I was in Rick Walton’s writer’s group, I brought the beginning of my fourth national novel to see what the other writers thought about voice and the direction I was headed.
This book was a little different.
It wasn’t set in Florida!
But it was about two sisters (the older was the main character).
And it was set in the summer. In fact, it began on the last day of school.
“Wow,” someone said (yes I remember who). “No big surprise here. You’re writing about two sisters. In the summer.”
“Uh,” I said. “But it’s in Utah.”
She turned away, her point made.
I always write about the same thing.
It felt like I had done something wrong.
That night I went home. Bothered. Worried. Did this matter, this same thing I always wrote?
So I changed a thing or two. The biggest thing? I had the younger sister tell the story.
The truth is, I write about what I am most comfortable with.
I am a sister.
I am a daughter.
I still have daughters.
I still love summer.
Those things are all part of my little, black heart.
Where are the places you find yourself over and over?
Is this bad?
Or is it good?
Do you want to change?
Why do you choose these themes or events or people, even, again and again?
What do you think?