Somewhere in the early days of this blog I think I wrote something about trying to post something at least twice a week. In retrospect it may have been a little too lofty a goal. I seem to be doing well to get something out twice a month at this point.
There is always the hope that somewhere in my future I will find more time for writing and reading. Realistically the six to seven months of winter we get here could work to my advantage. During the long season I go to bed early and therefore find it relatively easy to get up at 5:30am and take advantage of a quiet house. Summer in Alaska is a different story. There is this climate-imposed pressure to fit as much into three months as others in a more southern locale could spread out over as many as six to eight months. The garden needs tending, firewood needs stacking. There are fish to catch, berries to pick and recreation to be had, all in addition to the regular household chores and my job. I’ve heard people talk about “lazy summer days” but honestly I haven’t experienced many of them in the 18 years I’ve lived here. Perhaps we’re programmed to keep moving until darkness settles in, which this time of year is around midnight. It’s a rather manic existence and I can sustain it for a while, but just lately I’ve reached the part of the summer where my concentration is low and my attention span is short.
Lately I’ve been craving some serious couch time. The other day I found myself fantasizing about catching a summer cold that would force (allow?) me to sit still for a while with my books and my laptop. When my reading and writing habits become mucked up in the long daylight portion of summer, I feel a little out of balance. A sort of literary mania comes over me. The problem is compounded by the fact that I work in a library.
It starts with me checking out more books and magazines than I could ever possibly find the time to read. Then, when I start feeling bad about taking so many items out of circulation for the public use I begin digging through the book donation boxes in the back room. My stack keeps getting higher and in my attempt to make up for all the years I spent reading Glamour magazine and listening to 80’s pop music when I should have been reading the classics I start having thoughts like, “How can I possibly be a good writer if I’ve never read Moby Dick, or anything by Steinbeck? I must remedy this situation right now.” The guilt I inflict upon myself is emotionally exhausting and by the time I actually have time to sit down on my couch with my oversized stack, (usually around 11:30 pm) I’m overwhelmed by the choices. I do a lot of page flipping and a little reading (remember the short attention span I mentioned earlier) before I find myself too tired to think straight. Then I fall into a hard sleep for about six hours.
Coherence returns, for a while at least, after a good sleep, so that’s when I try to write, even if it only amounts to a page or two in my notebook. Some would say that journaling is a waste of time but I find that it’s a valuable tool for helping me keep my wits intact. A while back it led me to a most obvious solution to my reading and writing problem of late: short stories. I’m working on a short story of my own, and what better way to learn the workings of the genre than to read a bunch of them? And beautifully, I can manage complete works of fiction that are only 5-12 pages long, even during this crazy time of year when daylight lasts much longer than my brain’s ability to stay fully engaged.
And as for this blog, I still aspire to post more often, and maybe even liven it up with pictures once in a while. In the meantime I’ll do what I can, and continue to enjoy the process. I think I’ll also try to slow down a little and savor some of what summer has to offer.
Thanks everyone for reading. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support!