Snow has arrived in Fairbanks, and its arrival covers all what was left of this past summer.
I have been neglecting what I love to do most. The thing that allows me to breathe in the purpose of my existence. We all do that from time to time. But, I have been taking advantage of the luxury in laziness.
I shouldn’t refer to such absence from writing as a form of otiose-ness. While my fingers may not be typing the many stories, plot lines, narrative, imagery, scenes, and the emotions each character expresses, they still occupy my mind leaving me with a melancholy sense of being.
What do I do then to avoid such creative responsibility? I turn to the beauty around me. I turn away for a few moments from the complexity of the characters in my stories. Why imagine and write about that one moment when a character profoundly realizes a devastating truth when I can conjure up fresh cucumber gazpacho? Or why spend a minute on structuring a story within a story when the fresh picked blueberries I bought from the Farmers’ Market is waiting to be baked into a scrumptious Paleo blueberry bar?
Why sit in front of my laptop when I am in the heart of Juneau enjoying my family, and quite proudly relishing the eldest son’s Emmy win?
I believe the answer to all these questions is because I can, and one should always take a hiatus.
However, I do believe in signs that tells one to snap out of it and get back on it.
The primadonna and I were running our usual Saturday errands one summer morning. I was shopping for gorgeous vegetables at the local Co-op Market when I bumped into one of the few people who inspire me, and she just happens to be this genuinely amazing writer. After a bit of chit-chat, I walked away and took the coincidence as a sign that I need to get back to my true purpose (Susan, if you’re reading this –thank you always).
Here we are. Here I am.
This Alaskan summer almost felt as though it came through as a whisper–you hear it disappearing way before its time.