Well, my project to write each day of September was a big, fat failure. Oh, I wrote, I just didn’t write my stuff. I wrote journalism stories and briefs and obituaries. Which is still writing, still honing the craft. But it didn’t cause me to ponder or question or wonder or dig down deep inside of myself, as good writing always demands.
So yeah, I failed on that one. I did start two new poems and finished off about 10 pages of my novel, but I was expecting much, much more. Kind of hurts when you disappoint yourself, you know?
But, it’s autumn up in Alaska (actually, I’m not in Alaska right now, I’m sitting on the sofa of my sister’s house visiting her in Philly, hee, hee), and I’ve been outside a lot, trying to soak up the last of the weather before the snow falls and the world because quiet and dark.
I haven’t written much, okay, but I have taken some epic runs and hikes, some great beach walks and spent some solitary time on the top of mountains. It’s hard trying to find a balance between outdoor and indoor life when you live in Alaska and the wilderness is at your fingertips and it’s summer and light most of the night and, damn it, you just want to be outside running up mountain trails in the twilight.
So here they are, my humble excuses for having not written much during the summer (and really, can you blame me?).