Filed under: Patry Francis
For weeks, I have been thinking of putting up a notice on my blog, explaining to anyone who might be interested that I was on a summer hiatus. For a long and wonderful time, I saw the world in blog posts. Everything and everyone around me was part of a grand and unpredictable tale that might be written about, turned to poetry, photographed, or when I was feeling particularly intrepid, even sketched–and then amazingly–incredibly really–shared with whatever kindred spirits might find it.
But then summer came and something happened. I took up residence in a new novel. My mind, once focused on the glittering outer world, grew utterly consumed with the citizens of this shadowy inner landscape.
I stopped seeing friends, both real and on-line. I didn’t go to the gym. Trips to the beach or the movies held no interest. I know this sounds unhealthy, but it feels–marvelous! It’s a feeling you can only have when you’re doing what you were born to do.
Soon I opened the summer office. Now every morning when I wake up, I put one foot on the floor, and I say thank you. Then I put the other foot on the floor and say thank you again. Thank you for the day. Thank you for the story that hums inside me. Thank you for a chance to be a crazy hermit and write, write, write.
I pour a cup of coffee; if I’m feeling ambitious, I might even comb my hair, then I call the dogs: “Come on girls, it’s time to go to work.” (Fortunately, my yard is screened by trees on all sides so I don’t frighten the neighbors in my pajamas.) Laboriously, my old shepherd-lab rises from her mat and heads for the back door; and the Jack Russell, who is snuggling with the last person still in bed, begrudgingly follows. They take their places on the deck; and I open my laptop.
Life, my friends, is good. Thank you. And thank you again.
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