Summer means I can clean my frat-house-like house.
Summer means that I can teach two weeks of a teen writing camp and one week of a young writers camp. Imagine teaching to students who WANT to be there and who want to write!
Summer means that I get to have luxurious cups of coffee that I can drink while hot.
Summer means being able to go to the bathroom when I actually need to.
Summer means I can refill my brain with stories and words that I use during the school year faster than I can refill.
Summer means I can reconnect with my family.
Summer means I can sit without moving.
But mostly for me, this summer especially means that I am giving myself an ultimatum. This summer I must get at least a shitty first draft out of the story I have been gnawing at the edges for in one form or another for the past several years.
I have danced around writing Swinger Of Birches. I have set it aside to care for everyone and everything else and I have pushed back my writing as though it were that luxurious cup of coffee.
This summer is it. I will write or burst. And now I have written it down and posted it, not just said it to my writing group. The pressure is on.
Feet to fire.
Summer means ...giving myself an ultimatum. Write this story or finally move on to another writing piece.
