What a strange summer we’re having in New England…some of the most scaldingly-hot stretches I can remember, followed by periods of drenching rain, cold and gunmetal skies that make you think of London in spring.

Lately the weather has been hot and dry, and the pool has been calling to me. We sunk LOTS of money into this project last year, building ourselves a little paradise in our own backyard; our thinking (muddled as it was), was that since we never really go anywhere on vacation, why not spend the money we might otherwise spend at Disneyland on our home?

When we bought this house three years ago it was slowly crumbling to nothing, after 50-some years of maintenance by the same homeowner, whose idea of home improvement consisted of gluing fake wood paneling to every available surface. We’ve spent many, many hard hours of blood, sweat and tears tearing down everything he did–and then some. The backyard is a good example. There was a pool back there, but it was 30 years old and–literally–falling apart. The previous owner had “trimmmed” the shrubs (well, mostly tied them back with rope) and burned the liner to nearly pure white by throwing pounds of chemicals in the water. Cracked concrete was repaired with a few bags of Quickrete that itself had crumbled away shortly after. Ripped vinyl was patched with Duct tape. So with the best of intentions, we decided that last summer would be a good time to make some improvements.

As usually happens with these projects, things got out of hand very quickly. Before long we found ourselves standing amid piles of concrete and rubble. The backyard looked like a wasteland, and we were already running out of money (ahhh, the wonders of the home equity line!) After recovering our nerve, we bravely plowed on…and this summer we finally have our little paradise. Along with a nice, tidy pile of debt.

Where am I going with all this? Well, playing with the kids in the pool on these hot summer days has, for me, become another easy distraction, a way to avoid what I really SHOULD be doing, which is sitting down at the keyboard. Playing with the kids is a good thing; proscrastination is not. Writing is a long, lonely process, and I sometimes find myself doing anything other than putting the words down on the page. I’m usually avoiding something that makes me nervous; facing a tough edit, nearing the end of a story or novel that I’m afraid may not be particularly compelling, or simply getting ready to submit something new and to face possible rejection.

When this happens, I organize the books on my shelf, go grocery shopping, throw myself into the day job, hang out in the backyard…until finally, after much internal debate, I kick my own rear-end long enough that I’m shamed into sitting down in front of that keyboard. And you know what? I realize what a great relief it is to GET AT something, to scratch that itch, to get back in the swing and feel the story flow. That’s when I realize how truly lucky I am, to be doing something I love. And I promise myself that I won’t let it go so long again, that I’ll remember how much fun writing can be.

Speak of the devil…Time to get back at it.

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