Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter’s pretty lousy, but I hate Spring. – Dorothy Parker
One of the best things about writing is when something old is new again. When you pull a file for a story or script idea from the cabinet, sometimes years after you first began, and realize the story is ready to be told. Or maybe that you’re ready to tell it. (The two are rarely the same.) That if you’d written it sooner there would be something missing – that letting it sit allowed something to ferment, to grow, to become richer than it could have been. Be it a novel, a screenplay, a memoir – time can be a gift. Granted, ninety-nine percent of the time it will not feel like a gift until the moment you dust off those pages and delve back in. But a gift nonetheless.
With fall approaching, I find myself going back to an old project, and I look forward to immersing myself in the process. Writing is solitary work. I have no problem with that. (I kind of adore it actually.) But by nature, I am a social creature. Nothing makes me happier than a group of friends, good food, great conversation. But sometimes, I get quite wrapped up in my work and don’t realize how much I get from time with friends. From travel. From getting away from my desk.
I took Labor Day weekend off with the plan to shut my office door and relax. Instead I spent it with a lousy cold that messed up plans, but I did actually stay out of my office. I don’t do that often. Ever. I just work when I work and often long, late hours. But I’m rethinking the idea of closing the door more often. This staycation, Kleenex and all, was a good start. xo a.