It's funny, because in most parts of America right now, the fall is happening. Some places are even getting a little winter. Kids are bundling up for the walk to school. That little area near the front door with all the hooks and the shoe caddy is laden with galoshes and honest-to-goodness coats and scarves. Outside the trees are losing their foliage.
People are eating soup.
Ah, but here our air conditioner is running. Here, it's summer. And not even Indian Summer--not that fleeting little bit of bonus summer that hits the north like an unbidden note in the mail or a package of cookies from Mom. No, here it's hot and sweaty--warm enough to make a person reach for a cold one and a dozen oysters when the internal CPU is screaming for a hot chocolate and a bowl of potato soup.
And this does affect the writing. Admittedly, I'm a little off track for hitting my goal of getting draft one knocked out by Thanksgiving. I'm working on three application packets for graduate school, as well as juggling a pretty demanding teaching schedule at the college. Plus, I'm a bit of a father now, so (thankfully) my mornings are occupied by time spent with Lyla.
She makes that pretty easy, by the way. What a kid...
But when I do have that spare moment to peck away at the word processor, it's awfully tough to get into that Oregon state of mind when the beach is calling and I get that hankering for a grouper sandwich from Slyder's. I've got some grading to do this week, but I really hope to get six hours of uninterrupted time on the piece toward the end of the week.
In the meantime, here's to Ol' Man Winter heading south for a little while. Seriously, buddy, come freeze my citrus...