Now that the kids are back to school, I'm reflecting on all the writing I did this summer, which was basically NONE. Nothing. But I've decided I'm not going to feel bad about it. I talked with a writer friend this morning, and she confirmed that she too, sat at her desk today and couldn't quite remember where things were.
I know kids are not an excuse (look at what J.K. did! blah blah...) so I'm just going to skip the excuses and not feel bad about it. Obviously had any fabulous agents or editors requested something on deadline, I would have gotten to work. But they didn't, so neither did I.
So here's my "Writer's Ode to This Summer", and you can guess whether I was ever a good rhymer or if my summer-slide has caused irreparable harm.
I did not write at the lake,
I did not write at a clambake (nor did I get invited to one).
I did not write at the beach,
I did not write eating a peach.
I did not write in a car,
I did not write with a jar (of blueberry preserves).
I did not write in the sun,
I did not write with a hamburger bun (I'm a vegetarian).
I did not write under a starry sky,
I did not give it the college-try.
I did not write on my kayak,
I did not write on anything that rhymes with kayak.
I did not write on my neighbor's cool boat,
I did not write on a unicorn float.
I did not write with a beer and a lime,
I did not write - for I had no time.
And in the future, I'll write on my own you see,
For I did not get into Rutgers University (One-on-One+ Conference).
But today, today I will write and you too should write and not feel bad about all the time wasted this summer. For in the immortal words of the Keith Urban song,
"Ain't it funny how the best days of my life, was all that wasted time?"