Writing is a Lake

Man, where did the summer go? I don't know if it's muscle memory or what-- like I'm a kid again on summer break-- but damn, it's hard to get work done in the summer. It's too hot. Sure, I've worked, done my share of online editing, house chores (god I hate laundry the most),chasing the kids around, you know, hit the beach, went sailing, drove MA to IL and back, installed a b-ball hoop, binged on Olympics, and had a few beers, but writing (including this blog, obviously) I didn't even get close.

If there's an excuse not to write, why does that excuse win? I love to write. It's a fact. It makes me feel better. Gives me that release. Restores my identity. Wow-- that sounded a bit much, but it's true. I stop writing and I start doubting myself. Am I still a writer? Was I ever? Do I know what I'm doing with my life? Does anybody? These questions happen.

It's like... You stop speaking German and you forget how. No, that's too quick of a comparison, awful, and it doesn't really work either... How about this...

Writing is a lake.

Writing is a lake, and you live by the lake, and it's great, it's beautiful. You love looking at it, swimming in it, fishing it, walking your dog around it. But then you get busy. You're doing other stuff. Soon you're complaining. There are too many bugs. There are too many joggers. Too much dog shit. The lake sucks-- it's the lake's fault. Why didn't I move somewhere else? Why do I live here? That lake is in the back of your mind nagging you constantly.

And then one day it gets really hot. Really fucking hot. You walk outside for a second and moisture consumes your underpants. Even your sunglasses trap heat onto your face until they slip off your sweaty nose. Then the blazing sun blinds you. The reflection off that damn lake!

Something snaps and you start running. You struggle to peel off your sweat-soaked shirt, then it's gone, so are your flops, and your feet are naked in the water. There's pebbles and muck, but you don't care. You keep walking and keep feeling better. Your ankles submerge, then your knees, the water hits your groin and your breath is gone. A spin on you heels, and a backwards plunge into the cool, wet, refreshment. You come up for air and get your breath back, but you want to lose it again and again. You can't get enough. You don't want to get out. A smile conquers every inch of your face. So happy. The Lake! The Lake is love! Why haven't I done this sooner? Why don't I do this everyday? It's been right there this whole time just waiting for me.