Labor Day was yesterday and another summer has curled up at the edges and dissipated into smoke. I didn't write the novel, didn't put together the manuscript, or do much writing at all. I didn't fix up the house or lose the weight. I didn't even do some of the things that used to define summer for me during other years when the hopeful to-do list was gobbled up by mornings laying out in the sun or floating in the water and afternoons reading in bed. Where did the summer go?
Last thing I...
Published on September 06, 2011 12:51