This has been a noisy summer. In some ways, wonderful and inspirational and dizzying and exciting and productive. In other ways more challenging than I've faced in awhile. Into this contradictory mix, not one but two of the people closest to me were diagnosed with cancer and embarked on grueling treatment. A third friend died after a year's battle with cancer.
And I've taught my butt off this summer, from Salt Lake City to Aspen to Truro to Ireland to Vermont. What talented students I had. And I've been blessed with their humor, intelligence, creative, talent, and friendship. But it's exhausting too, the travel and the work and the partying too!
On top of all of the above, I revised my new novel, The Book That Matters Most. Who me? A Type A, overachieving, workaholic? Guilty!
So this writer--and hopefully all of you--is staying home and being still this week. I'm doing a lot of knitting. I've already read two novels in two days. I made tomato pies. I cleaned my study. I'm not getting on a plane, train, boat, or bus. I'm tending my darlings as they continue their difficult journeys toward health, feeding them and doing jigsaw puzzles and giving out hugs.
I'm looking inward, listening to my heart and soul. Being quiet. Being still.
PS Full disclosure: I'll be at the Spencertown Literary Festival tomorrow at noon. But then retreating!