I thought we were heading into summer. Really. It took a minute or two to think about it before I realized it’s fall not spring.
What’s wrong with my brain? (Just rhetorical—don’t answer that!) I was confused because I’m working on Thundersnow and the weather’s warming up and spring is almost here (or there) in the book. It’s the middle of March and daffodils are blooming. So, for a moment, I was still in my book—still in spring with cool nights and warm days instead of our fall with cool nights and warm days.
Scuba diving is what I liken my writing experience to. I don my gear and plunge into the water, going down deeper and deeper. The world above is gone for now. I’m looking at the fish swimming by and the occasional shark. Seaweed floats by and I see a lobster scuttle along the ocean floor. If the phone rings, or someone comes to my door, I have to resurface—sometimes so quickly it gives me the bends. (And that’s why writers are irritable!) And sometimes people make me take off my scuba gear to deal with things. And then I get ready to write again and have to put my scuba gear back on, but now it’s wet and harder to get on. But I manage and down I go. But, now, the surge of the sea has changed things. Where was that coral I was examining? What happened to the seahorse? It was here just a few minutes ago. And so I have to search until I can find them again.
But sometimes that special piece of coral is gone forever. I have to find something to replace it, because I can’t resurface empty handed. I sigh and fog up my mask. And then I call it a day. I emerge from the water and reenter the land of dryness. But sometimes at certain moments I feel like I’m still down on the ocean floor. And suddenly I remember just where I saw another piece of coral.
And I can’t wait until I can scuba dive again.