This summer, it seems my whole life is under construction. We've been living in limbo while the house we're hoping to buy in our beloved Lambertville has been taking shape.
I've been doing a lot of driving back and forth to the house to watch it grow into the next phase of its already quite long life. The process has been exciting and sometimes fraught.
|Surprised by asbestos|
Then there's my usual summer preoccupation: writing. With several novels underway at once, I've been trying to figure out where to take my writing next. I've been researching and drafting what I suspect will turn out to be a Middle Grade novel and rethinking a YA novel that didn't quite cohere. I've also been turning back to my first love, poetry, putting together the first manuscript of poems in a really long time.
|Surprised by dogwood|
Most of all, I've been grappling with what kind of writer I want to become. How should I spend the next part of my writing life? It's been a restless and uncertain couple of months trying to answer that question, and I'm still not sure.
|It helps to have a blueprint!|
And I'm hoping that with time and a little tearing down and rebuilding of my own, I'll figure out my own next phase.
|Surprised by a midsummer flower whose name we don't yet know|