Ahhh! Summer is here—finally—and I can kick back and relax. Oh, wait. I have a book to write, blogs to schedule, social media to follow.
And…my garden needs weeding again, small as it is. And…it takes me about three hours to mow the grass on our large farmyard. And…the flowers need to be watered often this year because it’s so dry. And, oh yes, the raspberries will be ready to pick in a couple of weeks, every other day for an hour or so. Did I mention that our grandkids on the neighboring farm are out of school and like to ride over on their bikes to visit us?
Sun and sand can be distracting when you live on the Canadian prairies, because summer is short. We want to experience it.
My summer is actually busier than the rest of the year, so I need lots of motivation in many areas. I need routine, which isn’t one of the summer’s best qualities. So, where does that motivation come from?
In my mind, this topic is all about motivation as opposed to distraction. Can we separate the two and focus on our dream, the one with the published book in hand? Let that be the dangling carrot, the light at the end of the tunnel, the incentive for us to keep pressing on.
Here’s a poem by Linore Rose Burkard that I found on NovelRocket.com this very morning (Thank You, Lord). It fit in so well with my theme that I asked Linore if I could repost it here, and she generously agreed. As I commented on the Novel Rocket site, this poem may not grab any poetry awards, but it resonated with me, and I hope it will with you too. Please check out the Novel Rocket blog and consider signing up for the daily article. It’s a great resource and motivation for writers. You may wish to sign up for Linore’s newsletter as well.
So carry on and write, no matter what stands in your way. Motivation is a self-instigated concept, so it’s up to each of us.
Wishful Thinking (The Writer’s Lament)
If I had no books to write
my house would sparkle, clean.
My garden would be weeded
and my porch would be pristine.
The lawn, no doubt, be greener,
the flowers massed and bright;
Instead I have “if only!” sighs
when, sad, I view the sight.
If I had no books to write
The laundry would be done,
The children look their finest
and meals, five-course, if one.
If I had no books to write
I’d have no late fees looming
from bills unpaid or mail-stacks
laid in piles, all a-glooming.
The perfect house, and perfect meals
and family would be mine;
And so it’s well I write my books—
Or th’ illusion would unwind!
For if I had no books to write
The world’s imperfect, still.
And my poor soul would poorer be
without the writing thrill.
How glad! That I have books to write
(Despite no homestead Eden)
For writing’s more exciting
than “house beautiful” housekeeping!
©2017 Linore Rose Burkard
www.linoreburkard.com
Janice L. Dick writes historical and contemporary fiction, inspirational articles and book reviews. She also edits and presents writing workshops.