Summer Beginnings
On Being a Writer Chapter 1: Identify
Summer routines are getting closer. In our homeschool there are four days of school left, spread out over 2 weeks. We started our summer read-aloud: Great Northern? by Arthur Ransome. Today we took the book and our lunch out to the grass and the sunshine even though it was a touch too cold.
Laura Vanderkam suggests making a Summer Fun List. Mine includes picking blueberries on the Island, going downtown for an adventure at the history museum, and reading Dante. But I’m most excited about my deep commitment to try each new seasonal ice cream flavor at the local burger joint!
Lori from Little Truths Studios created the best printable for your Summer list. You can grab your copy of the printable right here. (And be sure to sign up for her newsletter—it’s full of creativity, beauty, and big, fluffy dogs!)
I’m also going to read through the book On Being a Writer by Ann Kroeker and Charity Singleton Craig this summer. Ann is someone I have known online for a long time—at least 15 years! And she is one of the best models of a good literary citizen that I know of. She is creative and wise and shares both her creativity and wisdom freely.
The first chapter of the book is about calling yourself a writer. I’m not sure when I started saying I was a poet. Probably not until after the pandemic, even though I had been working and learning in earnest for a while before that. Certainly, taking a chapbook manuscript class with Holly Wren Spaulding and meeting Fritz and Heather and Martine shifted things.
But for me the lingering question is what counts?
Does journaling count or postcards or lesson plans?
Just how elastic is my idea of a writer?
How much of my varied life is feeding what happens on the page?
Sarah Cook writes about this question with clear eyes and honesty.
It’s a question I come back to again and again—as a writer, as an artist, as a sensitive (and sometimes insecure) human being…What counts? It’s an external validation question, soooorta—it’s a little slimier, a little more slippery than that. Because it gets down to the heart of the thing: Your Actions. Which of them count? Well, which of them are real? That kind of heart. That kind of slippery.
How did you come to writing? Was it a big deal to tell other people that you write? What counts? How will you make this season count?
A note on paid subscriptions….I send a poetic something in the mail each month to my subscribers. I am shifting to sending things around the first quarter moon, so that they arrive around the full moon. Now’s the perfect time to sign up!
I now confidently call myself a writer. Looking back through my life, though, I don't know if there was ever a time I wasn't a writer. I remember writing creative short stories at nine years old, printing them at my grandma's house, and stapling them together to make them into a real book. I discovered poetry in middle school and with significant encouragement from my English teacher, I started keeping my own poetry journals. She still asks about my writing. Around the time of the pandemic, I started a blog as a senior in high school. I continued it on and off through college. One year out of college, here I am, still writing. Really, though, I don't think I ever introduced myself as a writer to anyone until my fiancé introduced me as such to his friends. I remember being completely caught off guard. The title feels awkward sometimes still. I mean, I haven't published books yet. I AM a writer, though.
In the summer, I like to get outside and hike in the early morning before the heat of the day kicks in. The soft slanted light and cooler air feels creatively charged--a special time that I've set aside for my mind and body and soul. This year, I'm excited to have a couple of experimental creative projects to work on. I know the time will fly and I want to be intentional it. Thank you for mentioning Holly's class--very tempting. 🌊🌊🌊