Summer is coming in.
You don’t have to sing cuckoo, but it helps. If you don’t know why you might, listen to Sumer is icumen in. The Hilliard Ensemble apparently have good Middle English pronunciation. I can’t judge, but would expect no less.
The further north you live, the more extreme the relief. Last month here was terrifyingly dry, the water is terrifyingly low, the eco-apocalypse is doubtless round the corner but not here yet. We’ve had a bit of rain and we’re into 24/7 daylight. It’s glorious.
All the regular meetings and conferences and seminars and classes have vanished as if they’d never been. Everybody who possibly can has got things out of their inbox and into someone else’s (into mine to edit or translate, it feels like).
At this point, the first week of June, it still feels like it might about go on forever.
Nobody’s actually expecting you to DO anything till the end of August, right?
Hold that feeling.
Maybe nip over to book our next writing retreat on 20-21 August now, in case you feel differently then.
Or park the big complex project for autumn, when our Dissertation to Book challenge starts (in Finnish, but let me know if you want to do it in English).
But hold that feeling.
Because if you’re on an academic rhythm, at this point in the year you are very close to being unable to write a sentence at all.
Your body and brain are sending you very clear signals (at least mine is).
You did more than enough.
Stop.
Rest.
Go outside.
Let the summer in!
The picture of incipient blueberries was taken last week, about ten minutes from my front door. I had to go outside to see it. I was doing what editors call a stetwalk, when you stet your text (leave it as is) and go for a walk. Sometimes ten minutes is enough to clear your head. At this point in the year, we need a stet summer. Ideally, like for Nordic schoolchildren, it would be ten weeks. Take what you can!
Ridge Writing Retreats 