People not a part of the world of writers may not realize how “out of time” we live. We always have to be ahead of time. Since publications take time to put together and go to press, the editors and writers have to be thinking about their topics well in advance of actual publishing dates. Often this lead time is six months, sometimes more.
In May, when peonies are popping, and iris’ raise their noble heads, writers are working on The Scariest Jack O’ Lanterns and Mince Meat Tarts and Corn Mazes.
In July when most people are under beach umbrellas, sipping mai tais, we writers are thinking cool, frosty, thoughts--of icicles, wool sweaters, hot chocolate. While people barbecue around us and watch fireworks--red, white, blue, we’re putting ourselves into Santa’s Sleigh and Making Snowmen and Decorating the Home for the Holidays. We’re conjuring up Ten Tips for Handling a Hangover, or for Avoiding the Flu or Hosting the Company Party.
In November, when people are baking pumpkin pies and roasting turkeys and getting out the woolens for real, writers are thinking Red Roses Tell That Special Someone You Love Them. We’re thinking lingerie and chocolates and heart-shaped jacuzzis: Show Him/Her You Really Care.
In December, when the rest of the world is opening gifts around the tree and snuggling under the mistletoe, writers must Think Spring! Planting Pansies for an Early Splash of Color! Ten New Ways to Color Eggs for Easter! The Family that Spring Cleans Together Gleans Together!
But every now and then a day comes along that just can’t be ignored--that quintessential “seasonal” day that even we writers can’t ignore, that makes us take notice, makes us stop for a moment and live in real time. The blazing hot day of summer that draws us away from our keyboards and down to the beach, the blustery day of winter that demands cozying by the fire--the first days of autumn, cool and crisp, turning toasty as the sun gains control. Those days where clear blue skies with cottonball clouds call us to our senses, or those rare evenings when the rising Harvest Moon humbles us. And just for a moment, even we writers must succumb to living in the moment.
