Long days

As we slide toward summer (thermometer says we're already there in Georgia!), I'm struck by how discombobulating the day length is after that time change a few weeks ago. As I work to finish my workdays, I'm thrown off by how light it is outside and I have to keep an eye on the time or my mind-clock waits until twilight begins to creep and I find myself still at my desk at 8 p.m.

I wonder when  most writers find themselves at their most productive? Is it the long daylight days of summer or does it take the dark, long, cold nights of winter to put writers in their chairs banging away at their work? I've always been either fortunate or unfortunate in that my writing was dictated by a paying job that required regular output. Daily newspapers were kind of funny that way--they came out everyday regardless of the number of hours of sunlight available. But I also know that those papers we put out in July and August were challenged for news in many cases as it seems folks just slowed down and stretched out across all of those hours of daylight like some chaise lounge on a shady porch. Being in the Southeastern U.S. likely influences that a great deal--who wants to be out there in the 90-degree, 90-percent humidity doing something newsworthy? No wonder we had lots of pictures of kids in pools and eating ice cream in our local sections along with short stories about the heat and the lack of rain.

I've often wondered when I'm at my most creative with words. I think my production and ability to create is stunted in the long days. Heat. Humidity. Too much to do outdoors. It's hard to say. Maybe my mind gets muddled by the heat and the distractions of sunny days. Or maybe it takes the short daylight days to put me at my desk like Bob Crachit scribbling away.

So, as I look out at the green-yellow cloud that covers Atlanta in the spring, I'm wondering where all the words went.