Labor Day Weekend and the End of Summer

Kayaking yesterday on a near by lake, I saw a man loosening the bolts on his dock to take it in for the season.  My son, visiting for the weekend, stayed up late Saturday night to watch Notre Dame football.  The leaves on the sugar maple are starting to turn.  This morning when I went outside, there was a chill in the air:  all signs that summer is over—at least in the northeast.

A lot of people make New Years’ resolutions, but how many of us still think of September as the real beginning of the year and a time for fresh starts? It also means the end of the summer.  Although summer isn’t officially over until the 21^st, for all practical purposes Labor Day is when summer ends.  That could be the reason I greet September and the Fall with a certain amount of melancholy. I even start counting down the days in early August, anticipating summer’s end. 

I’m not sure of the reason although I’m sure it has to do with the fact that September for me still means the beginning of the school year in spite of having graduated from college over 40 years ago. Although I’m a lawyer and was in school for a number of years, I never liked the rigidness.  I’m not very good at following rules—at least when it comes to the ones made by other people.  Maybe that’s why I’m a writer.

But besides school starting, September also means that official “fun” is done with until next summer.  This is not to say that there is no fun to be had during the rest of the year, but it has always seemed, except for maybe Christmas, summer is the time when the fun is scheduled in, be it trips to the beach, picnics, outdoor concerts, hikes and best of all, anything involving water. 

Living all my life in the northeast, summer is the only time we can go boating, water skiing and swimming.  Once September comes, you’re pushing it.  This past weekend I wasn’t the only one who sniffed the air and said, “Dammit, it’s starting to feel like fall.”  This sentence, mind you, is always accompanied by a sorrowful shake of the head.

There is, of course, the positive side to the arrival of Fall.  It’s a time of the fresh starts I mentioned earlier and the do-overs.  Just as in high school when I would harbor hope that the new school year would be different than the old with new teachers and new opportunities to succeed, there is still that optimism in the air every September.  Whether it’s something simple, like a resolution to go to yoga class more often—and I’m not the only one, September classes are almost as crowded as January’s—or to finally take a painting class, most of us view September as a kind of reboot or renew.  We are starting with a clean slate, with a chance to do what we’ve put off for months or even years.

Deborah Nolan has two romances with Montlake, SUDDENLY LILY and CONFLICT OF INTEREST and one with Desert Breeze Publishing, SECOND ACT FOR CARRIE ARMSTRONG.  Her second romance, STARTING OVER, is coming out in January 2017 with Desert Breeze.

When she is not writing, she is usually taking yoga classes in NYC or Hudson, NY or art classes in the city. 

Do You Work Better With Chaos or Order?

by Gina Ardito

Years ago, when my son was in elementary school, his class held a Mother's Day tea. During the event, in front of my son, his classmates, and all the other moms, his teacher pointed out my boy's desk, remarking quite loudly how "messy" it was. If she was hoping to embarrass me or my child, she chose the wrong mom and son.

"Remind me," I said. "What's my son's grade average in your class?"

"High nineties," she replied. "He's a straight-A student."

"Has he missed any assignments or homework?" I asked.

"Well, no. But if you look at how disorganized his desk is--"

"Does he share his desk with another student?"

"No."

"You haven't seen my desk at home," I told her. "To anyone else, it seems totally disorganized, messy, and impossible to navigate. But to me, it's 'creative chaos.' It's how I work best. And apparently, my son is the same way. So until his grades falter, he starts missing assignments, or he's sharing space with someone else, I'm not going to worry that his method doesn't meet your expectations. The results meet mine."

I think I became a hero to my son in that moment. I didn't exaggerate the condition of my own work desk. At any given moment, my desk overflows with notes, research books, photos, coffee cups, snacks, and various tchotchkes to keep my muse entertained. While I write, there'll be music playing or a television on in the background, or both. I don't plot or outline. I barely know my characters when I start Chapter One for any story. I throw myself into the storm of ideas and noise and clutter. And then I work my way out from the midst of the madness to create my art.

I thrive on chaos. I set unrealistic deadlines. I paint my characters into impossible corners with no method of getting them out. I throw caution to the wind over and over again. And yet, somehow, it all works out for me in the end. Every single time. This is my process. Crazy? Maybe. But who said creativity has to be sensible?

I guess my son takes after me. Judging by the condition of his bedroom vs. his high grade point average, the scholarships he was offered, and the fact that every college he applied to this year accepted him as an incoming freshman in the fall, this system (or lack thereof) works for him, too.

The thing is, when it comes to creativity, there is no right or wrong. There just is. I know several writers and other artists who need total silence, perfect order, and pristine conditions to work. Some use white boards and Post-It notes and map out every facet of the story before they type a word. Others toss themselves into the abyss like me. And still others find a combination of neat/chaos that works best for them.

As long as the end result is something beautiful, what difference does it make how we get there?

And in case it wasn't obvious, the mug in the photo above sits on my desk--a gift from my son. "Creative chaos is better than idle neatness."