Friends,

On June 25, I turned in the second draft of my book. The revision took me about five months and I sent it to my editor later than I’d hoped. But it was done and was a big step forward from the first draft. I cried with relief, then packed up the car and immediately drove to Los Angeles to begin my first true summer break in decades.

I had two months off, what glorious freedom. It reminded me of the summer before I started college. Then, I was 18 with the hill of high school was behind me and the mountain of college ahead. I drifted in this peaceful, liminal valley between them. I worked odd jobs, rode my skimboard at the beach almost every day, got restless and bored, picked up a hitchhiker (just once). I felt free in a way I hadn’t before. I didn’t know it then, but I wouldn’t feel that same summery freedom again until, basically, now.

At 38, “time off” looks quite different. I spent the summer rising early, taking my toddler to the park, settling into a sweet, slow routine where our days were full of each other. Since I became a mom, this is what I have wanted: The luxury of time to focus just on my child. The hardest part of working on the book was hearing my son call out, “Mama!” after I went into my office and closed the door. So two months of chasing a toddler around? It was the best summer of my life.

It wasn’t all park days. We road tripped to LA together, took a family vacation in Monterey, saw both sets of grandparents, got muddy in a West Texas cotton field, and survived an unexpected overnight layover in Denver. I read and binged TV and sewed and finally did that thing of napping when the baby naps. I let the book simmer on the backburner in my mind. It felt healthy and necessary to get some space from it.

But I’m sure you can feel it too—summer’s over now. Sure, California will likely do its trademark thing of being remarkably warm and beautiful into October, maybe even November. Despite that, the tide has unmistakably turned towards fall. The mornings are darker, the light feels thinner, and the last flush of tomatoes in my garden are ripening.

It feels fitting then just this week I got (positive!!) feedback from my editor and two anonymous peer reviewers on my manuscript. It’s time to return to work.

And you know what? I feel excited about it. This summer was gas in my tank, and now I’m ready to goooooo. Wish me luck!

Here are three more things I want to share from my summer:

• I read two books that I still think about on a near-daily basis. The first was The Wilderness by Angela Flournoy. It’s a masterfully written story of friendship between five Black women, told over several decades. Not since Tommy Orange’s There There has a book’s ending so thoroughly gutted me.

• The second book was Milkman by Anna Burns, a brilliant novel about a young woman being stalked by an IRA paramilitary in Northern Ireland in the 1970s. It took me a beat to get into it because it’s stream of consciousness and none of the characters have proper names (the protagonist is referred to exclusively as “middle sister” or “maybe-girlfriend”). What ultimately sucked me in was the way it makes you feel the psychological and emotional pressure of living in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Pretty much as soon as I finished it I wanted to start it all over again.

• I’ve been devouring the “Gear” season of the Articles of Interest podcast. The podcast is about what we wear, and “Gear” is about the intersection of the American military and the outdoor clothing/gear industry. It’s my favorite type of nonfiction: a deep dive into the hidden histories and unusual origins of ubiquitous objects or ideas.

I hope that in these past few months you had your own taste of summery freedom, whatever that looks like for you. Take good care, friends.

Warmly,
Lindsey