The Summer of My Content by Martha Reed

Because the neighborhood kids are out of school for the summer, my usually serene mornings are now punctuated by their horseplay, laughter, and shouts as they enjoy my apartment complex’s nearby swimming pool. With our recent series of oppressive Western Pennsylvania heat waves, I can’t blame them for enjoying the water. I grab my noise-cancelling headphones and settle in to reach my daily writing word count.

But one morning I woke up in a pensive mood. I enjoyed a stroll down memory lane recalling the summers of my youth while I finished my lemon-ginger tea. I was a lucky kid although I didn’t appreciate it at the time. I lived on a lake while growing up in Chagrin Falls, Ohio, and spent at least a month each year, usually August visiting my grandfather’s place on Lake Muskoka, Ontario, Canada.

I don’t remember ever learning to swim. Surrounded by that much water, I’m sure we must have learned to swim as toddlers. I do faintly recall an added incentive that once we ‘passed the test’ by dog-paddling solo from the dock ladder to the shore we were released from the perpetually enforced requirement of being strapped into a ghastly, mold-covered orange canvas life vest that blocked my ears and put a crushing chokehold on my throat.

I also recall a homemade lodge-pole pine log raft my boy cousins built one summer. That raft was so tippy that swimming up to it and climbing aboard was like playing an insane 3D game of Twister. Each one of us desperately tried to stay balanced before the unstable contraption bucked us off. We needed to dive deeply into the lake to survive because that raft threatened to brain us as it flipped.

At my present age, and with my passionate interest in crime motivation, I do wonder where the adults were, and why no one ever tried to stop us. We won’t even talk about the frayed rope swing.

Enough rabbit-hole reminiscence. My topic today is that after hearing the kids' joyful laughter outside, I spontaneously decided to take July 2026 off. Without guilt.

Yes, I kept my 2026 responsibilities outlined on my calendar. I put my daily manuscript word count on hold. This action almost sounds treasonous, but it has liberated my days. I finished polishing and submitted three short stories that had been patiently waiting in the wings for their turn at some of my previously non-existent free time. I’ve spontaneously visited two local Pittsburgh sites that I’ve wanted to see for decades, invited a godchild out to lunch, and enjoyed a new French Modern Art exhibit. I’ve discovered a lovely shady spot down on the Allegheny Riverbank for my afternoon reading. The benefit is that I can feel a returning life balance. My creative well-spring is filling back up.

In our modern day social media world, taking a break without guilt may be a mentally healthy thing to do. It’s all too easy to get discouraged when we see our worthy peers announcing their latest multi-book contracts and their new book launches, or when the year-end awards come out without listing our titles. To feel like whatever we’re doing as writers isn’t good enough.

“I’m not happy. I’m cheerful. There is a difference. A happy woman has no cares at all. A cheerful woman has cares but has learned how to deal with them.” – Beverly Sills

Do you ever take a break? What’s your trick for refilling your creative well?