I don’t hate the summer, though I find heat a lot more uncomfortable than cold. I find it is easier to warm up when you are cold than cool down when you are hot. I can’t wear the kinds of clothes I like in the summer. That being said, I don’t hate the summer.
In the last ten years, the years when I’ve been writing much more seriously, I’ve found summer was when ideas come to me. I just jot things down all the time. Little starts, little bits and pieces. Which is lovely and glorious, if a bit frustrating.
My mind doesn’t focus as much in the heat, but it is active. Hyperactive even.
In time I realized that is okay. That is good. It’s like gathering seeds.
Then, when the days grow shorter and the air cools, when the beautiful autumn comes, I know I will be able to plan all those seeds. The autumn is when I can really sit and write. The cool air, the colors outside, the ability to wear sweaters and suits and sip hot coffee. That’s when things really flow.
I don’t hate the summer, but I’m glad to see it go, because autumn is my favorite time. I need the summer’s uncomfortableness to appreciate it. Just like when winter becomes too much I can get excited about spring.