Who Writes about Winter:
My Thoughts on the Close of Summer
Endings are hard. They’re even harder to write about.
Discussing writing with my young journalist daughter this week, I told her that
the hardest thing about writing for her paper is you have to write something that
the reader will stay with, that’s why the lead is so important. But you can’t
know what interests the reader; you have to write about what’s interesting.
That’s why endings are frequently the topic of discussion,
but rarely enough to hold the reader’s attention in this fast-paced media
environment. The writer only gets a few seconds nowadays, either grab them or
lose them. Closing a chapter, or the end of an era usually holds
significance to those whom were there. For me thinking about a high-school buddy who died
too early, or the end of a season is interesting, but not to one who
believes the rest of their life is like a long stretch of road melting into an
orange horizon.
Often the road takes a sudden turn, or the tires go
flat. Until you’ve been caught by circumstance without a Plan B, a startling conclusion to best laid plans is not a realistic alternative.
When you’re young, it always happens to the other dude. I graduated from college
almost thirty years ago, but at the time it seemed the fun would last forever.
And so here we are at the end of another summer. Summer
always offers mystery and adventure, warm weather, warmer memories, time to
explore and go through the schedule on a relaxed pace. All the years of summer
vacation affect the nostalgic way we view the balmy months of June, July, and August. The
unique bookend holidays at each side of summer accent its special place in the cultural calendar, and of course I previously wrote about the special holiday in the
middle (see July 4, 2016—e pluribus unum).
Looking back today, on Labor Day, my regrets about
this summer do exist on a personal level: I now know that there is no “endless
summer” and at the end of the road I often regret that I didn’t pack more into
the opportunity. I’m happy that the rest of the family enjoyed some adventures
and vacation, but my summer involved mostly work and some back pain. OK, no
one wants to read about that, but a path without obstacles has no destination.
So the universal thoughts of this season turn to the
weather, food, books, travels, smells, and the long evenings with friends and
companions bleeding the last bit of light out of a long, wonderful day. You
remember those days? We look back on summer for its freedom, the whimsy of
celebrations, the adventure of the journey, but most of all for the warmth and
fullness of being alive.
Spring is glorious for how we wait for its colorful eruption,
the resurrection from the dead. Spring is the morning of the year. Fall is self-absorbed, organized, and determined
to achieve what we've planned. Fall is less about fun, and more about keeping score. Winter is the dull hibernation, the killing of
one year and the re-birth of another. Winter is the end. Not much creative
writing about winter. ##
©Mark H. Pillsbury
Finally, let me recommend some brilliant writing about this summer which inspired this blog post:
Thank you, Bob Greene for saying it with such class, may my
thoughts merely echo yours…
He said so eloquently that the real gift of summer is that there will be another one next year!
http://www.wsj.com/articles/summers-greatest-gift-is-that-next-year-there-will-be-another-1472769683
He said so eloquently that the real gift of summer is that there will be another one next year!
http://www.wsj.com/articles/summers-greatest-gift-is-that-next-year-there-will-be-another-1472769683
