September 11, 2014:

To me, the month of August feels like deep, sweaty summer. Then, all of the sudden, September arrives abruptly and the dog days are but one hazy, photo-composite of a memory. There’s a frenzy as kids go back to school and we-the-responsible remember that we have work to do. I spent the last three months away—in California, Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, Maryland, and New Hampshire.

I sunbathed, listened to some fine music, ate fried shrimp, swam in a freezing lake, got a crown on my tooth, saw a friend get married and one have a baby, and did very little writing. When I returned to Colorado just after Labor Day, I hiked a mountain near Vail Pass with my parents and two of their friends. When we reached the top, I asked my dad if he wanted to be in a selfie with me. I recanted the offer momentarily—Dad probably didn’t know what that was. I would have to explain.

But, friends, he knew. (“It’s what Obama does with all those sports stars.”) And yes, he mugged for the camera.

The world is moving on. (Selfie was actually Oxford Dictionaries 2013 word of the year.) It halts for no one. In eight months I’ve written some 38,000 words—but that’s not enough. I’m not finished. Here’s to going back to work, to believing that you’ll all get to read them some day.

By Abigail Ronck, from Diamonds in the Dustheap

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