I’m having a hard time concentrating today. It’s in the upper 60s, sunny, and the wild lupine and snow-in-summer (cerastium) fills our mountain air with a sweet scent. I’m supposed to write a blog about writing; instead, I want to grab a book from my to-read queue, snag a glass of iced tea, crank up the umbrella, and park outside my office to get  sunshine on my pale legs. (I am an unattractive albino.)

My agent is at a major conference with my work. She’s an amazing woman—hard-working, excited about what I’m doing, industry-savvy. I’ve been generating copy—editing chapters, writing blogs, posting on facebook and twitter, creating marketing material, writing scripts for YouTube—at an alarming rate.

The good news is my facebook followers have jumped from 3,400 in March, to an astonishing 22,000 now. And my total following exceeds 26,000. My hard work has paid off. But my brain is foggy.

This afternoon, kind of like the manuscript and yeasty dough I wrote about last month, I maylet my mind rest. Hemingway fished, and F. Scott Fitzgerald drank, so I should be able to read, right? Then I’ll catch up with my Goodreads.com reviews, and post photos on pinterest.com as well. (I’ve neglected these parts of my platform to focus on more tangible numbers.)

Excuse me, but summertime calls. How does it call you, and what are you doing to celebrate this delectable time of year?

(And don’t worry; I’ll be back to my normal, responsible self for Friday’s blog post.)