Summer Love in the Country (Summer Instalove)

The men went back to the fields, the girls left without saying a word, and I went back to my

room. As I finally collapsed on my bed, I pondered. I’d never had a boyfriend. I’d never had

a relationship with a man. Would it be a good learning experience for me?

I was out here to try new things and challenge myself. Getting cozy with a gorgeous man

who was incredibly sweet sounded like a good idea. Naturally, I was completely terrified.

But that would likely be temporary. Other people seemed to be open-minded and go with

the flow. What could be the harm in putting myself in Dean’s path to see what happened?

The worst thing he could do would be to ignore me. I sighed to myself as I remembered the

feeling of his hands on my neck, tangling into the back of my hair. That hadn’t just been a

massage for my aching muscles. I adored the way he touched me. Now I just had to make sure that it happened over and over again.

Standing up, I stretched again before forcing myself to get to work. When I checked out the

website of this artist’s retreat, I noticed that many of the rooms had a few completely

empty walls. It added to the lovely minimalist aesthetic. I was lucky enough to have two

blank walls, which was going to help me block out my book.

I had printed out all of the poetry I’d written so far, and brought low tack painter’s tape.

Spreading all of the pages across the queen sized bed and the floor, I was able to see

everything at once. As I had hoped, being in a different space with no distractions enabled

me to focus completely.

Within an hour, I’d sorted all of the pieces thematically, and figured out which sections

needed a few more key pieces to develop the ideas thoroughly. It instantly pointed out what

order each section should be in, and what the most important themes were.

Next, I taped each section’s poems in a row on the walls, with blank sheets where the extra

pieces would be. There was something infinitely satisfying about being able to see

everything together as one huge project.

After three hours of sorting, arranging, pondering, and taping, my entire bedroom had

become my poetry book. I quickly transferred the notes on what pieces I needed to

complete into my large notebook, with a few tiny fragments in my pocket-size notebook.

Even though I knew I should stretch again, I thought maybe I could do that while lying on the

bed. My eyes closed for just a moment, as I realized that the hard work I’d done this

morning really had cleared my head.