I think a lot about each day’s 9-5, but I had the dreamiest 5-9 today, the kind that made me remember why I left NYC after 13 years to move to the beach. It was sweltering, so I sat on the beach just at the edge of the tide line and worked on my book, getting up to turn over shells with my toes and pace up and down the shore whenever I got stuck on a scene or tough dialogue.

After about 90 minutes of writing solo, my husband joined me and we played a ferocious game of kadima in ankle deep water before diving in and swimming. It was flat and calm, we were the only people in the sea, and the water was the same temperature as the air. Peak summer.

After we sat on the beach, talking and drying off, he suggested we ride our bikes down the boardwalk for an impromptu dinner date at a new lobster shack we’ve yet to try. When we got there, there was a free concert on the beach to listen to while we sank our teeth into butter griddled brioche buns stuffed generously with lobster meat.

When we got home, I took a long, cool shower and then sank onto our patio furniture in my pajamas, watching the beach slowly grow dark as I wrote longhand for another hour. I am thoroughly exhausted and about to start reading a new book until I pass out.

Yeah, I have work stuff to do… and yeah, there are dishes in the sink and laundry to fold… but I love it when the mundane, grown-up stuff doesn’t get in the way of enjoying life. The whole point of moving here was to have evenings like this one, I hope I never forget it!