Notes From Here

Beach as mental equalizer (despite persistent wind). Impossible to crack open a book or uncap a pen here (though not because of wind). The way the sand is riled, looks as though whole, transportable cities (twirling towers of particles) are whisking past my stripy towel, perishing on the bare legs of my husband and son as they search for anemones on those sun-baked rocks out there. I peek over my rock-break until wind sends me a mouthful of grittiness and I’m ducking again. One glance at the ocean has me dreaming and scheming about my novel. Shoot to the next morning as my husband and I powerwalk the still wind-rushed beach. I ask him what he’s thinking and for the next forty minutes we’re sharing thoughts on our writing. This is where the ocean sends us—straight to our creative projects. God how I wish we lived closer!

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About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, activist, fortunate.
This entry was posted in Avoiding My Writing, books, Fiction, Me and Us, ocean related, Santa Barbara, Writer's Angst, Writing, Writing Progress and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Words do not escape you

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