Wavy Lines

Hemingway’s endearingly tragic infatuation with the sea was unavoidable given the parallels of its ebbs and flows with those of the writing process. I spent all of last week at the beach and I developed a similar consuming respect.

Every day the water was different. One day, it was calm and soothing. The following day, jellyfish swarmed. The next, clear waves chopped. Our final day, rough storms threatened. I was cut by seashells, burned by the sun’s rays, stung by slimy, floating globs of “jelly”, and chased by tiny translucent crabs. I shared a mom’s panic and prayers for her lost little boy and crumbled in tears of relief when he was found. I watched lightning spark the night sky and stars twinkle from afar. I was lulled to sleep by the steady breakers and laughed at by the gulls.

Every day that I write is different too. One day, everything flows easily and coherently. The following day, nothing makes sense. The next, choppy but fun! And, of course, some days are dark and dreary. Rejections have wounded my spirit. They cut, burn, sting, and pinch. I’ve panicked and prayed over frustrations and wept with joy of discovery. Every now and then, inspiration strikes with great electricity and incites my creative energy. At those moments, my production sparkles. Acceptance letters arrive, relieving my jitters, releasing my tension with a giggle.

After several days of yielding to the surf, my body adjusted to the habit, anticipating the next surge. I’d find myself swaying with the waves of the sea when I was standing on dry land. And so it is with writing, a cohesive oscillation with nature, that in the end leaves me both exhausted and exhilarated.