Why do I write better when I can sit and stare at a beach or lake? What is it about the twinkle of the sun reflecting off water that immediately slows my breathing and empties my mind of worrisome demanding thoughts? Why does a storm’s swirling whitecaps or a boat’s wake sometimes disturb me while at other times energize me?
I don’t know.
I’m writing this from a patio staring at the bay during the last moments of a trip to San Diego. My handwriting is all over the page because other than occasionally glancing down to see where my pen is striking, my eyes are glued to the view. I note a few umbrellas stuck in the sand, tied paddleboats and kayaks bobbing from a pier waiting to be rented, and an occasional cyclist or walker dotting the beach, but mostly I look to where the water and horizon blend.
There are ripples reflecting constant motion, but unlike the ocean side, there are no waves. Light
The water is like my writing style. Parts are dazzling, bright, sparkling and wonderful while others
deep and dark. When I look at these competing parts of the water, I marvel at its completeness. And, like the water, I realize the highs and lows of writing are what make me whole.
Not all of writing is perfect. Far from it. The techniques and word choices are often lacking, but the combination of them creates something new every moment.
Being near water energizes and nourishes me - as does my writing. I can’t live without either. Can you?