Various lines written during the recent ocean writing workshop:
The ocean didn’t do it for me today. The people at the ocean with me today, did. They offered me a portal of possibilities to reinvent myself and reinvigorate my gifts. They were my keyhole limpets and I looked with them, not through. There is a difference.
Limpets induce limpid thinking.
Sixty percent of Americans have never seen the ocean in person. Perhaps that explains a lot about American politics and the election of Trump. Can you reasonably believe he would have won if 100 percent of this nation’s registered voters had seen the ocean in person? This is a topic worth exploring as a writer although I have no idea how to do so.
The ocean is listless today. Torpid. I don’t dare call it mediocre.
Fourteen writers writing on the jetty is a powerful sight. Unprecedented.
I need to initiate a new relationship to the ocean. Do I need a new running mate for this?
I loved the way she bounded on the beach. It was almost a hopping motion. When she discovered sand dollars, she became positively giddy. I miss seeing that.
I still can teach. I still have something to offer. A man gave me a hug after the workshop and thanked me for my effort. I had met him only four hours ago.
Even if you poured an ocean on me, my passion for life and wanting to help people, animals and watersheds would not be extinguished.
My attorney has the talent to write a great detective novel that makes supernatural use of Gordon Lightfoot’s “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”
Watching waves reach the beach from an elevated perpendicular angle is wondrous. There is beauty in the math.
I changed a life for the better three years ago by building a driftwood fort with someone. He said it cracked his veneer. We all need a good veneer cracking. I sure got mine recently. No more veneers for me.
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