I would be remiss if I did not begin by describing the scene in front of me. I'm sitting at a high top table, perched in my cushioned seat, legs criss-cross-applesauce, gazing out the open sliding glass door at the ocean.
It's a beautiful day. The beach is clear save for a few rainbow colored umbrellas and the occasional shovel-bearing child running through my line of sight. The ocean is rolling along with the occasional whitecap, and I can see where the shades of it transition from light brown, to deep blue, to a greenish blue. And there's one of my favorite creatures, the pelican, diving in search of lunch.
I am so grateful for this beauty, though I'm pretty sure I'm a horrible travel companion. It's the fourth day of our vacation, and I'm midway through my fourth book. I sit and read A LOT at the beach. Sure, I'll go for a walk at the ocean's edge, play "Oh Dear Lord Almighty, Look at the Beach!" with my daughter (a game where we swim out to where the waves first break and then scream those important words at the pivotal moment so we know to turn and avoid being smacked in the face with saltwater), and dig in the sand with my toddler, but more than likely, I'm reading. Reading on the beach, reading on the balcony, reading on the couch, reading in bed. It's like a Readers Retreat. And I love it.
I've also been working on Reliance while here. I was so excited yesterday morning when suddenly one of the narrative voices started talking to me and I got up early, before the rest of the family, so I could record what she said. And just this morning, she filled in some gaps for me. Her story was tragic, unexpected, but it explains so much about how her brother turned out to be the morally ambivalent man he was.
As a writer, you have to trust the voices in your head. But in order to do that, you must be able to listen to them. Life is so busy. When I'm home, even in the summer, when my work schedule is flexible, I'm going-going-going. I have to create moments of quiet so that I can hear more clearly. Sometimes it's when I'm reading, when I've escaped my life so completely that another can find space inside my mind. Sometimes it's when I'm falling asleep and I've surrendered the day. Often it's first thing in the morning, before the day's expectations usurp all of my mindspace.
For me, there aren't many places as conducive to opening my mind as the beach. Maybe it's the sound of the surf, the comfort food (see my recent Instagram posts of donuts...and more donuts), or the fact that I'm able to leave so many of the expectations of my everyday life behind. Maybe it's being in a city with hundreds of years of history, so many stories it could tell. Maybe it's a little bit of each. What I do know is that the novel is flowing, and I can feel it in every bit of me.
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