Leading up to leaving for Myrtle Beach a few days ago, I tried to get all of my work done so I wouldn't have anything to do while on vacation. I succeeded for the most part. And even though I finished my current submission for grad school, I felt words building within me today as I walked down the beach. It was beautiful; calm. The only sounds were the gulls and the waves lapping at the shore. Even with all of the white noise, my brain seemed loud. Not with worries, nor mindless prattle, but rather lines for stories and poems.
I suppose Eugene Ionesco was right. I guess a writer never really has a vacation. And I know that even when I'm not writing, I'm thinking about writing. I guess that just makes me a writer.
It's so easy sometimes to get caught up in all of the stress and deadlines, which go along with writing in grad school. But then there are days when the words are just there, when the story is so deep it might as well be 20,000 leagues beneath the sea. And I understand why people talk about the mystery and vastness of the ocean sometimes. Looking at the tumbling topaz waves makes me believe in the possibility of life, in the possibility of things, which seem impossible in the world. I suppose that's what I'm trying to find in myself, and in my writing. So for right now, I'll enjoy these waves, the sound of words in my head, and the feeling that comes with filling a blank page with writing.
