Lines in the Sand

 

I’m one of those people who visits the beach out of season, when the surfers, swimmers, and drone-operators are gone. But to me, it's as ripe as a mirabelle plum during high season. On days when the weather is subpar to some, but superb all the same.

Writing, though a compulsion of mine, has grown exhausting given the narrowing of available platforms. I can only write by hand or on a word processor. I’ve never been a graffiti guy (perhaps it was the fumes that got to me). Our canvases are quite limited, despite what online prognosticators claim. Sidewalks are only suitable when wet. Windows and mirrors only viable when fogged up. Snow only comprehensible, well, let’s just say when particularly colorful. 

As a writer in need of a medium, I avoided making an appointment with a psychic (foretelling myself ignoring their predictions, thus skipping the process altogether) and headed to the beach. 

The beach is a great place to write. Drawing lines in the sand gets a bad wrap, but if you ask anyone who has a handle on cuneiform, they will surely sing its praises. Then again, talking to ancient sarcophaguys, doubly mummified under the weight of museum-grade plexiglass, gets old after a while – as do you. But they know a thing or two about sand and making the most of it. 

Lines in the sand aren’t ultimatums. How could they be? It’s not like they last, given the tide. It’s an empty gesture, a way to blow off a little ocean steam. The beach is beyond censorship, unless you consider Poseidon’s twice daily tidal onslaught something akin to a marine ministry of truth. Is it possible that right after writing something wildly offensive a rip current arrives, sweeping you out to sea for a date with Davy Jones? Of course. I wouldn’t call that censorship though. It’s more like accountability. We need people who take a look at our writing and provide feedback. People who, while they can't necessarily write themselves, have an eye for what words sound best and in what order. Folks who understand that writing needs rhythm, timing and a sense of both song and dance. Writers can't be their own masters, unless you believe blogging should inherit the earth. We all need people who have a keen sense of verbiage. We all need editors. Right?