Place! This is it …
September 11, 2008 § 4 Comments
Well, we do natter on, we writers about this and that but you gotta realize, we don’t have a “display” art (unless you count the cover on our books). Not a lot of discussion. Not a lot of writers on the telly, though sometimes on NPR, those writers who have good radio “voice” anyway. And so we support one another, through chatting it up about plot and place and view and viewpoint. It’s heady and important stuff, our own version of catnip, and there are blogs and books that hold hands with who we are and what we do.
And so I hearken back to LAST week’s writing prompt about “place” and how it figures into our writing. I wrestled with the topic. (that happens, and believe me, it isn’t pretty, me wrestling with images and topics!)
HM hied me out of town for a four-day respite on the Gulf. Hurricanes be damned, we were going south. No work connections, no laptop, no anything except cotton clothes, bathing suits, and stuff to read.
And there it was, more than 1100 miles from my home.
My writing place.
I found it.
Early morning, barely a breeze, steel drums playing softly, the resort coming to life as the Towel Hut opens up, the pools pumps power on, the holder of the keys walks by, the sweeper, the singer, the polisher, all of them quietly going about their business somewhere on the 30 acres.
And me, at an umbrella-ed table, the second one from the left, situated between the sea (the Gulf, really) and one of the swimming pools. And not far from the sand nor from Salty’s outdoor eatery-drinkery shack.
There, at that table, I wrote, over the course of four days, 15 pages in longhand. In the morning. On one starbucks tall cup of coffee. While HM slept in on the fifth floor in our suite.
And there was nothing but writing going on and the surf working, working, working away at the shoreline and the pen scratching scratching scratching across the paper and giving it texture so that when I finished a sheet, tore it out, flipped it over, and filled the second side, I could actually feel the words, the imprint of my handwriting.
It went well enough. It was the place. My place for that space and time. A writers’ colony is all well and good and wonderful (I suspect) but this place on St. Pete Beach will do quite well, thank you.