I clocked a slow mile-and-a-half strolling with a friend and her elderly mother early today before spending a few hours writing, um, I mean practicing. Then I accepted an unexpected invitation to walk again--a three mile power walk this time.
Now it’s late. I’m low on blog topics so I thought I’d tell you how, this morning, the ocean lit up yellow at the horizon under a focused spill of sun. Cracks heaved in the aging tar on the private road past the red “No Trespassing” sign where we debated, and sighed, before turning back from the view of hulking rocks that amble, like a smooth line of elephants winding to the sea.
Later, salt air off the cold ocean triggered goose bumps with the kind of dampness that travels on a forecast of rain. Inhaling a cinnamon sweetness from blossoms hanging like laundry on a flowering pink magnolia, we approached the low tide sludge in a saltwater pond where ducks offered a soft “plonk, plonk” as we trudged by.
There was more I was going to say, so much more, but I took a break and read the essay attached to the link below by Dean Wesley Smith. It’s off topic and I’ll warn you the post is long, but it’s good lesson and will be worth the time invested. Having read it myself, now I’m off for more “focused” practice.
Killing the Sacred Cows of Publishing: Writers Don’t Need to Practice.