On spoons and other matters

So, a fresh delivery of spoons has been accumulating.  The problem with spoons being that they seem to run out all at once, but so many people have them on back-order that they arrive in drips and drabs and you hardly notice they've come in, until one day you (by which I mean "I") realize that you have a brain, and energy, again.

The realization that I once again have full access to my brain came yesterday, as I was staring moodily at the blank computer page where a chapter should have been taking form.  I had written out what I thought the next scene should be, but then I realized that. . .it was boring.  I needed magic! sparkle! energy! And I said to myself, "What is the most magical thing in the sea?"

And I remember this true story from my own past.

It was 1978; Steve and I had been given the use my friend David' beach house in Hatteras Village for a week.  David's house was on stilts, and the only thing between it and the ocean was the house directly in front of it, which was designed on an ancient flying saucer blueprint.  It also sat on stilts.  I guess they thought it would float, in the event of a storm tide.

In any case, one morning, I was walking on the beach, and came across three guys, fishing.  And one of the guys had just brought his catch up onto the sand -- I could see that it was a Really Big Fish.  As I came up to the group, one of the other guys had cut the line, and the fish was flailing, and seemed to be trying to bite -- anything, really.  The guys kinda moved away, and I said, "What kind of fish is that?"

"Oh," said the one whose line had been cut.  "That's just a sand shark."

This is a sand shark

Notice how most of his head is mouth?  A mouth full of lots and lots of teeth?  I want to tell you that, drowning and furious and desperate as it was, it impressed the hell out of me.

Later that day,  I was playing the the surf, and staring down through this incredibly clear, turquoise water at the rays, and the fish, and all.  Prompted by who knows what, I looked up, and to my right -- and there, coming toward me fast, was a dorsal fin.

I flashed on the sand shark, and knew, for one very long moment, as I stared at that fin flying toward me, that I was going to die.

And then the dolphin broke water not an arm's length away, arcing high into the sky, and grinning down at me, with a "Got you!" gleam in his eye.

And I laughed, and it was magic.

. . .and I knew then what to write in that blank screen that was supposed to be the next chapter.

It really is good when your brain works.

. . .which brings us back to spoons, the losing and regathering of same.

Yesterday, I came across this.  I suggest you all read it.  Yes, right now; I'll wait.

Back?  Cool.

As far as my own experience goes, the tips are pretty much dead on.  If it were my list, I would repeat  Point 19 several times.  I would, indeed, print out Point 19 and tack it up where I could see it.

I would likewise repeat and print out Point 14.

If it were my list, I would add naming a Designated Hitter, if at all possible; someone who will answer important emails, make necessary phone calls, and keep the mundane stuff up and running while you're not able to do so.

But, really, that's a niggle.  Excellent tips; well-said, and well-presented.

Today, it's raining, and it's looking like me and Mozart on the couch with a yellow pad, planning out the next bit of story.

I'm looking forward to that.

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Progress on Carousel Seas

28,952/100,000 OR 28.95% complete

Ah! How she yearned to learn the truth of herself, and to know whether that hauteur was earned. . .or a pose.