A couple weeks ago, someone reminded me that there is no beach.
Right, okay, maybe that sounds ridiculous coming from the girl who will be sleeping breathing in the warm sun and salty air of the Sandwich Islands in only a few short days.
But when it comes to writing, there is no beach. There is no cabin in the woods. There is no time when life isn’t going to come crashing into the time and space in which I want to write.
There is no time when I will get to go sit on a beach and write and write and write until I run out of words. And I was bluntly reminded that if that did happen, if there was a mythical beach, words would not come pouring out of me suddenly. Instead, a cursor would blink immobile at me from the other side of the screen.
There is no beach.
So, in an effort to write more for things that have nothing to do with work, I’m making my own beach.
I ordered three tons of sand, and I’m putting a pond in my backyard.
Just kidding. There is no beach, remember?
My beach sounds like a blaring alarm clock, forcing me awake 30 minutes earlier than I would normally venture from under my cozy comforter. My beach includes writing before I realize what I’m doing, slowly crafting blog posts, fiction scenes, characters, plots and complications before my brain has actually processed that it’s a new day.
A few years ago, my sister told me that the trick, for her, to getting to the gym early in the morning is the first five minutes. If she can get through those first few minutes, she’s so glad she went.
For me, that was total bullshit. I tried it, really I did. And the whole hour sucked. I hated it. I made myself do it for a week amid promises that I would suddenly love it. No, I just hated it that much more.
But when I get up and start writing, if I can get through the first five minutes, I’m golden. Then the words start flowing, and I actually have to stop myself so that I can go about the rest of my day.
There is no beach.
There’s just me, snuggled up in my bed, a warm cat by my side, a glass of cool water soothing my dry throat and the dark sky slipping around my curtains.
For whatever it is you would love to do “someday,” go make your own beach.