Writing Prompt 53: The Sea
Apologies. I'm a couple of days late with this week's prompt.
Do you ever have moments where you're not quite sure why you're doing something? I've been feeling that way about A Picture, A Story. Should I continue with posting writing prompts? Should I be writing more posts? Should I be taking more photographs? Should I even be trying to write a book? Should I be posting more often to Instagram/TikTok/Medium? What exactly am I trying to do with all of this creative effort? What is it all for?
I chatted with my husband - he's a good soul to talk to during moments of self-doubt.
Keep your website, he said. You'll come back to it.
I'll keep doing the prompts, I said. I love writing them.
You must, must finish your book, he said. You've got this far. You’ve put in so much work. And if you decide to stop, please let me read where you've got to. Maybe what you need is someone else’s thoughts.
— So I started early this morning re-writing a new chapter. I feel good about this.
Keep taking pictures, he went on. I know you've fallen in and out of love with photography over the years but you always come back to it. Take the pictures. Take them for you.
— My husband bought me a camera for Christmas. It's the most magnificent beast, so very beautiful I'm almost scared to use it.
Maybe you'll write a blog post about it, he said.
Maybe I will.
So the question is, what should you write about this week?
Is there a thought that's worrying you, stopping you from making a decision? Are you doubting where you are at your current point in life? Perhaps this week is a week for journaling your thoughts about what you want to do or where you want to be. It doesn't have to be a big life-changing goal. Sometimes, it’s the small changes you decide to make that have the biggest effect.
Write it all down. See where it takes you. I promise, I'll be back next week.
No Boating
Andrew's stomach lurched with the horizon bobbing up and down ahead of him. A plastic chair skittered across the deck, somehow remaining upright and on all four legs. Frustrated thoughts gathered in his head. He didn’t need to do this today.
Up and down.
Up and down.
He kept his gaze steady, looking far out to sea, trying to limit the nausea rising in his body. Earlier, he’d ventured downstairs to buy a coffee, but the languid motion of the boat made him heave and he escaped back upstairs to the outside to a cool wind blowing around the headland, which whipped up the waves while small currents and eddies whirled in the water below.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Saliva bubbled up from the back of his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment. Bile threatened to vomit up out of his body, he breathed in slowly and it dropped back down into his stomach. The blood drained from his face, and his muscles weakened.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Ginger. He had ginger biscuits in his bag. He wrestled with the wrapper, splitting it open and spilling biscuits into the saltwater puddles that had pooled on the deck. Two remained in his hand. He nibbled on them while leaning into the guardrail.
The ferry was quiet today, just Andrew and a couple of construction workers heading home after a day’s work. He wondered what he would find on the other side. Dry crumbs caught in his throat. He coughed and coughed until his eyes watered. What was up with him today? A woman offered him water from a new, unopened bottle.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Vomit. Choking. It was as if something was trying to escape from his body.
Story first posted December 2019 // Photo:Tanya Clarke 2018
