When you decide at the last moment to head for the shore in hopes of catching some peace, some rays, to try and wash the stain of this guilty pleasure off you before you drive back home where the troops are waiting for dinner, you will forget something. “Forget something you will,” says Yoda, and right, he was.
I folded laundry and washed up the dinner pots the morning before I left, more as an act of penance than being any good at housework. Hubby wanted to stay in bed (because who wants to go to work at that hour, of course?) I dropped the bomb on him that I was leaving for the shore. I was going by myself because he does not like the ocean, it’s not his thing, and I wanted the opportunity to have some time alone. My son wasn’t feeling well, so I kissed him on the forehead as he slept on the couch and headed for the shore.
I hit the road happy, hopeful, excited, and driving a little too fast on the parkway. I realized that getting there, the journey, was as much a part of this as anything so I slowed down, slid into the slow lane, and a miracle occurred. I could actually feel myself breathing. That’s right, actual movement of my belly, feeling the air slide down and relishing it the way I love a cold IPA. As I neared my destination, the land dropped out from under me. It all became sky and there she was–mother ocean.
The plan was to spend Day One alternating between beach chair and waves, getting as pink as possible without getting overdone, to listen to the waves, the gulls, the constant breeze which was quite stiff for most of the day. Day Two would be dedicated to working on Rose’s book. I have to somehow combine my version and my editor’s version and make something readable. Not as easy as it sounds, believe me, but my laptop was fully charged and the a/c was working in the hotel room. Last night around 11:00 I pulled out the laptop to try and get into the zone and discovered my flash drive had the wrong file on it. Yes, boys and girls, it’s true. I could not work on Rose’s book without my editor’s Word document. All right, stay calm I thought, I have a copy of it from an email attachment. I shall open and save the email attachment and move on with this project. The hotel has Wi-Fi, so I connected and got to look at silly headlines from Yahoo… but was completely unable to connect to Google. “Page not available.” Naturally. No email, no document, no Google Drive. Nada. I tried for hours to catch a tiny blip of connectivity to Google but it was not to be.
What happened next has nothing to do with writing and more to do with hurrying. Suffice it to say, the hotel will mail my cellphone back to me because I dropped it in my rush to get to the beach at 5am. I hurried out the door to my destination, hurried to the beach to catch the sunrise. What else will I screw up because I was in a hurry? Hopefully not a manuscript that requires care, attention to detail, and the right voice, because not only is it representative of my work, but more importantly, it represents her voice and her life.