I’ve been thinking about the ocean.
Not just because I’m at home in Vancouver now, though that’s
definitely a part of it: I felt the pull of the ocean the other day, so I took
the long way home on my bicycle. I wanted to hug the water as long as
possible. I needed to be close to it. I
felt the same thing again today – that yearning to be close to the sea. I took the bus to Wreck Beach and danced in
the sand and put my toes in the water.
It was cold, but it reminded me I was alive.
I know I’m not the only person who feels this – my friend
and fellow Chronicles of Word contributor Josh Martin and I were g-chatting about that feeling of
being pulled to the sea. Like the sea is
truer compass for us than North.
But there’s another reason I’ve been thinking about the
ocean.
Some of the most common writing advice (and by the way, it’s
common, because it’s good) is that you should read a lot of books like the one
you want to write. So I’ve been
devouring post-Apocalyptic books (especially, but not exclusively, YA) for the
past year and a bit. One thing that
comes up over and over in these books about what happens after the end of the
world is the ocean. And when they talk
about the ocean, it’s got a mythological, supernatural quality to it. It’s much more than a place of natural
beauty.
