Editor's Note: I was invited to be the guest blogger this week on A Good Blog is Hard to Find to share my thoughts on how I manage my time as a writer. Here's my post about my writing adventures.
“Where did the time go” is a phrase I utter so frequently I feel as if I own it. I wish I could tell you that the reason for the feeling of time flying is because I am so engrossed in writing my next novel on a daily basis. Some days I am, thankfully. But there are also many days in which the hours are consumed by laundry, kids, emails, Facebook—and sea turtles.
My goal is 10-20 pages on a good day. I like to start early in the morning, when my mind is fresh and the creativity at its best. I love those special moments when I wake with words in my head and dialogue so fresh on my lips I mutter them aloud. Typically though, my day begins with a good cup of coffee and a read of my local newspaper. Then it’s pet duty-- feeding and cleaning up after my three dogs and two cats.
Now however, it’s summer and the peak of the very busy sea turtle nesting season. Turtles rule my schedule. When I get the call at 6:30 in the morning that tracks are found, I fly out the door to the beach to join my teammates to search for eggs, move them if needed, and set up the protection signs. At night I’m usually at the beach by 9 pm to monitor the nests and guide the hatchlings to the sea.
As distracting as these duties are from writing, the adventures I experience with my Island Turtle Team are the perfect muse for my current book. I’m working on the prequel to THE BEACH HOUSE, so searching for turtle tracks, probing for eggs and supervising nest boils fit perfectly into my fictional world. The conversations shared, getting my hands in the sand, playing a small role in the risky game of life for these sea turtles help fuel the storytelling process. Even though I find myself away from my computer more than I’d like to be on some days, it doesn’t mean that I am not working. It is these moments that create the words that I store to get to next paragraph, the next chapter, the next scene.
Still, the pages need to get written. Deadlines loom. There is no substitute for putting my hands to the keyboard and producing pages of story. Knowing when to turn off the research and turn on the creativity is critical to the process. I know this. I do. I tell myself this every day, multiple times a day.
Ah, but on those balmy nights when the moon is high and creates that ribbon of moonlight along the ocean, when the breeze is just strong enough to keep the gnats and mosquitoes at bay, when I’m sitting with my friends, my legs stretched out over the sand and we’re just talking about everything and nothing….
Where did the time go?
7/28/11
7/23/11
One Morning on the Turtle Team
My first clue should have been the Barbie doll we found abandoned and lying on the dunes, her dress half off and her famous chest exposed. The Barbaras, Mary, Tee, Bev and I chuckled, made a few jokes, and continued across the beach in search of the sea turtle nest.
It was a beautiful morning on Isle of Palms and the Turtle Team was on call. We were making our way toward the long stretch of loggerhead tracks that scarred the smooth sand from the sea up to the low rise of dunes. The incoming tracks were markedly shorter than the outgoing-- a sure sign that the turtle was on the beach awhile. Turtle eggs were somewhere!
Sure enough, we quickly found the field signs for a nest. There are seven of us on the core team and we take turns probing the nest to find the eggs. The probe is a narrow metal stick that we carefully, methodically, pry into the sand. We take the job seriously. First we discuss the field signs, such as broken vegetation, thrown sand, and the incoming path of the turtle, to surmise the most likely location of the eggs. This method is so efficient we often locate the eggs in a few probes. The key is to bend at the knees, rather like a plie in ballet, to keep the weight balanced. The sand has a firm base. When we find the nest, however, the sand is soft and gives way in a sudden drop. It’s unmistakable! Once we feel a drop or change in the sand, we abandon the probe and dig with our hands to locate the eggs. It’s an efficient system. In eleven years probing for thousands of eggs, I’ve never broken a single egg.
Anyway, this particular morning it was my turn to probe, and trust me, we feel chuffed when we come up to bat. While my team mates watched, fingers itching on their probes, I began. After a few tries I met with a strange resistance, soft yet unfamiliar—not a shell, not wrack, not paper. It was nothing like I’d felt before. My first thought was, could it be an eggshell? I immediately pulled back, and dropping to my knees, began digging with my hands.
Was it an eggshell? No. What did I find? A pair of pink lacy panties! Eeeeuuuuwwww!
This was a turtle team first! Naturally the jokes began flying in earnest. My favorite had something to do with how the turtle forgot her panties after she laid the nest. Bev was a pal and carried the abandoned debris to the trash. After a few more probes I did find the eggs. They were high enough up on the beach that we left the nest in situ. We figured the mama turtle must have covered the panties with sand as she covered her nest.
It’s never dull on the turtle team. This season especially we’ve had some crack Turtle Team CSI moments, finding the eggs when the wind had blown away all field signs. With each treasure trove of turtle eggs we discover we feel the same thrill we did with the first. Every hatchling we witness make its way to the sea is a miracle.
But the caper of the pink panties was one for the books. Hmmm…. In fact, maybe it should go into the book I’m writing now? Don’t be surprised if you read it!
It was a beautiful morning on Isle of Palms and the Turtle Team was on call. We were making our way toward the long stretch of loggerhead tracks that scarred the smooth sand from the sea up to the low rise of dunes. The incoming tracks were markedly shorter than the outgoing-- a sure sign that the turtle was on the beach awhile. Turtle eggs were somewhere!
Sure enough, we quickly found the field signs for a nest. There are seven of us on the core team and we take turns probing the nest to find the eggs. The probe is a narrow metal stick that we carefully, methodically, pry into the sand. We take the job seriously. First we discuss the field signs, such as broken vegetation, thrown sand, and the incoming path of the turtle, to surmise the most likely location of the eggs. This method is so efficient we often locate the eggs in a few probes. The key is to bend at the knees, rather like a plie in ballet, to keep the weight balanced. The sand has a firm base. When we find the nest, however, the sand is soft and gives way in a sudden drop. It’s unmistakable! Once we feel a drop or change in the sand, we abandon the probe and dig with our hands to locate the eggs. It’s an efficient system. In eleven years probing for thousands of eggs, I’ve never broken a single egg.
Anyway, this particular morning it was my turn to probe, and trust me, we feel chuffed when we come up to bat. While my team mates watched, fingers itching on their probes, I began. After a few tries I met with a strange resistance, soft yet unfamiliar—not a shell, not wrack, not paper. It was nothing like I’d felt before. My first thought was, could it be an eggshell? I immediately pulled back, and dropping to my knees, began digging with my hands.
Was it an eggshell? No. What did I find? A pair of pink lacy panties! Eeeeuuuuwwww!
This was a turtle team first! Naturally the jokes began flying in earnest. My favorite had something to do with how the turtle forgot her panties after she laid the nest. Bev was a pal and carried the abandoned debris to the trash. After a few more probes I did find the eggs. They were high enough up on the beach that we left the nest in situ. We figured the mama turtle must have covered the panties with sand as she covered her nest.
It’s never dull on the turtle team. This season especially we’ve had some crack Turtle Team CSI moments, finding the eggs when the wind had blown away all field signs. With each treasure trove of turtle eggs we discover we feel the same thrill we did with the first. Every hatchling we witness make its way to the sea is a miracle.
But the caper of the pink panties was one for the books. Hmmm…. In fact, maybe it should go into the book I’m writing now? Don’t be surprised if you read it!
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