Spent some time this afternoon at my brother's Pirate Regatta, which consisted of as many friends as he could get to build homemade boats (rafts, paddle devices, etc.), dress up in pirate gear, and float down Oyster Creek. Turns out that it's easier to build things that will float your children as opposed to yourself. When I left, my nephew was in the lead, floating calmly away on a raft equipped with zip-tied fun noodles.
Weekends like this remind me how much I miss in my freeway/feeder existence. I'm more likely to end up in the car obliviously obsessing over something ridiculous than down under an overpass, launching pallets stuffed with empty soda bottles into a creek with a bunch of friends. Not that I was ever very likely to do that, but you get the drift. Shaking myself loose from the keyboard lets me pursue a more muscular creativity, provided I remember to lose the car sometimes, too.
The scene that I've been working on in the novel takes place at the edge of a large river. There are eyes in the water and a small group moving along the shore, trying to decide what to do next. I've camped on the shore, but it was years ago. There is a sense of scale, of dissolution, and a constant noise that I think need to be in the scene. I need to know how the air moves on a beach. Research and play at the same time. Yea!!
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