Old Hotel by the Sea

This is Casa Marina at Jacksonville Beach, Florida, as it looked when I lived there in the early 80s. Built in the 1920s, movie stars stayed there when silent films were made in Jacksonville (before Hollywood). When I rolled in, however, she was a flop house for surfers and beach bums. $240/month all utilities included. A novel I’m writing is set there.

Bad things happened, an entire run of them that shut me down, caused me to withdraw from everything except my inner self.

One afternoon, in a hammock, I took a photo of myself. Just my legs. But there was no one to send it to. No one to understand.

I needed a sidekick so I sketched an armadillo because they’re crusty on the outside but not within. I made him my butler. Crusoe’s manservant Friday.

We began interacting—my hammock photo speaking to that critter, that critter speaking back.There’s a folder of cartoons somewhere. For now there’s just this one. (LINK)

Eventually after that I began writing novels.

I’m still a hermit, marooned you might say, but leaving my shell more and more—my inner self seeking its freedom through writing.