The Writing Life

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I’m a sailor living inland now—grounded in rural South Carolina where everyday something happens to remind me of the sea: a certain sweetness in the air, a breeze making waves ripple across grasses of my pasture, the sound wind makes approaching through acres of trees.

I’m pretty sure I’m alone in these observations. I’ve seen no other sailors here.

I’m pretty sure there’s no other writers here either, at least none tackling it every day, doomed like Sisyphus to push that boulder up hill only to have it roll back down as it nears the top.