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Or, What swimming laps taught me.

My hand cramps as I write faster and faster. Trying to keep up with the thought waves building. Trusting I’ll be able to read those chicken scratches when I put on my editing hat.

I grab the castor oil and feverishly massage the pad of my thumb. Yup, castor oil.  A friend was recommended castor oil for thinning hair. It did nothing for her hair but helped the arthritis in her hands.

Down the rabbit hole I went to discover that yes, the castor bean has anti-inflammatory properties.

I tried it.

It works.

Suitably oiled I grab my pen. And off I go. Faster still.


Those mornings when I sit down, following my self-imposed schedule.

It’s time to write.

And I sit. And sit. And sit. Look at old notes. Look at the sky. The water. Other boats. A seagull cruising past looking for a titbit. I throw him some dog kibbles. Soon I have a dissonant chorus of screaming sea gulls. It amuses me. For a while.

Back to sitting. And nothing. Not even a flicker. I sit some more.

I decide I hate writing.

I remember how –

  • I hated swimming after a long abstinence.

  • I’m back in that pool.

  • I barely make the first lap.

  • After three laps I want to die.

  • After six laps I know I’m going to die.

  • After ten laps I find my stride.

  • I’m gliding now.

  • My breathing is easier.

  • I love the feel of the water against my skin.

  • My arms slicing and pulling.

  • My legs propelling and assisting.

  • The laps pile up.

I can do this. I just had to get started.


  • Just a few words.

  • An idea.

  • A thought.

  • Something someone said.

  • Or that I read.

  • Or heard.

  • Or saw.

And the words pile up. Become sentences. Paragraphs. Pages. Articles.

Cyber hugs and Blessings All. If you feel it in you to write, don’t hesitate!



Photo from Pixaby

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