Confessions of a Beachcombing WRiter
I suppose my first confession resides right there in the title of this essay: I’m a beachcomber. No, I’m not one of those old guys you see at public beaches with a metal detector, a leathery tan, and high-waist trunks, searching for coins and lost jewelry. And even though I do my beachcombing most days during the warm months, I’m not obsessive about it. A bit superstitious perhaps, as you’ll see in a moment. But not obsessive.
Beach Walk Byproduct: Scanning the shoreline is really a secondary outcome of my daily walk, which happens to take place along a nearby beach, on the western—or “Sunset Coast”—of Lake Michigan. Beachcombing has been around a long time. Did you know that the first appearance of the word in print was made by Herman Melville in 1847? I think it began as a means of harvesting, or salvaging, the bounty of the tides, probably mostly for food or for profit.
But it’s not always just for profit. Beachcombing can be soothing. How can you beat an endeavor that requires walking along the shoreline? And satisfying. I recall when my sister and I we were kids, hitting the Great Lakes beaches with our Uncle Evertt, hunting for driftwood for his woodworking projects (I still have an intricate little wooden box he made for me in my office). There’s such satisfaction in coming upon the perfect find, softened and accentuated by water and sand, weather and time.
I suppose old habits die hard. From driftwood, to seashells, to Petoskey stones and fossils, to the perfect, flat skipping stone, on every beach I’ve strolled, I’m prone to scanning the tidal zone.
A Writer’s Beachcombing Superstitions: Okay, so the first confession wasn’t so bad. Now for the embarrassing writerly stuff. Please note that this has evolved over many years and—more importantly—it’s all in good fun (I’m not obsessive, dammit!). I have three primary objectives to my beachcombing, and they’ve come to represent three aspects of writing. On any given day, finding one has come to symbolize a sort of good luck charm for its represented aspect. Finding all three is the trifecta, of course.
The three prizes and their writerly symbolism are:
Crinoids – A fossilized segment of a marine invertebrate that filled the warm inland sea which glaciers eventually transformed into the Great Lakes. Also known as sea lilies, the crinoid’s circular fossils found here are sometimes called Indian beads, because they were valued by the local tribes. It’s said the Ottawas even used them as a sort of currency. Lake Michigan’s crinoids date from the Paleozoic Era, making them up to 400 million years old. They often resemble little donuts (mmm, donuts), and sometimes come stacked (like Pringles potato chips with a hold in the center of the stack – mmm, potato chips).
“Find the Crinoid” photo by Vaughn Roycroft
The Crinoid’s Representation: Due to their antiquity and endurance; their circular shape; that they can sometimes be found stacked; that they were all once a part of a greater living whole; and due to their having gone from being prized to being mostly overlooked by today’s beachgoers, the crinoid has come to represent both the cohesiveness and completion aspects of story. Will the next scene interconnect with the whole of the story, and yet have its own circularity and satisfying conclusion? I aspire, but finding a well-formed crinoid on the morning walk is a nice omen.
Beach-Glass – Known as sea-glass by those who live on the sea, beach-glass is simply the broken bits of discarded glass, their surfaces and edges softened by the abrasive interaction with the sand and pebbles in the constant churn of the tide. White and off-white are most common, with brown and green fairly prevalent. The rare find is blue (especially now that a famous brand of milk-of-magnesia comes in plastic), and rarer still is red (I’m guessing mostly pre-plastic auto/boat warning light covers).
Beach-glass’s Representation: Since the smoothness of piece is paramount to the prize, beach-glass has come to represent a degree of polish for the scene to come. And finding not just a smooth piece, but one with soft edges that is also a unique color can only be a good sign for the quality of the day’s work to come. Oh, and because I write epic fantasy, size matters here.
Heart-Shaped Rocks – These should be self-explanatory, so rather than belabor the obvious, I’ll share a tidbit I recently heard about the heart shape. The theory is that the shape symbolizes the seed pod of silphium, an extinct plant commonly used by the Ancient Romans as an herbal contraceptive. This has nothing to do with why I collect them, but I still find it interesting.
The Heart-Shaped Rock’s Representation: If you’ve never tried, I can tell you that finding heart-shaped rocks is surprisingly easy. As such, the pursuit comes to be about precision and symmetry. And, as with the study the human heart, one soon finds that there can be no perfection, but that nearness to it is a worthy aspiration. And yet, one also comes to realize the beauty to be found in the various incarnations of imperfection. So, of course, finding a nicely imperfect heart-rock portends finding my way closer to moving the hearts of my fellow human beings within a given day’s work.
Beyond Confession – The Writerly Lessons of Beachcombing:
Beyond my odd (but fun!) writerly superstition, are you asking yourself what all of this has to do with your writing? Funny you should ask. Without further ado, I offer the beachcomber/writer’s list of applicable lessons:
Unfocus and Find – The best stuff comes when you’re not trying so hard. There’s something very freeing about a lighthearted approach. Best to let go of your inner angst when you’re down here… you know, on the beach. Relax and enjoy doing something you love, and you’re sure to be surprised what will wash up.
Don’t Rush, But Keep Moving – If you hurry you’re bound to miss a lot along the way. But the opposite is true, too. It’s easy to get bogged down in the minutiae of a limited area. Too intently focusing on the details of one particular spot causes the mind to boggle. Best to strive for momentum, for steady headway. Trust that the rewards will come as you progress.
Practice Breeds Proficiency – You get better just by doing it! I’ve walked with newbies who are so intent to find something, and they’re often flummoxed when I pick a prize from the very spot they’re searching. It’s amazing how the human eye, the brain, becomes more adept through repetition. And daily practice, or at least routine practice, is best. I’m retaught this lesson each spring, when I’ve fallen out of practice during the winter months. It takes time to get back “in the zone.”
It’s Not a Competition – You may look down the shore one day and see another beachcomber. It makes it more fun, and less lonely, to be friendly with them, but it’s best not to pay too much attention to what they’re finding. It may look like they’ve got a different style for seeking, and it may even seem they’re having more success. But you can never know what it is they’re looking for, or really finding. This is your hunt. You’re in this for your own unique rewards.
Some Days Suck/There’s Always Tomorrow – There are days when high surf will sweep the shore clean, leaving only packed sand in the tidal zone. On such days it can be difficult to imagine that the trove of pebbles, rocks, and fossils will ever return. You have but to trust that they will. Walk the shoreline anyway, just to do so without a care for finding anything but solace in the endeavor. Every day out here is a gift, regardless of the yield.
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It’s A Shore Thing: It’s easy to get caught up in the ebb and flow, to fret about the good days and bad. It’s gratifying to lay out your prizes at the end of a good day’s hunt. But today’s finds are sure to soon feel like old news—simple trinkets in a jar on a shelf. No matter how good the haul, or how discouraging it can feel to come home empty-handed, it’s best to revel in the search itself.
After all, beachcombing isn’t just about what you carry back. It’s the search itself that keeps us walking that beautiful shore. That’s what makes us feel alive, what brings us back again and again. With that I bid you happy hunting on laden shores.
How about you? Any writerly superstitions? Confessions? Where do you find solace as you ponder your writing and your journey?
