Wading Out To The Middle Of The Creek

Wading Out To The Middle Of The Creek

Wading Out To The Middle Of The Creek

I was never a tall child growing up. The coordination necessary for sports was not something I had in abundance, so reading, writing, and drawing kept me busy. Despite that, I loved the outdoors (even if my required sunblock would have kept a vampire alive.) One of my favorite activities—not that I got to do it often—was wading in creeks and catching crawdads.

I was 13—maybe 14—years old when ours and another family went on vacation together. This particular vacation consisted, mostly, of driving and camping. Since I enjoyed both, and usually carried reading, writing, and drawing materials anyway, I was happy. On this trip, we spent the night at a campground that backed up to a creek. Needless to say, the water called to those of us who were not adults. (This was before cell phones and the numerous other distractions that grab the attention of children these days.) After about a half hour of wading in the water barely up to our ankles, my sister and her friend decided they wanted to go back to the campers. Being responsible big brothers, we sent them on their way.

With the girls gone, we decided to walk a little farther downstream. The longer we walked, much to our delight, the deeper the water got. When it reached our calves, we paused only long enough to agree we should keep going. At waist level, not completely satisfied, we continued on. Now, by the time we were up to our chests, you would think we would have stopped. As my wife tells me when I don’t do what is best for me, “that would be stupid.” At the point when we were literally up to our necks in creek water, a hole found us. Did I forget to mention that neither of us could swim?

For the past several months, I have had numerous projects and several ideas in the works. Innocently enough, I began in the shallow end of the writing creek. I would work on a story or two for the 5 Earths, then it became three and four stories. Then, I started this blog followed by a second blog. (I kept wading.) Next, I agreed to write a story for an anthology; first one, then two, then three stories. On top of all of this, I am doing research for yet another story I have wanted to write for a few years. As you can see, I have waded in up to my neck.

Back to the hole. One minute, my friend and I were up to our neck, and the next, we were in over our head. My foot found a rock and I managed to get my face back above water. My friend, however, couldn’t get his feet under him and continued to struggle. I heard someone yell, followed by a loud splash, and a rather large man was soon helping us to the bank. After assuring him we were both okay, we headed back to the campers. Word soon got around the campground about two boys who almost drowned; it all seemed blown out of proportion to us.

I have since had an epiphany…you don’t have to look for a rock to stand on if you start wading back to the shallow end. Several of the stories on hold and the anthology is now in the editing phase (with only two stories from me.) Research is only an option after the anthology. All that leaves for me to focus on—aside from the editing—are the two blogs.

Remember, before your start wading too deep into the writing creek, make sure you are able swim. You might not find a rock to stand on.

Just thought I would jot this down.

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