I’ve spent the summer writing and I’m impressed with how diverse writing is as an experience.    

Sometimes, it’s like being the captain of ship.  You are in charge.  You have navigational information.  You have logged a plan and you are sticking to it.

Sometimes, writing is like being a passenger on the upper berths.  Someone else is making the decisions but the passage is pleasant, arrival is assured.

Sometimes, writing is like being a passenger on the lower berths.  Much less pleasant, but, hey, eventually Lady Liberty will come shining into view and we’ll be off this f***ing ship.

Sometimes writing is clinging to a piece of wreckage in high waves. You are cold, frightened and disoriented.  Arrival is out of the question.  Perishing at sea is not.

Sometimes, writing is like standing on a god forsaken island, scrutinizing an empty horizon. No one is coming.  You are good and lost.  Your only companion is Wilson, a painted volleyball, and it turns out he has no ideas.  Well, a few.  But frankly, he doesn’t get the whole anthropology thing.  

It turns out that the number one cause of shipwreck is a creature called, in my case, the Kraken (pictured).

Grant McCracken sticks to is knitting.  He writes all day, every day, as hard as he can.  The Kraken likes to go stand in front of an open fridge.  That 5 watt bulb is his idea of illumination.

McCracken files a navigational plan and sticks to it.  The Kraken likes to go inking off in all directions.  I swear to got he has the attention span of a house plant, and now that he has access to YouTube, well…, hey, have you seen this kitten video.

McCracken is trying his hardest to build a couple of useful ideas.  The Kraken prefers to wreck havoc on marine traffic.  He’s never met an idea he didn’t want to pull into a watery grave. 

I am please to report that on this day of our Lord, August 19, 2013, I have made 22,968 words of progress.  But I am also obliged to tell you that the Kraken lies in wait.