My love of 30 years and I moved aboard an old trawler to head into the sunset, spend five years at sea and live our dream. . .
[Cue orchestration of "When you wish upon a star.]
He would navigate to ports unknown. I would have endless hours to write . . .
I happily backed up my writing and tossed my darling character, Katie, overboard. Her story bored me anyway. Tread water, dearie. I’ll revive you later—when I’ve finished my boat projects.
Then one day, an early humid heat wave suffocated my heady happiness. (ad nauseum, but it serves the story.) As I knelt on the deck of our new home to scrub the teak, my knees whined and I wondered if my writerly instincts had been sucked dry by the scorching sun. More likely this old writer was simply fading away. Heat has that a/effect on me.
Later, as the sky turned shades of surreal,
my husband’s joke—that everything on our boat works, just not all at the same time—didn’t seem so funny. The projects would never end. Years of ground-in grime lay before me, begging for attention.
Katie would surely drown.
Still, I pressed on. Armed with a toolbox of cleaners, I gently brushed an area of teak and could barely see a difference. And those other areas, well they’d absolutely require a brutal sanding.
But when I finally rinsed away the sludge, unique imperfections appeared. Dark firm streaks came to life and highlighted lighter, softer fibers.
I lost myself in the stunning, breathing texture of the teak.
That’s it! I thought. Katie’s grimy antagonist of a brother might actually fascinate someone if I could reveal a softer fiber in his otherwise brutal personality. And oh my god! Katie is paper thin. Give the poor girl a pulse and an imperfection or two, for crying out loud.
I began to laugh. Scrubbed teak? Eh, maybe. More like revised it!
I had managed to slow down and pay attention, allowing my subconscious mind to make new connections, aka flaneuring. I first heard about this at Vermont College of Fine Arts during Julie Larios‘ amazing lecture on The Art of Flaneuring. Thank you, Julie!
So, have you flaneured lately?
And for what it’s worth, making dreams come true is absolutely possible if you are willing to slow down, give up what you think you need for what you really want, pay attention, make new connections and, oh yeah, sell a lot of stuff.



I love when writing epiphanies sneak up like that!
Flawless. Now I go to look up “flaneuring.” Look forward to reading about Kate’s life.
We both loved that particular lecture, and I’m jealous as hell that you are flaneuring! I can see in my mind’s eye your scrub, scrub, scrubbing away, your mind totally free, and your story and characters morphing into something new and better. Flaneur away girl, and send some of it over my way!
I have that lecture on CD in my car and frequently listen to it. Great post!
I hadn’t thought before of how working hard at something is so similar to flaneuring. Taking care of dirty dishes, for example, is something that I don’t at all like to do (and so it’s hard work), yet it often turns out to be one of the most reflective moments in my day.
I have so much enjoyed all of the posts of this great blog! Hee hee. Thank you for sharing that, Sue. I agree that flaneuring opens the mind to new possibilities, if you let it.
Sue, I’m so glad to hear that the art of the flaneur – slowing down, keeping eyes and ears (and heart) open, drifting, observing, wandering – is still calling to you as you scrub that teak and prepare to sail the seas. We metaphorically become flaneurs whenever we let ourselves “wander” (while doing the dishes, exactly!) and meet our characters along the way. Here’s a hug from a long way off -
Julie
Yes, yes, and a million times yes, Sue! Thanks for sharing, and I love thinking of you off at sea. xo
Sue, I loved your blog and how you came to terms with your writing by working on the teak aboard your yacht. Isn’t that how most of life works? Solutions seem to come when we walk away and do something else. I’m so happy for you and expect wonderful writing to come from your experiences aboard your new abode.
I’m so glad I know someone who’s always on the water. I feel like this says something, to know someone who lives at sea, like maybe I could speak to you through the taps if I whisper just the right way. And you ARE that magical person!
I’m game to listen!