The title of this entry comes from a post-it note written to myself at about 11:30 pm last night, after getting out of the shower. I don’t know about you other writing folks, but I often work out plot points in the shower. Then I write notes to myself so as not to forget the incredible amazing genius breakthrough before my next writing session (which may be days away, as I work during school hours and only during school hours.)
Anyway, I was cleaning up the desk this morning and came across the mysterious pink post-it announcing “she waits”. It’s a good thing I still have a vague idea of who is waiting, where, why and when, because as genius breakthroughs go, that’s pretty darned cryptic.
Faced with oracles of such obscurity, I at any rate begin to extrapolate wider meanings. They leave the realm of fiction and scatter willy-nilly into everyday life. Suddenly, “she waits” becomes the watchword for my whole existence. I am indeed waiting. I have been waiting for a while.
This oracular waiting is no merely passive state, of course. It involves meticulous preparation, planning and perseverence. This is a fisherman waiting for the right conditions to fish. While he waits, he repairs nets, cleans the boat and patches the sail. But it’s all done with one eye on the horizon and a little furrow between the brows. Should I chance it tomorrow morning? No, look at that bank of cloud. Maybe the next day, then. Meanwhile, there are these nets.