Out of mothballs - creative writing
Spring arrives gently along the coast of North Carolina. As March fades and April unfolds, the Intracoastal Waterway begins to warm, waking up the quiet rhythms of winter and inviting paddlers like me back onto the water.
My favorite time to launch my kayak is the early morning. There’s something uniquely peaceful about this time of day: the wind is usually calm, and a soft haze often lingers above the water’s surface, diffusing the colors of daybreak. All manner of seabirds circle overhead, scanning for breakfast, while the gentle dip of my paddle becomes part of the natural soundtrack as I slip into shallow tidal creeks and grassy marshes.
By April, the increasing water temperatures in the ICW spark new life. Red drum, speckled trout, and flounder start to make their seasonal appearances – which draws dolphin pods, always a magical sight to behold from water level. Sometimes I put my NC coastal fishing license to good use, with every cast full of promise (more often than not unfulfilled). There’s no rush, no pressure, just the steady rhythm of casting, retrieving, and drifting with the tide to the end of my anchor line.
What makes kayak fishing in my neck of the woods especially joyful is its intimacy. I’m not just fishing, I’m fully immersed in the environment. My mind calms, and I notice the way sunlight dances on the water, how the tide subtly shifts my position, and how the marsh seems to breathe around me. Feeling that connection again in the spring feels like welcoming an old friend.
Spring also brings a sense of renewal. After months indoors or off the water, returning to the ICW feels like reconnecting with something essential. Each trip becomes less about the catch and more about the experience – the quiet moments, the natural beauty, and the simple satisfaction of being present. Slowing down and letting nature set the pace.
When I write with the same mindset that I bring to the water, the pressure to produce eases. Observation replaces urgency: the sounds of nature outside my window, the half-remembered idea from a dream the night before, the cadence of a sentence that hits the spot. The rewards are subtle but deep.
To paraphrase a friend and colleague, getting back to my fiction writing is something the trials and tribulations of daily life can't touch – and is meaningful. Listening for voice, honoring curiosity, and opening my laptop even when inspiration is thin.
Like a morning on the ICW, it’s less about the catch and more about being present, watching the sunlight dance, and knowing I’m moving in the right direction.
