The Boy in the Bay
She had been sitting on the rock, wanting to think deep thoughts, because that’s what one does on a rock by the sea. For some reason, that color of contemplation only works in cooler weather. Why can’t I be lost in thought in a bathing suit in the sun? I can, but I’d look too content.
Maybe something will come to me. She hadn’t had an assignment for two weeks. Now that she had one, her mind was completely blank. Sometimes those things they say about creativity are true, but she hadn’t believed it. This is a job, she thought. I’ll just get it done, it’s a fucking job. But she had been totally unable to write for the last two weeks and anything she’d tried to get her mind going had failed.
She detested the image of creative writers that she saw around. Self-interested, navel-gazing, too-fashionable recent graduates convinced that they were changing the world with their mediocre stories and well-curated social media platforms. As she was sitting on the rock, it occurred to her that at that moment she looked a lot like someone’s profile picture.
Maybe a little online branding wouldn’t kill me, she thought. She could have Dave take her picture on the rock, do her makeup and put on some nicer jeans. She banished the thought almost immediately. What she needed was inspiration to write now, not to drum up business for future jobs.
