words & art by shé

bookshelf

Tag: womenwhosurf

  • Frightening & Magical

    “There’s something frightening, and magical, about being on the ocean, moving between the heavens and the earth, knowing that you can encounter anything on your journey.” —Lynne Cox, Grayson: a Memoir Anxiety attacked recently, and I finally figured out (it’s hard to think when she’s screaming) that it’s been a year since I left Topolobampo,…

  • Diary of a Reluctant Traveler

    The memoir is out! Winner of the Rainbow Quill for Best Travel Writing, and the Minerva Prize—nab your copy now! What folks are saying: Shé is wow-pow: world of wonder, piece of wonder. She reminds us how to live.—Dominick Brah, Oregon Coast Trail cyclist Learning to surf at 54? Traveling across the continent solo? Yes! Inspiring…

  • Rapunzel

    Seahorses dance with their mates every morning. What kind of world would this be if humans did that too? Here’s an excerpt from “Rapunzel,” courtesy of my forthcoming book, Sea Change: stories & splashes by Shé: Rapunzel rappelled down the tower wall, landed lightly on her feet, and headed west. Her newly shorn hair fluttered…

  • Erin Slade

    The Méxican Navy marching band practices several mornings a week near a local elementary school. I fall into step with the drums on my way back from the swimming hole. They are slowly slowly improving, coalescing into uniform pitches and tones. I admire their tenacity. I, too, have been practicing something difficult, though I used…

  • BellaMar

    “I am myself. I am singular.” —Faerie queen in Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett 30 months in and I’m still surprised that I live on a boat. High and dry at the moment, but still in a sea-going vessel. “Ridiculous!” I laugh. Life is a twisty-turny adventure, that’s for sure. Habibi was recently…

  • Love Story

    Up late last night, working on a book of stories and splashes (art). Who knew that living in a boatyard could be so productive? Shoulda hauled out long ago…  Here’s an excerpt from “Love Story:” Our hands speak another language, independent of the kissing language. Our hands are chatterboxes, always commenting, caressing, caroming from hill…

  • Wild Swimming

    Evidently there’s a name for what I do: wild swimming, though I seem to be wilder than most. I usually swim without other humans; I don’t tow a brightly colored buoy; I meander, depending on the residents in view. Yesterday a big school of 2-3’ silvery stunners circled me in the dappled morning light, and…

  • Epiphany

    Tuesday night, about 8 o’clock, one of the so-called security guards knocked on Habibi’s hull. He’s a big beefy guy whom I greet as I greet everyone: friendly, but not social. I was already in bed, lights out, and did not answer. I’m in an isolated part of the boatyard and my neighbors were gone.…

  • Suzy Le Speed

    It is so nice not to feel desperate. Hackles lie down and rest awhile. Misery is merely a habit. Buoyed by the recent publication process, I am prepping my P.I. novel for same. The joy I feel is comparable to playing with Emmett, back in the day—pure, unadulterated happiness. Here’s a slice of Shoulds are…

  • Delfinas

    The panga zoomed up as I was exiting the water, the guys pretending to look for fish. I quickly wrapped a sarong around the swimsuited Bod, and turned away. All I want for Xmas is a private, secluded swimming hole. Is that too much to ask? Evidently. Better fix the boat sooner rather than later…