words & art by shé

bookshelf

Tag: womenwhosurf

  • Boatyard Bitch

    After much grief from various Boatyard Bozos, I created a group of my own: The Boatyard Bitches. Much to my delight, another capitana joined immediately. To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes (via Arthur Conan Doyle), the air of Peñasco is sweeter for my presence. Surfing helps deal with dodos too. When the tide is low and the…

  • Clan Markings

    A bright yellow fish I’d never seen before accompanied my morning swim today. Three inches long and roundish, it may have been attracted by my neon marigold swimsuit. This singular pisces darted around me the entire mile (with my other marine friends), and I was sad to exit the Sea and leave it behind. I…

  • 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…

  • 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…