Further journeys

Next year, I am setting off on two journeys. One is creative. One is for the sheer pleasure of being at sea again.

I may already have mentioned my intention to write a book about my time on board the MV Roland Oldendorff. Over the past two months, I have gathered everything I have written on Substack and my website, transcribed the daily reflections I recorded for my family, and reread articles from other moments and other places. Taken together, they surprised me. There is more coherence there than I expected, more continuity of voice and attention. Enough, I now believe, for a book.

So, I am beginning the slow, steady work of making that book real. The first step, on the recommendation of my friend Charlotte, was to sign up for a ten-day online book proposal challenge run by Alison Jones. The course is aimed primarily at business books, but non-fiction of other kinds is welcome too, which is reassuring.

Alison sent out a Kickstart Workbook ahead of time, and working through it helped turn a loose, intuitive sense of “there might be a book here” into something more tangible. A shape has emerged. Questions clarified rather than overwhelmed. If this is the tone of the course, thoughtful, practical, and encouraging, then I am very glad to be in her hands.

The second journey is a physical one, and a familiar one at that: sailing from Martinique to Grenada. Old stomping grounds. My parents lived in Grenada for thirty-eight years and used to sail north through the Grenadines to Martinique or Guadeloupe as a kind of annual meander, gathering family and friends along the way. Our first sailing trips as children were among those islands. Some of my earliest memories are of salt on skin, the terror of Kick’em Jenny, and the particular intimacy of life on a small boat. These were times when our family behaved best, when there was a rare harmony.

One of our last sails through that chain of islands was a very different kind of passage. We sailed with my father’s ashes from a bay near Marlin in Martinique, where he had died, back home to Grenada. Since then, that string of islands has held something deeper for me than beauty or nostalgia. If there is a place in the world that has a claim on my heart and soul, it is that pearl necklace of land and sea.

A dear friend, someone I have sailed with in the Baltic Sea before, will be the captain on this trip. He's already sailed in the Grenadines numerous times. I will be the cook and crew. Four other friends will join us and lend a hand where they can. Most of them have done little, if any, sailing, but between the captain and me, there is enough experience to hold the boat steady. The rest can be learned along the way, which is often the best way.

Two journeys, then. One inward, shaped by words and patience. One outward, shaped by wind, water, and memory. I am grateful for both, and curious to see how they might speak to each other as next year unfolds.

Photo by Bradley Wade on Unsplash

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