An Ocean of Writing

Fly tying.

Spell casting.

Arm breaking. Cast forming.

Writing your name on a friend’s cast would be “cast spelling.”

Writing your name under a table would be covert vandalism.

Writing your name in the snow is whizzing.

Writing your name in a tree is woodcarving.

Writing your name in clouds is skywriting. Writing with paper and pen while on an airplane is not skywriting.

Writing someone else’s name on a bathroom stall is graffito. Writing a lot of names on a bathroom stall would be graffiti.

Smacking the keyboard with a stick would be: q3targh’ankmvz.

Writing the governor is petitioning.

Writing 256 characters is tweeting. . . or at least it used to be. Now it’s probably called Ecksing, or X-ing, Musk-ing, or whatever they’ve decided to call it now.

Writing alien characters is science fiction-ing.

Writing poetry could be rhyming, while writing poetry to a beat would be rapping. Rap stars love chromed cars, eat rich like Russian tsars, poets trip on a lip, their muse a whip to keep them hip, tuning in to get a grip, rocking like a hurricane, nothing is real if you drug up your brain, smack the keys with a stick, why would you want to be a—poet, if they never have a payday?

Writing a eulogy would make you a “survivor.” Therefore, writing a eulogy is surviving. If you feel like surviving, get writing those eulogies.

Writing while stargazing is Carl Sagan-ing.

Writing on a rocking boat is sea-sickening.

Writing a message and putting it in a bottle and throwing it in the ocean is littering—unless you’re in distress somehow, then it’s SOSing.

Writing while fishing is Jacques Cousteau-ing.

Writing from the belly of the whale would be Jonah-ing.

Arm mending. Bone strengthening.

Spool winding.

Hook finding.