I’m on the home stretch with my novel-in-progress Good Sal/Bad Sal, set in casino-era Atlantic City. One of the final chapters starts with Good Sal asking:

Have you ever let the cold surf creep between your toes and thought what’s the point of my time, I’ll be gone a million years and these waves will still roll in? No? Then maybe you spend too much time on Facebook.

It’s good for the soul to brush up against something even dumber and more unwieldy than human nature and simply accept it. It can put your hopes and fears in perspective.

The downside is too much time near the sea might lull you into psychic undertow. Here’s Tom Waits on the danger:

The ocean doesn’t want me today
But I’ll be back tomorrow to play
And the stranglers will take me
Down deep in their brine
The mischievous braingels
Down into the endless blue wine
I’ll open my head and let out
All of my time…

I’ve made a vow: No swimming until the novel is finished and I have an agent for it. The latter part of the vow might keep me out of the water for a million years.