Every publisher has “imprints”, a name under which they publish books of like subjects. Usually these names are related to prominent editors or authors under a publisher’s roof. Others, like Tricycle Press (children’s books), are offshoots of the parent (Ten Speed Press). I wasn’t looking for any name in particular, but Stone In The Surf seemed like a perfect name. Here’s why.
2004 and most of 2005 were very difficult times for me. In 2004, my marriage was on the rocks, it was my son’s senior year in high school and I was between jobs. The divorce became more difficult, I left my job and barely hung onto the house I was living in. Had it not been for kindness friends and family I would not have survived. On August 25th, 2005, I singed a letter of agreement for the divorce, my son was off to college and most of my belongings had been crammed into storage. I left before the ink was dry on the divorce papers to Cabo San Lucas with a good friend of mine.
We
wound up at the Hacienda Hotel, the oldest hotel in Cabo. It sits on 11
acres of beach at the entrance to the marina and is less than a hearty
stone throw from Lands End. It was truly a place filled with heritage.
Hemmingway wrote The Old Man In The Sea while staying there. I
say was, because right after we left, the place was torn down to build
time-share condos. A true loss. While wandering around the grounds I
happened to find a broken paving stone. It was perfect for a very
symbolic gesture. I asked Juan at the front desk for some white paint.
Without asking “porqué” he disappeared and soon returned with a jar of
paint. I spent the better part of a hot afternoon scribing all of the
things that had created, angst, anxiety, anger and fear in my life over
the last two years into the stone.
That night we took a catamaran sailboat trip to see the sunset. Mind you my Spanglish isn’t very good and the captain’s Englash wasn’t much better. I finally managed to explain that I wanted to drop the rock – not my friend over the end of the boat.
He agreed, but decided since the bay of San Lucas was only 1,000 feet deep it would be better to wait until we rounded Lands End and where we would be in the Pacific Ocean. There I could lay my troubles to rest under almost a mile of ocean.
I was hoping to quietly slip the stone over the stern. Our captain had other ideas. He had me announce my intentions to forty new friends over the PA system. With cheers of encouragement I sent the stone into its watery grave and with it, went my cares and troubles. And that is where I thought the story would end. A simple symbolic cathartic gesture.
Little did I know …
Every morning I would wake to the distant rumble of the diesel engines of the fishing boats as they left the marina and headed out, filled with sport fishermen and beer in search of a marlin. I’d wander down to the San Francisco coffee shop for my morning fix of caffeine, then back to the beach to watch the sun rise over the Sea of Cortez. Nothing I have experienced in my life to this point is as invigorating and refreshing to the soul as watching the boats head out to sea as the sun climbs over the horizon. The morning after I dropped the stone into the ocean began as all the rest. I sat on a plastic chair and watched the sun rise.
It
shone a perfect golden line on the water that seemed to end at my feet.
I watched as other people enjoyed the solace of the morning as they
walked along the edge of the water. I began to notice that people would
stop right in front of me and look at something in the surf. I found
this odd since the sand is coral and there is nothing larger than a
Corona bottle cap as far as the eye can see. Curiosity finally got the
better of me and I wandered down to the waters edge to see what was
there. Not a foot to the left or to the right, but directly between the
rising sun and where I had been sitting, something large had washed up
in the surf. To my horror, it was a paving stone! I crept closer,
fearful that the sea had spat out my stone. Then to my surprise and
relief I realize that it was not my stone. This one was whole and not
broken. This one had been washed clean by the surf.
I truly believe that life gives us signs if we’re willing to look for them. From that morning on, my life was a clean slate. Each day is what I make of it. What better way to re-invent myself than to follow a life long dream of publishing my stories. I can think of no better imprint than, Stone In The Surf Press.
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