I had resolved to at least complete a rough copy of this before I headed back to class. I sent it this morning to my father, who is in essence co-writing the article about our travels last year through Nicaragua. I write ‘in essence’ because he told me I could write the piece and keep any money we receive if it is selected. He is going to give me feedback and submit it to a medical doctor’s leisure magazine. But I will have a byline if we ever see it published.
I did leave it to the wire, finishing the final paragraphs this morning. Once I forced myself to stop procrastinating and focus on the task the words actually flowed quite fluidly. I loved retracing our journey through the words in my travel journal and the images in my photo collection. The memories returned so vividly, even now nearly a year and a half later. I was slidding on my butt in the mud while climing Volcan Maderas or walking through the chaotic markets of Masaya or sipping an ice cold beer while watching a technicolour sun set over the ocean in San Juan del Sur.
Perhaps that really is the greatest reward that comes from writing. The ability it has to reacquaint us with some of our happiest and cherished moments. That to me is worth more than ever seeing my name on a byline, though admittedly that will be a pleasure as well.
