Turtle on the Loose—Origin Story

What's in a name, anyway

If it was a six-word story it might have read, “Runaway tortoise, last seen swiping right.”

The inspiration for this Substack’s handle was a Facebook post in early September, nestled on my town’s community page among the seeking-a-plumber threads, construction alerts, announcements for the VFW pancake breakfast, townspeople gripes, and pleas to be on the lookout for various lost dogs and cats.

There: a photo of a red-footed tortoise along with an update.

Reunited and it feels so good!

Six words, funnily enough. I did a double take, stopped scrolling.

The tortoise, named Texa, had been missing for two and a half months when a resident found her. In that time, she’d traveled a third of a mile and avoided bad weather, predators, cars, and would-be rescuers. Her owner described Texa as very friendly, surmised she had had the time of her life, and said she would be airtagged somehow.

“She’s a lady on a mission . . . It’s still mating season,” the owner said.

I had so many questions.

• Very friendly?

• How does a tortoise get loose?

• How did she survive the coyotes and hawks and cars and bad weather and the lack of meal delivery service she had grown accustomed to?

• Was she making good time, i.e., is 1/3 of a mile impressive?

• How did she spend her summer vacation?

• Can I meet her?

What a cool story, I thought. I wonder if I can pitch this essay somewhere.

(That’s the bummer about cool stories. They need to fit in somewhere, and I need to convince an editor of the match.)

Texa the red-footed tortoise, from her owner’s Facebook post

This Started as Baba Deeby Baba

A couple of weeks passed. I was acting upon a long-time curiosity about Substack and filling a Word doc with notes, essay ideas . . . and potential newsletter names.

“Baba deeby baba” is still my favorite—a family inside joke that itself originated from an incoherent outburst my sister had when really little—but it seemed a little too much, and no one would know how to spell it.

I toyed with “Turn the Page” until I started singing too much Bob Seger. Then “Better off Read” and “Better in Writing.” On the former, I’d always have to clarify the spelling, plus people might mispronounce read as read; the latter is my usual disclaimer about who I am—much better expressing myself in writing than the awkward, stumbling fool you see in front of you—and it floated in the air for a bit.

Then the turtle popped up. (Technically the original is a tortoise, but she popped into my head as a turtle.)

Escaped turtle. Not bad. A little tricky to pronounce, would possibly have to clarify that it’s escaped, not escape.

Then boom: Turtle on the Loose.

As soon as the name showed up, it demanded attention. It wouldn’t give me any peace. It wouldn’t let me work on anything else. It told me more about itself. It showed me how it fit into my Grand Idea.

It’s me, hi, I’m the turtle.

I don’t work as fast as some. I often feel like a late bloomer. Or a non-bloomer.

I’ve wanted to write (seemingly) random essays forever. My kind of stories, on any damn topic, riffs or researched. But I didn’t see an outlet or a market, for any number of reasons. Instead, I molded myself into a variety of jobs and freelance gigs and businesses, picked up a variety of useful skills, and every once in a while I’d noodle on the idea again.

Then I found Substack and the glimmer of an idea surfaced. (Other writers have been here for years. Told ya I’m a slow burner.)

Maybe I can finally let it fly, let it loose. This is where I can write those essays and stories and whatever else sounds like fun, and find my people. The people who like a story well told, no matter the topic. The ones who don’t fit into a neat little niche, whose tastes don’t conform to a specific demographic.

Turtle on the Loose—I’m the slowpoke who’s sticking my neck out and making a run for it. I’m looking for adventure, and I can’t wait to see who’s coming along.

Catch me if you can.