To Fresh Water or Salt Water . . .?

. . . that is the new question.


Why, you ask? (yes, you did, come on...).

Well, as some of you know, I have embarked on a new activity, doing "open water" swims with a great group of water-loving crazies from my area. It has been an exhilarating, if at times frustrating, challenge.

Though personally satisfying to me to see I can bring myself (not exactly your hardy-Survivor-type soul) to brave the elements -- cold (COLD!) water, mating horseshoe crabs one must trip over to get to the deep water, and the recent appearance of jellyfish, not to mention all the "things" I cannot see beneath the brackish water (though my fisherman-friend tells me there are any number of biting, 10-pound+ things that are likely swimming along with me just waiting for me to unwittingly happen into what he lovingly (?) refers to as a feeding frenzy) and, yes, those pesky swans -- I have, to date, been the slowest, most-pantingly-breathless member of the group. Still, I've done it. And most people wouldn't, even if those that do are way more kick-ass than I am.

So, here's the problem.

As most of you also know, much of my writing ideas -- plot, character development, those gems of ideas that come to me through what those of us who write often call our mystical, magical, and deeply-desired Muse -- often come to me under water.

And my Muse is pool-water powered. She simply has not acclimated to the harbor.

It's not my Muse's fault.

Because, try as I might, while I'm open-water swimming, there's so much panting and breathing and pushing and kicking and timing and lurking-creature avoiding going on, not to mention the constant spotting of the other swimmers so I don't unwittingly drift off toward Connecticut nor lose sight of the nearly-elusive (but-fuck-you-I-made-it!) yellow buoy, there's no way my poor Muse can come. She's sitting on a blanket in the corner of the beach with a Mai Tai and a story idea just waiting for me to come the fuck in.

Meanwhile, my agent gave me "notes" on my new manuscript and I need to rise to the occasion. And since my option period is running, I pretty much need to do that now. Not to mention the open-water group is doing "causeway" swims this week, which are at least a quarter mile further than the damned nearly-elusive yellow buoy.

So for today, at least, I'm headed toward the chlorine at the Y in search of my pool-loving muse. Let's hope she's waiting for me there.