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.
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.
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.