Thirteen writers…
Two bathrooms…
One shower.
Three days…
Thank God everyone was respectful…
And thank God I had my own bedroom…
Not that I would have minded sharing…
But as luck would have it…
I ended up with a room of my own.
And then, amidst food, coffee, candy and booze…
We writers worked, brainstorming…
For someone’s scene, story, or character…
That needed to be fleshed out…
Till the buzzer went off...
Then it was giggles, guffaws, and laugh-till-you-pee time…
Then back to work...
All weekend long.
Several times, I stole away to my bedroom…
Set up my laptop…
And in the solitude of the stark room—I wrote…
Differently…
Two thousand words and more.
When I got back home…
Familiarity greeted me...
Routine beckoned…
And something in the air was different...
And not, thank God, a fuming litter box.
It was a creative atmosphere that had dissipated…
Like morning’s fog over the la–
Huh! The lake! Was that it? Is that why I wrote differently?
Was it the water, the boats, or the swans?
Or the stark solitude of that bedroom that was the difference?
No, it was passion!
The passion of other writers!..
Like the difference between watching football on TV…
Or being at a game with a crowd of cheering fans.
So?
Ever get stimulated by the excitement…
Of other writers’ passion?
Always, Em-Musing
