I happened to be swimming alone the other day. Actually, there were other people in the pool, but none of them were my close friends so I kept doing my “laps” and thinking about all kinds of stuff. One lady said something about a woman who kicked her husband out for reasons. My mind jumped into story mode. What if a man found out his wife had kicked him out due to gossip going around town? He goes to work in the morning, and a coworker gives him condolences.
Wait, stop! I don’t need a new story to work on. I have to finish Crazy for Trying (Version 77) and the final Regency Banquet novel. I have a new fan who just discovered them and is enjoying the whole concept. Deep breaths, let the idea go, just keep swimming.
Friday, I had my first trip to Glen Ivy Hot Springs and Spa. I went with my writing buds, the girls who helped me heal after my best friend passed away. We had such a good time! And very little alcohol was involved. Maybe it was the sulfur fumes, but we relaxed and had so much fun. And I noticed a man by himself, walking around. He seemed to be everywhere we went. What if he was sent to kidnap someone whose husband wanted to get his hands on her money. But the would-be kidnapper falls in love with the plump but happy lady who was to be his victim.
Augh! No, no, no. See the paragraph above.
We got our drinks and went to the “lounge” pool, a very shallow, semi-warm pool with floats and beanbags and not many people in it. We talked about creepy people that you just get a feeling about and when you and your significant other feel the same way. We were next to the spot where a saxophone player set up with a drum machine and amplification. He played wonderfully, picking songs we loved, like Madonna’s San Pedro. Perfect spa music. He wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous but attractive in a Bruce Willis sort of way.
I’ve always been attracted to musicians, so I could see one of these ladies ready to fall for him. The recently widowed guest with no money problems, brought to the spa by her friends who want to help her cheer up. Something about her attracts his attention and when their eyes meet —
Stop! Stop! Stop! I do not want to think about a young man whose family owns and operates a spa like this and meets the girl of his dreams when she holds her bachelorette party there. I don’t want to find a way for the cute bartender to let a gay man know he’s available. Do not find a billionaire there with his mother to fall in love with the struggling shop girl. And totally forget about the chef who gives extra avocado to the woman she would like to get to know better. (Not knowing the woman is allergic to avocado and then having to call 911 to save her life) (Yeah, that’s a problem because she probably asked for no avocado)
There’s no way to stop the Story Gene or get the swamp to drain when there is a constant pipeline running in there. Guess I should be happy that I have always something going on that makes my writer mind churn. What I need is more hours in my day. Thanks for reading, I’ll be back on Thursday.