In case you haven’t noticed, it’s August. That means temps around 100F here in the boring part of California, and it means chauffeuring children and supervising playdates and finding ways to pry the children off electronic gadgets. And it means that on a daily basis I hear the familiar whine:
Lately it occurred to me that I literally can’t remember the last time I was bored. It’s not only that my life keeps me pretty busy: work, writing, family, travel. Even with a schedule like that, there’s downtime of a sort, like the 1400 round trip miles I recently drove (kids were plugged in to iThings the whole way), or like the hour or so spent yesterday at the audiologist with the younger kid. But I use those bits of time wisely. I nearly always have a book or Kindle on me, or in a pinch my phone with the Kindle app, so sometimes I can catch a little reading. On long car rides I often listen to audio books.
But even when I don’t have access to books, I’m not bored because my mind is full of my writing. I can spend contented hours writing dialog in my head, scheming my way out of whatever plot pitfalls I’ve written myself into, and creating ideas for new stories. I guess wherever I am and whatever I’m doing, I have my muse to entertain me, and that’s a wonderful thing, a precious gift.
Helps make up for the fact that my muse is a mean, heartless bitch who doesn’t listen to a word I say.