Which was fine by me.
I spent the whole week reading, hiking, swimming, and learning about western Appalachian stuff including whiskey. (Given whiskey's historical nature, I may have to devote a post to "Interesting Things I Discovered about Whiskey" in the near future.)
Still, I packed my laptop, just in case. Mr. Hyaline asked if I planned to write on the trip--I didn't, really. "Oh," he said. "Just if you get inspired by the scenery?"
I laughed at him. I'm not, I replied, one of "those kinds" of writers who gets inspired by every little thing. Pshaw, as if landscape could spur my creativity.
I'm tough enough to admit I was wrong.
And I now have a setting for the third book in the little series I'm a' writin', plus a very, very rough outline. Plus a lot of motivation and excitement.
I couldn't spend five minutes gazing out over the bluff edge from our dinky lodge room balcony without seeing one of my main characters madly in love with this place.
I imagined narrow escapes on fast-moving rivers, and sweat-plastered treks up the sides of steep ridges.
Forests heavy-laden with mosquitos and enemy troops alike. (Our hikes revealed only mosquitos, no enemy pickets.)
And always, always, low, lush, green mountains envelopped in shrouds of mist and cloud.
Well, I learned my lesson. Don't knock it lest ye find yourself falling wholeheartedly into it. So, yes, I was inspired by scenery. I can't wait to visit these places again--even if I only do so by sketching them into words on a page.