Two days from now, I fly to Hartford, CT, where I will pick up a car and motor the fifty-plus miles down to Long Island Sound. The Seascape Writers Retreat doesn't start until Friday, so I'll have a whole day to re-gather the wits I'm sure to leave on the plane. I'm not exactly a white-knuckle flyer (Tums controls the nausea), but it has been seven years since I've flown, and I know things have changed . . . a lot.
I will wear clogs so I don't have to unlace my favorite sneakers. I will pay attention to the instructions and carry only travel-sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, make-up, et. al. and put as many of those little suckers into a clear plastic, quart-sized baggie as it will "comfortably hold." I am allowed ONE clear plastic baggie. One. I think my biggest fear is that the wires and plugs needed to keep my electronics charged--telephone and computer, with keyboard and mouse because I absolutely can't type on a laptop--may get me nominated for an "open the bag lady" examination (comma purposely omitted).
I will keep a notebook and pen handy during my hours-long lay-over in Atlanta, looking to thumbnail sketch a few dozen unique characters that I can involve in my next novel. Actually I'm working up an idea for a new mystery that's exciting me to death, and I can't wait to get at it. 'Course after the burst of energy that produces the first 20 or so pages, I'll put it down and continue on with the other two novels I have in process. The new one will be there waiting for me when I'm able to get back to it, probably after the first of the year. But I just HAVE to see those initial "jump-in feet-first" words in double-spaced lines of Times New Roman, 12 point font, an inch in from each side of the page. They reassure me that I have not succumbed to writer's block.
I wish you all good writing.
Keep on keeping on, folks. I will.