One of the reasons I like hanging around with other writers is that they get me. (So do my artist friends and musician friends, for that matter.) We think a little differently than the rest of the world. We do things a little differently than the rest of the world.
I was thinking about that especially when I was at the gym tonight, and a Mannheim Steamroller Christmas song came on my mp3 player, followed by the Monkees, followed by Led Zepplin.
You mean you don't have Christmas songs on your mp3 player? In May?
When I'm at the gym, I look at the people working out and turn them into characters for a novel I'm not writing. But I guess I could. If I had the time. Then I came home to watch baseball -- because nothing is better than baseball.
If I wrote a novel, I'd somehow have baseball in it. Everytime I try to write fiction, baseball shows up somewhere.
So does a character with gray eyes.
I read an essay in More magazine while on the treadmill, written by a woman trying to get adjusted to life with her teenage son after her daughter, her pal, went to college. I pitied the woman. My teenage boy is one of my favorite people to hang with because we talk the same language -- baseball, hockey, football, and basketball.
And now a glass of wine is calling my name.