I spent some time with friends this weekend, just the ladies. We left it all behind and focused on us. We did the tourist thing in Nashville. We visited The Opryland Hotel, bought boots, and went to an amazing U2 concert where 45,000 people danced, sang, and sweated together. We closed out a bar on the main strip that night, too. A pretty good day.
Another friend, who was unable to join in the fun, sent us messages throughout that day. In one of them, she said she hoped I had found inspiration for another story. I bet she thought we were seeing hawt cowboys in their jeans, big buckles, and boots. Or, maybe she envisioned us running into sleekly dressed music stars.
There was none of that. The heat of the air had most people out of jeans or boots. We didn’t see any sexy cowboys. The one sort of “known” person we saw in the wild was having a late lunch at Calypso Cafe with us. We didn’t bother her.
Not a drop of inspiration happened for me this past weekend that had anything to do with the music city of Nashville, unless you count the writing on the table where we had dinner one evening. That table was very direct.
Instead of thinking of musicians or cowboys or a roadie working hard to make the stars look good, I found my mind wandering to a beach. I think that I will break out of the setting of New Orleans for a story and set it in a beach town. That inspires me.