So *that's* why I go to the gym...

I've been playing around with scenes for a new book. I haven't had that one aha moment, the one where you know what the book is about and where it needs to go, and all the blind groping is damned depressing. But, like every other writer, I keep plugging along, hoping for that moment. It will mean a bunch of hard work, but as long as I have that all-important goal, it'll be okay.

Doesn't matter: Sunday is gym day.

On the elliptical trainer: grind, grind, grind. Stare at the large televisions showing sports I don't care about and news items that aren't news items. Snarl, snarl, snarl.

On the weight machines: ick, ick, ick. The weasel who was there before me did not wipe them down after he worked out. Find a paper towel and crank up my music. La, la, la.

On the mats: crunch, crunch, cr--huh? While my brain was unplugged, a thought has taken root. It's not the big answer I was looking for, but it is a way to do a scene I've been thinking about without it being a cliche. It tells me a little more about my characters. It gives me another edge of the story to work on. It fits.

Startled looks from the other sweaty people: I've been singing along with my iPod. Audibly. For those of you who don't already know, I should never, ever sing in public (or anywhere else).

But it's worth it: now I've got another angle.