On Tuesday, I guest-blogged about travel and its affect on my writing, but it got me thinking about the type of travel that might be detrimental to my writing. The "bad" travel, so to speak.
Yes, even a traveling addict like me can take an uninspiring trip.
In fact, I've taken many that didn't get the creative juices flowing--a few barely inspired me to brush my teeth.
Travels for the day job have deposited me in such unlikely destination as Hartford, Conn., and Shanghai. But the destination isn't what makes these trips bad. It's the fact that it didn't matter what where I was. I went from airport, to taxi, to hotel, to conference room, to taxi, to airport. My schedule in Shanghai was such that if not for the faces and accents of the folks working at the JW, I wouldn't have known where I was.
For a gypsy like me, these trips are heart-breaking. I get all the headaches of travel--waiting in taxi queues that stretch around the block, disrobing for airport security and wondering if it's the bubonic plague that gives the hotel air such unique odor--without the joie de vivre of exploration.
And these trips rarely move my muse to begin whispering plot points in my ear. Instead, he (don't know why, but I think of "him" not "her" when I think of my muse--but that's another blog) usually grouses about the 5 a.m. wake-up call and reminds that terrorists love to target hotels.
And, yes, that low-level paranoia has found its way into at least one of my characters--to very interesting, dark-souled results--but I'm not going to beginning planning corporate travel just to dirty-up my characters. But the thought does lead to the question of the week: What uninspiring trip has found its way into your book? And would you go again?