My muse needs Florida sunshine!

I’m very curious what other writers experience. What does your muse require to stay healthy, happy, and inspired?

"Hemingway is great in that alone of living writers he has saturated his work with the memory of physical pleasure, with sunshine and salt water, with food, wine and making love and the remorse which is the shadow of that sun." ~Cyril Connolly 

I read this quote today on Dictionary.com and it resonated with me. Last fall my husband and I visited Key West, where bits of trivia about how Hemingway’s love of coastal life seemed interwoven into history of the island. 

Recently, I’ve learned how critically my environment influences what I write, as well as the depth and tone of my writing. Lately, my writing muse began begging to be more connected with the outdoor world, Florida sunshine. I’ve been busy for weeks, attached to my main computer with dozens of files constantly open, creating interesting guest posts for my blog tour—jobs too complex to accomplish on my netbook out on our dock. I even took a few days and let my muse work on a new book, but that didn’t seem to satisfy her. Daily word counts were met, so what was her problem? After a few more days spent with a frustrated muse who left my nerves in a bunch, I realized she needed to feel the inspiration of the warm sunshine and rhythm of the waves. I’ve always known I write my best while outside, but didn’t grasp how essential it really was. My discontented muse finally got through to me--she must recharge outside at regular intervals in order to write contentedly inside for a period. 

So, when I stumbled upon this quote, I was pleased to feel a kinship to the great author. I understand his connection to the year-round, summer-like sun of Florida, the salt water and how it flavors the air. The inspiration of coastal life is huge and something that becomes a part of you, in your blood. 

Here are some other quotes on the same topic which connected for me. 

The richest of all lords is Use,
And ruddy Health the loftiest Muse.
Live in the sunshine, swim the sea,
Drink the wild air's salubrity.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

This verse by Emerson is a more formal, pastoral representation of the same idea. The sun and sea restore and revitalize the spirit, and in turn health.

the thousand colors
in her plain brown hair—
morning sunshine

~Bernard Lionel Einbond

Those lines are so simple, yet lovely. They help me appreciate how I pull fantasy scenes and storylines from my time spent enjoying nature. The sunshine illuminates, opens my mind to more…

“The two basic items necessary to sustain life are sunshine and coconut milk. Did you know that? That's a fact. The two basic items necessary to sustain life are sunshine and coconut milk. Did you know that? That's a fact.”

ATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

~Waldo Salt

This is fun! Again, the same idea. I might change out the coconut milk for iced tea or a variety of exotic rum drink, but the tropical ease of being around coconut palms is important beyond satisfying my palate.

I’m very curious what other writers experience. What does your muse require to stay healthy, happy, and inspired?

A field trip for my writing muse . . . the Tampa Botanical Gardens

Last week while entertaining company, we took a trip to the Tampa Botanical Gardens. The effort was to find some interesting outing to pass the time. What I found was an awakening experience for my muse, tempting her to create an array of incredible fantasy settings. My muse loves field trips, so I’ve learned to take my camera along.

In most cases I had no idea what the common or scientific names were for these species, which was a real frustration for the biology major in me, but lack of formal names didn't bother my muse. She just made up her own.

This unusual hanging growth grabbed her attention at the park’s terraced entrance. Its leaves were like a staghorn fern, but the base arranged in papery layers like that of a hornet nest. It may well have been a staghorn fern on steroids, as many plants appear to me from the perspective of a transplanted northerner.

Across the patio, a fountain held the aura of a fantasy setting. A giant pinecone apex set on a primitive-looking wheel, festooned with embossed blossoms.

Epiphytes (aerial plants) always whisper “fantasy” to my muse, this one on a grand scale, smothering the fork of the mighty live oak trunk.

Flowering lily pads set amid a bamboo forest = exotic fantasy. My muse saw fairies hiding underneath the flat leaves, waiting for us to pass.

A pregnant banana tree seemed no miracle to my muse. That so-large-it-frightens flower demanded sex, so reproduction should be a given.

These were a few of the fascinating plants and sites which woke the imagination of my muse to spin out a fabulous setting or so for my fantasy stories.

Colors of Love

I am orange today. A statement of mood through expression of a color, trusting known connotations. Lately this seems to be a trend. Perhaps, a result of character limitations on tweets or status updates. What kind of love do cerulean, fuchsia, or aubergine bring to mind? As a writer of romance and erotica, I ponder such amusements.

A cold and isolated relationship is white, barren of everything, sterile. Be warned, icicles from that lover may impale you at any instant. Only the most colorful personalities feel welcomed. Ivory love, demure like a fragile parchment, kisses softly over the hair, the brow, the nose, before brushing lips. Its distant cousin, charcoal, seeks a stormy union. While the lovers' dedication may be as solid as granite, their passion transcends tumultuous fog, rain, wind, and snow. Thunder sparks intense passion. Values darker, a blackened heart grieves for what will never be, yet clings to remnants of broken beauty. His mysterious elegance draws many, yet fulfills none, instead appreciating their oppression, delighting in macabre.


That thirst for blood and hunger for life, heightens passions. Lovers slake their own desires for claret. Ropes bind the skin, cutting a sanguine trail. Stilettos and stockings lie tossed aside while she reclines; he is already gone from her bed. Crimson lips on his starched shirt bring a memory of the conquest. At his own door, he interrupts his daughter and boyfriend in a goodbye kiss, both blushing. The pinkness of young love. Inside at the dinner table he looks upon his wife, trying to recall that same tenderness. She is too aged; he cannot. But, her smile pours orange warmth across his heart, a glimpse of the sunshine which fascinated him when he proposed. He twirls his band of gold, wondering . . . his desire to provide for her transformed into a vicious drive. Their love once yellow, hers shone like the sun, while his reached toward succeed. As she gave birth to their children, her harmony glowed verdant and fertile. However, he became green with greed, darkening his heart by degrees, until compelled to satiate his ravenousness with that carmine mouth.


Sadly, like him, few discover the most blissful colors. The azure of tropical waters soothes the soul. Nothing is more important than time spent on carefree caresses, part of an everlasting vacation for those who are so lucky. Such tranquility, together gazing up to stars twinkling against sapphire is appealing, but I prefer to blend it with a quantity of passion – purple, my choice for amour. Hearkening back to chivalry, honor, and valiance, when nobles dressed in violet, I swoon from the romance. Amethyst love potions intoxicate with spells from which I never wish to turn away. Tiptoeing through patches of lavender and heliotrope while gathering armfuls of lilacs, his love seduces me with heady fragrances. This is the color of my love.


Do you agree with my color associations?  I'd like to know your thoughts.