*whooooooooooooosh*

I'm writing at the café in Powell's Books in downtown Portland, OR. This place is awesome. 5 floors of wall-to-wall books, a café with free wi-fi, and reading material that you're not required to buy.

But I didn't come here for the tea or the ambiance (which is nevertheless quite enjoyable). I came here to write, yet the muse, undependable wretch that it (he? she?) is, is nowhere to be found. Thus the name of today's blog, which refers to the air blowing through my empty, uninspired, cavernous head.

Well, that's okay. It's half past noon, and this place won't close for hours. I have nowhere to be, and nothing more important to do than to sit here and crank out at least two thousand words.

"Establish a time and place," Stephen King said. "Make an appointment, and eventually, the muse will show up."

I'm paraphrasing, of course.

 

Wish me luck.

 

--Cris