In one of the blogs I follow, Roni Loren posted about how her muse keeps finding her in the shower. Mine tends to sit in the passenger seat of my car when I drive to work. This is not very convenient, because it's really tough to make notes, right-handed, while driving in rush hour traffic.
Well, my muse has expanded his horizons (I know we usually think of the muses as feminine, but really? My muse has a six pack, a goatee and he's about 6'4"). Last night he was sitting on the side of the tub while I took a bath, reading Explosive Alliance by Catherine Mann. Not sure where the title of this book came from, because it really had nothing to do with the story, but I liked the book, and I'm off to find more by this author. But I'm not writing a review right now. I'm telling you about my muse.
I was soaking, mercifully covered by bubbles, because, let's face it--my muse is about ten years younger than me and he's spent WAY more time working out than I have, and I'm not ready for him to see me completely naked. Even though he loves curvy older women. Anyway. I was reading away, enjoying the story, and I had an idea for a scene. It had nothing to do with what I was reading. It just popped into my head between one line and the next. So I had to get out of the tub, find a pen and a piece of paper, scribble down some notes, and get back into the tub. Read another paragraph, and there he was again, saying, "What about if you make Joe walk into the room carrying..."
My bathroom floor was pretty wet before I finally gave up and came to my computer to start writing, at which point my muse poofed away, gone for the rest of the night. sheesh.