If you want to be a successful writer you have to learn to nap. When we nap, we are resting our eyes while our imaginations soar. We can sort and sift, visualizing our hero and or heroine, creating scenarios for their story.
Napping requires a prone position. We might drift off, just far enough to rescue our creative spirit from the chaos of everyday life.
Where to nap? A bed is the obvious place, or in the living room recliner with the footrest up; a hammock is the best napping invention ever.
Here’s the passage from Boom! Unfortunately, Jessie’s happy sojourn in her hammock is rudely interrupted.
Later, lying in a hammock, reading on her kindle, she lost track of time. She’d loaded the device with romance novels before leaving home. Gary had warned her that the closest bookstore was an hour away, and might not have books in English. Even if she ran out of ebooks, the hotel bar had free wireless internet and she could download from Amazon to her notebook.
As a little treat to herself, she occasionally read a bit of her own bestseller, savoring the thrill of seeing her pen name on the cover page. She even had the blue-eyed hunk from the cover as desktop wallpaper on her notebook computer—just to get the day off to a good start, and the creative juices flowing. Yes, it had been a great idea to come to this remote beach—she was starting to unwind. She hummed the theme from Titanic.
What a wonderful thing a hammock was. Whoever invented it must have been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Why did North Americans not make use of this simple device? It was heaven to sink into the folds of the hammock slung between two palm trees and escape into romance for hours at a time. Occasionally, she closed her eyes, listening to the warm wind rustling the palm branches high above.
Suddenly, her whole body went rigid as a snarling black creature flew at her from nowhere and became tangled in the strings of the hammock at her feet. Goosebumps shivered across her skin. A fleeting image of Disney’s Tasmanian Devil flashed through her mind as she held her breath, adrenaline pumping. Three inch long flying black things that buzzed angrily weren’t something she wanted to be anywhere near.
The flight instinct took hold and she struggled to get out of the deep hammock, eyes riveted on the angry thing from hell. The hammock tipped and she fell to the grass, screaming loudly, the kindle grasped tightly in her hand. Breathless and shaking, down on all fours, she watched the winged monster take flight and disappear as quickly as it had come.
Anyone else love to relax in a hammock?