Why? Because I'm still working my way through a stack of grading the size of Terrell Owen's ego. It shouldn't come as a surprise to me that inspiration chose now to strike. The size of the stack usually seems directly proportional to how loudly inspiration screams in my ear. It leaves me wondering why inspiration and free time avoid each other with such stubborn enthusiasm.
As an elementary school teacher, I get summers off. One would think that amount of time off would lead to an explosion of new writing from my pen (or, more accurately, from my keyboard.) Yeah, um...it doesn't. I do take graduate courses and work on curriculum for the following year, but for the majority of the hours between mid-June and mid-August, I'm completely free of grown up responsibilities, completely free to follow my muse...
So do I?
Because said muse is nowhere to be found. Maybe it does some sort of reverse hibernation thing. I don't know.
Inspiration, it turns out, is an ornery little booger.