The one hour vacation

My plan was perfect.  The moment my last book signing for the Deadly Echoes release tour was over, I was headed to Montana.  I'd rented a rustic cabin on the bank of Rock Creek, with Internet and satellite TV of course, and the rule of the day was write in the morning, fly fish in the afternoon, with all activities drawing to a close around happy hour.  Repeat as necessary.  Following this recipe, at some point later in the summer I'd end up with a rough draft for novel number six and have caught a bunch of fish.

What happened instead was my first morning in Montana, I was leaving the hotel to drive to the cabin.  While loading the car I stepped off a curb I didn't see.  It took a while for the injury to really hurt, so I did actually get all my fishing stuff unpacked before I was forced to seek medical attention.  The end result is a swollen knee with fragments floating around inside, and some guys with knives who are hopefully going to fix everything.  Maybe as early as next week.  I can see the river from the window.  Of course, it's impossible to fish with crutches, and I've been told I'll be on them for four to six weeks after the surgery.  Thinking back, I sure was excited that entire hour before I stepped off into space. 

With fishing out of the equation, the question looms.  Will I write more, or simply start happy hour earlier?  Stay tuned.