And what do you know? It did me good. Not just from a getting a rest and a (very slight) tan point of view, either. I saw interesting things. I talked to interesting people. I learned stuff. My brain got to slip the rails for a few days. And out of all of that, I began to think about old subjects in new ways.
|Obviously in its heyday there would have been a lot more dead people.|
Anyway, just an example ... there were plenty more that I won't bore you with. I thought a lot about archeology, about ancient civilizations and how people might have lived and why, about how perhaps the findings of historians don't always mesh that well with our actual experience of how human beings function and behave - and ultimately, how all of that can feed into how I go about imagining fictitious cultures and characters and places. Because I could have written a creepy catacomb without a visit to St Paul's easily enough, and I could have imagined a culture that buried their dead in said creepy catacomb, but I'm not sure it would have ever occurred to me to written a homely, decorative catacomb where people took the kids for a night out.
In the end, my time in Malta ended up being a nice reminder of why I've spent my entire adult life wanting to write for a living; of how much it's my way of finding a useful place for my curiosity and fascination with trying to figure out how things work. Who'd have thought? Sometimes not writing is good for your writing.