Cecile strolled along the white sanded beaches of a forgotten island, frosted drink in hand, and wondered how an island could be forgotten if so many others knew where it was. All along the beach there were nicely dressed tourists, some with drink, others just holding hands, and still others wetting their feet in the surf. It was such a shame vacations couldn’t last forever.

     A handsome, well-tanned man picked his way along the beach toward Cecile. She smiled at him and they shook hands. “You look like you come here often,” she said.

     “And you look like you never get out at all.” It would have been an insult but for the warm smile. It was infectious, because she found herself smiling as well. “So what are you escaping from?”

     “Murder mystery,” she said with a shrug. “All these motives and opportunities have me overwhelmed. Thought I’d take a break and come back when things calmed down at home.”

     The man nodded his sympathy. “Murder mysteries are tricky devils.”

     “What about you? What are you escaping from this time?”

     “Autobiography. He just wants to go on and on and on about nothing, and then erase anything usable, then he reads over what he’s kept, and he deletes the whole thing. I’d have thought a break would do him some good, but every time I check in on him he’s still at the same place he was. I’ve got nothing new to bring to the table, so I come here.”

     Cecile laid a hand on his arm. “It’s terrible when they hit blocks like that. All we can do is wait until they work themselves out of it.”

     He nodded, took a swig of his beer, and they stared out over the surf for a little while.

     “Do you ever wish you could swap?”

     His question startled her, and she fiddled with her straw a moment before she answered. “We all think about it from time to time, but that’s no reason to give up completely. Things will get better.”

      He shrugged, picked at something on his swim trunks. “Have you listened to them sometimes? We get the blame when things don’t go exactly the way they want them to. Sometimes they ask to swap us, or fire us.”

     “It’s not like they can, though. They created us, and they can’t abandon us any more than we can abandon them. We just come here until they’re ready to try again. It’s not so bad, really.” Cecile dug her toes into the sand.

     The man huffed. “Easy for you to say. I could probably count on my hand the number of times you’ve had to get away. You just wait. Things will go south, and you’ll end up spending so much time here you’ll be sick of it.” He didn’t bother with goodbyes, but turned and walked away, dropping his half empty beer bottle on the beach as he went.

      Cecile retrieved the abandoned drink and took it to the nearest trash can, then went to refresh her own drink.

      “Shame, isn’t it?” The bartender took her empty glass and busied himself with her refill. “It’s the bitter ones that ruin these little vacations.” He pointed at the handsome man’s back. “He practically lives here. Got his own room reserved and everything.”

     “That’s terrible. No wonder he’s so bitter.”

     The bartender shrugged. “No kidding. Some of us learn to move on, but guys like him never do. It’d be so much better if his writer would just sit down and hammer something out. Anything. They’d both feel so much better.”

     Cecile took her drink, paid the bartender, and picked her way along the beach again. The waves lapped at her feet as she walked, and she didn’t move away from them. Instead she stopped and wondered how long it would be before her writer stopped producing anything. The thought sent chills up her spine. She hoped she never ended up as bitter and disillusioned as the other man was.

     It didn’t occur to her until she was back in her room that she didn’t have to end up that way. Not if she did her part. It was only when they stopped working together that things began to fall apart. Cecile’s job was a simple one. All she had to do was keep bringing in fresh ideas for her writer to use or discard. If she never stopped, her writer might never stagnate, and she wouldn’t have to take so many vacations. She’d miss the place, sure, but it was no place to live. She grabbed her bags and headed for the lobby.

     The gift shop beckoned to her as she passed, and in the display window, she saw a book that she had to have. The cashier smiled at her as he punched up the price on the register.

     “Criminal psychology, eh? Kind of heavy reading for the beach, don’t you think?”

     Cecile smiled and paid for her purchase. “Not for the plane ride home.”

     “Leaving already? Seems like you just got here.”

     “I know, but I realized that I’ve got a lot left to do back at home. And I’m excited to get to it for once.”

     He smiled a little wider and nodded. “Make us proud.”

     As the plane lifted off the runway, Cecile watched the world shrink below her and wondered what writers did when they went on vacation from their muses.