In my home town, there’s a rundown motel right by the boat docks. It’s a temporary home to fishermen, truck drivers, and tourists who are fooled by a attractively misleading webpage. Not even having the cachet for a hotel, it’s a park-outside-your-door motel.
And I’m obsessed by it. Inexplicably.
I’ve been tempted to rent a room at The Gull Motel, just for one night, to indulge my imagination. Sure, I’d check for bedbugs and skip the shower, but it would satisfy my curiosity. What is it about a stacked two-story motel by the river with empty planters outside the rooms and a cracked asphalt parking lot? No idea. But I drive by it almost everyday and wonder about the people who have come and gone through those 1950s era rooms.
Finally giving in to the lure of The Gull Motel, I’m writing it into a book which will probably have the same name. In my book, The Gull is on the gulf coast of Florida. My heroine suddenly inherits the motel and has to turn a profit with it. Instead of tearing it down and building the kind of place with continental breakfasts and reward points, she decides to cash in on the “Old Florida” charm and 1950s throwback nostalgia.
I sure hope it works for her and she finds a little time for the sexy man next door. He knows how to maintain the pool pump and push all her other buttons, too.