It's raining here. It never rains in July, but the sky has spit and sputtered at us all week. I fear tonight is the last, however. I have a flaming thunderbolt of a headache, which usually means the weather - or at least the barometric pressure - is changing.
My muse refuses to make an appearance while the head is pounding. Can't really blame him. I wouldn't be here myself if I didn't have to be. Hopefully next week things will be back on track with the writing.
I could use some inspiration, so I think I'll borrow a page from Mindy's book and ask if you have any questions you'd like answered. Anything? Ichabod the Muse sees all and knows all. (Well, not really, but if he doesn't know, he'll make stuff up.)