Pout

Last night there was, I am told, a spectacular once-every-18-years "super moon."

It has been raining for days. The sky was so cloudy it was barely possible to tell there was a moon at all. Have to wait another 18 years to see the moon that close.

Grump. Tired of rain now.

Why Do I Think of These Things?

This morning I woke with a notion for an urban fantasy/alt world novel set in New York--New York in its more or less current state, technology wise--but where everyone has the manners of a Heyer novel.

And it won't let me go. I'm trying to revise a very 21st century fantasy story, and bits of dialogue keep slouching in and wanting to be introduced to other bits of dialogue. And yet, other than setting, I have nothing for such a book.

Mind, either contribute or shut up, you hear me?