Ever had one of those months? You know, the type where your inner muse is on vacation? Or hibernation? I am moving into month four. I write a couple of hundred words, then nothing: no spark, no excitement, no yipee moment, no wellspring of animalistic desire. You get the idea. Dullsville. Utter boredom. And I am not even sick! Maybe if the weather cools off as we head into September, I might become inspired, but right now, I could not write a rousing story if someone stood naked in front of me.