The poetry mojo finally deigned to stop by for a cuppa this afternoon, after being AWOL pretty much all of last week, and not a minute too soon for all concerned - I am a MOPEY, GROUCHY COW when things aren't clicking.

Not that the previous week was much better, although Paul Stevens did inspire me to sling a comment-sonnetino at him on the fly (or "on the flea," if thou wilt...).

I'm about 2/3 through my recording of Harold Kushner's Conquering Fear for the Talking Library. I'll devote a separate entry to what I think of it so far.

Some recent gems from the Dorothy L. Sayers fen:

Bredon in Narnia (short; read only after you have properly swallowed your cocoa)

That a Lover May Have His Desire (7,000 words' worth of missing scenes from Gaudy Night, by the woman who should be writing the Estate-commissioned continuations (my opinion being that said Estate has so far displayed an ear fashioned from Lord Peter's lounge lizard shirt in Have His Carcase))

The Beautiful Young Man and I are celebrating St. Andrew's Day with drams of the whisky we purchased a year ago. Slainte mhath!