Misty visions of Gordy being greeted by other dear departed fen and writers as they welcome him into that Big Consuite in the Sky filled my head. I have a vague plotline weaving through there as well. I'm guessing it'll end up as a couple of thousand words and make a fitting tribute to not only Gordy but those that have gone before.
Now, of course, I'm at work. So work things have started to infiltrate that lovely vision, taking up the space. The muse, buffeted by this influx has gone to sulk in the corner. Muses are tempermental beasts that way.
Best I can figure, I'll have to go listen to some Irish music to bring her out of her sulk. Fortunately, Todd Menton is at the Dubliner tonight and the Tim Malloys are at the Half Time Rec tomorrow. If they don't get her all peppy again, the Guinness surely will.
