High on the sugar rush of leftover Halloween candy, the writer sits at her desk, bemoaning how life sometimes imitates art: she has inflicted a dire fever upon one of her characters, and now, the next day, suffers a fever herself, that weighs upon her head like a crown and burns in the hollows of her bones as bright as the candle alight on her desk.
She plods steadily on, even when the bright screen before her swims in her vision, to reach the goal she set herself before collapsing in a heap on her couch to soothe her beleaguered brain with fluff and nonsense, preferably of a romantic bent.
She then realizes she still needs to post to her blog before doing so, and writes some torturous purple prose to entertain her faithful readers.
(Ugh. Pass the aspirin, please. And send some get well vibes along–or, maybe, “don’t get worse” vibes–because the last thing I want is to be laid up with fever and chills for days when I should be writing!)