Sometimes I sit in front of the word document that is my novel feeling particularly woebegone and then I put on one of Dragonette’s songs and it’s like being born again a writer, which is all I really ask of the music I listen to.
I’ve been reading up on volcanic winters! They are fascinating things. Did you know that 1816 was a volcanic winter and they called it the Year Without a Summer and the Year Without a Summer was when Mary Shelley had the inspiration for Frankenstein? That means volcanoes are indirectly responsible for great literature.
I would be surprised if I hadn’t suspected it all along.