I remember reading once that one of my favorite mystery writers, Richard S. Prather, wrote one of his Shell Scott novels on a deadline while suffering from (I think) a bad case of hives. Mother Nature's wrath gave me an evil case of poison ivy after I built a big bonfire from stuff in the easement behind my house on Memorial Day, and I can't find the strength to even blog, so much respect to Mr. Prather. I have it on my eyelids, between my fingers, behind my ears, the end of my nose, and I was suffering to the point I went to the doctor where he said "niiiiiiice" and promptly gave me a shot in the butt. So I am slouching on the couch trying to finish BANGKOK 8, a crime novel I was reading while my daughter was in Thailand to scare myself even more. So until later go check out my brother's new blog, or the trailers from this dude who wrote me an email saying how much he liked my blog (so consider yourself appropriately warned, probably NSFW).
Give me a shout at firstname.lastname@example.org.