We are heading to 100 degrees here today. Already it is over 80 and miserably humid. I can feel my brain turning to mush as I type. I hope to post something substantial later today. I have been thinking about writers and illness and how it affects what they write, in particular in relation to Virginia Woolf and Marcel Proust (sorry I seem to be so stuck on them lately but I can't help it). Litlove had an interesting post yesterday on the role of the human muse in an artist's work and I wonder if illness can also be viewed as a sort of muse? To help my pondering, I read Woolf's essay On Being Ill in which Woolf leaves me with the impression that illness can be a source of inspiration. And while I know her illnesses were anything but romantic, she manages in the essay to impart a romantic air to it, her way, perhaps, of coping. These are kernels of thoughts and half-thoughts and if the heat doesn't completely melt my brain I will attempt later to put them into more complete thoughts. If you are looking for something to do tonight, on Bill Moyer's PBS show Faith and Reason, he is interviewing Margaret Atwood and Martin Amis. That is sure to be a worthwhile hour.