I have never enjoyed the company of bumblebees.
So, it is quite ironic that I have become one.
Buzzing around from suspect to suspect, I stick my writing protuberances into whatever Cozy Mystery character I fancy that day to feed the story. I take what nectar the plot needs that moment and then bumble comically away.
I wonder if such bumblebee-ing is normal?
Better yet, I wonder if I care?