Literary Pollination (at last)

I was on word 27,503 of the new novel. I was sitting outside and the breeze was fingering back the pages on my torn-from, sat-on, crumpled-into, water-marked Staples pad, and the Casablanca lilies were in full odoriferous bloom.

I had a novel problem I hadn't been able to solve. I was wondering if I could.

That was yesterday.