We're in the midst of one of our summer heat waves. It's been over a hundred degrees for the past several days, with enough humidity to make the heat index even higher and no break in sight. Heat never bothered me much when I was a kid, but the older I get . . . I'm starting to wonder if the heat has fried my brain a little. My writing has slowed down somewhat. I need to be ripping through this current book pretty quickly. I'm still on schedule, but I hoped to get ahead by a few days. That may have to wait until the heat breaks, though.
I'm reading one of those pulp reprints I talked about the other day, A MAN NAMED JONES by Charles B. Stilson. The writing is a little old-fashioned (big surprise there, it was first published in 1919), but the story moves right along.
Arthur J. Burks Part 11: 1937
53 minutes ago
1 comment:
Anyone who lives in an area where it gets over 75 degrees is more tolerant of heat than I. I used to be able to take it, but this state has spoiled me. Or maybe not being a skinny kid anymore changed my tolerance. As I type this it's 77 degrees out and I'm running my air conditioner. I can't imagine people in hot climates not having one going all the time.
Meanwhile, hurry and finish the book so I can read it.
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