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.
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.
ReplyDeleteMeanwhile, hurry and finish the book so I can read it.