Meanwhile, here in sunny, sunny, sunny Arizona, the sun is trying to kill us. So is lightning. A lightning strike 20 days ago has burned about something like 70 square miles on the mountain that dominates our valley’s landscape, our one respite from the annual blast oven of summer that runs from April through early November.
It stinks. And not just from the smoke constantly settling in on the valley floor.
What can I do but stay inside and write books? Or, instead, re-write books? (Some of mine are getting a plot-refresher this summer.)
Honestly, I feel a little like Nero, who played his fiddle while Rome burned. We have to keep going on, doing life, while the mountain a few thousand feet from us glows like an eerie, hellish volcano every night, exacerbated in its burn by the hot wind.
Here’s evidence, and this was not from sitting in a parking lot letting the windshield temp heat up. This is the actual temperature of the air, folks.
I need more slush. I need to crank down my AC. I need to write a story about Christmas.
Hey, if you’re interested, I have a new book ready for reviews. Some of you are on my review team already. THANK YOU. If you’re not on it, and you want an early copy of Wills & Trust, message me at firstname.lastname@example.org. I’ll get you a link. Previews for reviewers available until June 30. LMK
And, hey. Stay cool out there.