I only thought the weekend was hot. Yesterday, it hit 101. Yes, 101 in April. I'm dying here. It's too hot to think, and how can I write about November and December in New York when it's 101 degrees? In April!
Of course, the power grid isn't prepared to handle this kind of heat, so we had brownouts and rolling blackouts yesterday. One of the rolling blackouts hit the street I was on as I was driving to my exercise class last night. Suddenly, there were no traffic lights. Fortunately, I was on the major street and there wasn't much traffic on the cross streets, but it was rush hour, so it was kind of a mess. We're supposed to have more of the same today, with a blessed, lovely, wonderful cold front coming through tonight.
If this is any indication of what summer will be like, I'm going to invest in a supply of cotton sundresses that barely touch the body. In this weather, even shorts are uncomfortable because they have a waistband. It's been too hot for hot tea, so I switched to iced tea. It's even too hot for Dr Pepper.
Hmm, maybe I should visit my brother in Chicago this summer. Or even better, my cousin in Alaska. That could be a good time to visit Australia when it's winter there.
In spite of the heat, I have managed to get some work done. Last night, I put on some jazz (the best music for a hot, sultry night) and worked until really late (when it had cooled off to reasonable levels). I'm closing in on the ending of this draft.
Only one more week until the new book comes out. Over the weekend, my Amazon numbers shot up. For a while, it was the #59 bestselling fantasy romance (how they have it categorized). Now it's back to the usual depressing range. I hope that changes a little when the book actually comes out. Yes, I'm being paranoid and insecure again. I think this business is designed to make writers paranoid and insecure and keep them that way. If we ever start to think anything of ourselves, we might get pushy and demanding.
And now I have to go think of something really mean to do to Mimi.