Okay, I'll admit this up front. I'm kind of down these days.
Reverse SAD? Actually, I looked it up and Seasonal Affective Disorder doesn't
only afflict people in the winter—it can get you in the summer too. I find that
reassuring, because I'm usually okay in the winter. I like the cold because you
can just put on more clothes if you're uncomfortable, right? In the summer there's
only so much you can do if there isn't a body of cold water nearby to jump
into. Humidity makes me want to die. And yes, I know I should be living in the
desert, but here I am in the nation's capital, which, if you didn't know, was
built on a swamp. Which is exactly what it feels like in the summer.
At least I'm not in Florida, where, aside from being
disgustingly humid, apparently there are Burmese pythons and giant alligators
crawling around people's back yards trying to eat their pets. Eww! I went up to
New England to cool off but the black flies bit my neck and eyelids and flew up
my nose, so I raced back here where the bugs are too exhausted from the
humidity to do any real damage. When I'm at home I fight with the air
conditioner—too little and I'm limp, too much and I feel violated by the cold
air blowing around my legs and drying out my eyes and nasal passages. In a
pinch I blast it and wear sweats and wrap up in blankets while I drink Prosecco
and do my crossword puzzles.
Oh, wait, I'm supposed be writing about my latest romantic
suspense. Correction: I should be writing romantic suspense. Well, I'm not
feeling romantic, and I'm too depressed to feel anything remotely like
suspense. I tried picking up one of my keeper books to inspire me; you know the type, a big gorgeous alpha guy rescuing a beautiful kick-ass scientist on an archaeological dig…but it was set in the jungle!
Please, somebody, can you recommend a delicious, sexy
book set in a very cold climate??
—Ana












