The weather affects my writing. It's another hazard of the job.
Summer snuck up on me this morning. I wasn't prepared. My story is all wrong for this climate. It's a winter tale that needs told with crispness.
The sweltering days of summer are a time for swollen lazy stories. There's no possibility of telling anything at a fast pace. It's time I catch up with the seasons. I'll head the warning of these freakishly warm April days and finish up my tale before the first mowing of the lawn.