“Now that you’ve launched The Old House, the 16th novel of PEEPs, what are you going to do?”
Well, I’m not going to Walt Disney World. Been there. I’m actually finishing the first draft of the 17th novel. I’m a bit worried because I don’t have a title yet. I’m expecting my Cin Fin-Lathen novel Unforgiveable Cin: An Opera in Three Acts back from the editor with lots of corrections for me to do. Also, I’ve bought myself, yet again, another pair of boots.
As I write this, there is a terrific thunderstorm going on. The battery of my laptop is getting a workout, and I keep nervously looking at the windows. Lightning may be beautiful to some, but it has always scared me. I remember sitting with my family in the living room of our suburban home with my head in the pillowcase of my pillow. Yes, I was quite an embarrassment as a child. Is it the sound of the thunder or the flash of the lightning that disturbs me the most? You might be familiar with the technique that goes like this: a flash of lightning happens and you count one one hundred, two one hundred, until you hear the sound of thunder. Each one hundred is equal roughly to a mile. Counting the time in-between the flash of light and the sound of thunder used to give me comfort until the first Poltergeist movie used that to disturbing effect.
Now we have tornado warnings with alerts sent to our cell phones. I just received one. We all trooped obediently down to the basement to wait out the possible emergency. Aaron the Webguy is playing his guitar as my daughter and hubby call out weather information from their dueling digital devices. Me, I’m thinking of Dorothy and Oz. Normally, I would be standing outside watching the weather, but I’m trying to set a good example. The electricity has gone out, and my sump pump is now enjoying battery backup.
In my current work-in-progress, I reexamine why Mia is really frightened by lightning. She assumes that it is because of the wanderers that march with the storms, but there’s another reason… A reason that she doesn’t even know that she’s forgotten.
Weather can be quite a muse. The icy snow pellets that give a diamond-like sheen to the snow in the moonlight or the sound of a spring rain coming through the new leaves, these phenomena can inspire one to write. When I experienced Hurricane Andrew, I saw pea-soup green water traveling sideways at over a hundred miles an hour. Was that romantic? No. Thrilling? Well, maybe in the bowel-emptying way, oy.
So anyone have a muse-inspiring weather story?