IT’S RAINING WORDS

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

It isn’t misting or drizzling, but a sincere and earnest downpour of rain is attacking my office windowpanes this morning. Some say it’s a great day to take a nap, catch up on TV programs we’ve recorded or even read a book. For me, it’s one of my best times to write.

I love the staccato of the drops striking the roof, the glass, the Rose of Sharon that’s erupted into a tree outside my window. The blooms have not begun to fall, although the trees are losing leaves like feathers bursting from a pillow during a fight between two kids when mom isn’t around. The sound of the rain is like a metronome, helping me keep time to the rhythm of the words I’m choosing.

As the pelting increases, so does the escalation of my fight scene between hero and villain. But, wait. As suddenly as it began, the rain stops and so does the fight. The hero breathes deeply, catching his breath. There is a momentary letup as he makes it to his feet and allows himself to relax knowing he has defeated evil once more. And then, a bolt of lightning scratches the sky. As inevitable as the thunder soon to follow, there is yet one more fight to be fought before the story ends.

Weather makes a difference in more than just my writing. Police report the hotter the weather, the more likely violence will occur. Domestic violence calls increase substantially. In winter, some people are prone to depression and develop Seasonal Affective Disorder where they may be instructed by their doctor to sit beneath bright lights in the early morning to combat “the blues.” Gray skies seem to go hand-in-hand in increased calls to a suicide hotline.

Those hot dry winds that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. ”– from “Red Wind” by Raymond Chandler

Big raindrops were pattering on the dark windows. It was one of those disgusting summer holiday rains which, when they have begun, last a long time — for weeks, till the frozen holiday maker grows used to it, and sinks into complete apathy. It was cold; there was a feeling of raw, unpleasant dampness. – from “Bad Weather” by Anton Chekhov

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
Over the harbor and city
On silent haunches
And then, moves on.
– Carl Sandburg

It was a dark and stormy night…–Snoopy (and others)

Recently, I read an article concerning pet peeves of literary agents. Several listed weather conditions on their Most Disliked Openings List. They also did not like prologues, funeral scenes or waking from a dream. It may be true that writers may have taken advantage of any of those as openings too often – and that agents are the ones to see more of those than anyone – but I make the case that rules are only steadfast when the writer knows how to break them, so that readers do not notice the device may seem overdone by the uninitiated.

When I started writing mysteries, we were told everyone was tired of serial killers. Really? Then explain the media frenzy when the BTK murderer was captured. We still read and discuss Ted Bundy, Charlie Manson and his ghouls and even Jack the Ripper. I don’t think serial killer thrillers go out of style as much as they aren’t done well.

I was instructed to not use identical twins as it is cliché, overdone and predictable – so much for any hope for Christopher Priest’s “The Prestige” – except when the story is done well, it isn’t predictable and the audience, along with the detective realizing the truth and clues were always right there to be seen, if only we’d looked closer. That is breaking the rules the right way.

I understand the importance of weather in telling a good story. Weather conditions can create an ominous character waiting in the shadows or the beginning of a new hope. Weather can be villainous as in “Twister” and “The Grapes of Wrath” or a friend in the case of an unexpected snow waking Dorothy in the midst of a poppyfield in “The Wizard of Oz.”

I’m not crazy about cold weather, but I have written my share of crimes happening during blizzards. I live in an area referred occasionally as Tornado Alley and have used the descriptions of storms and the emotions they reveal in people. I know what it’s like to exist during heatwaves and how the temperatures escalate tempers as much as degrees on a thermometer. I know the rain and how it smells just before the drops fall and how raindrops sometimes sting cheeks and other times kiss them.

Perhaps we shouldn’t open our stories with weather conditions, but tell that to Snoopy. He seems to be doing just fine.