Thunderstorm Withdrawal

It's a rarely seen and documented phenomenon, albeit many people in Wisconsin invariably suffer from it. Symptoms include feeling estatic whenever the local weather stations forecast thunderstorms - sometimes severe - in the near future. Experiencing quick shots of euphoria when the first throaty growlings of rolling thunder trickle from a storm's first beginnings. Dashing outside or near a westward facing window when the first lightning flashes stains the black sky as if nighttime's veil has parted and Heaven is glimpsed beyond. Or, it could be abandoning that day's previous activites just to wait with baited breath for the anticipated storm, sitting on the edge of your seat...waiting...waiting...and nothing comes.

This is all too often the case in my hometown of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Yet another thing to blame on Lake Michigan, of which I live close to. While I watch severe thunderstorms build to ominous shades of orange, red and even purple and black excitement and trepidation build within me like each crack of thunder and flash of lighting is a heavy rock settling in the pit of my stomach. Building an obsession within me, until it becomes an indistructable fortress like Stone Hedge. But, invariably, those severe storms end up packing all their punch in places like Fond Du Lac and other towns away from the lake, so by the time they reach Sheboygan they have nothing left to give but a few crackles of thunder and a few half-hearted lighting strikes.

For my thunderstorm withdrawal...this simply will not do! I need more! :-) Perhaps to explain the first trickling's of my severe storm obsession and passion I first have to draw upon the final paper I wrote for my college English course. I choose the topic storm chasers and found out a great deal about them. I've always wanted to do something like that, get up close and personal with the tornadoes. But perhaps this wish only stems from the fact that I've never seen a tornado in person, nor have I experienced a storm severe enough to span a tornado. To some this will sound backwards, but...that face saddens me.

There's just something about that booming thunder overhead unleashing its deep, throaty growl overhead from the very belly of the storm. The way it reaches down towards Earth in ripples like a shock wave and rattles every surface around me and shakes my every bone. That's the kind of thunder I like. Where first it begins like the soft fizzling noise a soda can makes when you open it, but then it begins building higher, as if it's climbing up the storm's throat. Finally it breaks the surface, cascading to the Earth below in an explosive punch. Lightning works on me the same way, the brighter it is the better. When a brilliant flash, heat lightning, lights up the night sky in it's entirety it bleaches any room in my house like a singular giant camera flash, freeze framing a moment in time. Other times a singular jagged bolt will snake down from the storm, like a bony witch's finger casting a curse upon whatever it touches. Sometimes several smaller bolts can branch off of it, as if they're being led by the storm and reaching out.

Obviously, by reading this, you've probably come the conclusion that thunderstorms and tornadoes inspire me very deeply. No where else is this so blatantly evident than in my writing. I'm not just talking about my blogs! :-) I'm referring to the many short stories I write. Albeit I've never even set foot there, I've always held an inexplicable passion for Oklahoma, as well as Tornado Alley. But somehow Oklahoma always stands out and ends up being the setting for many of my stories. Take the current story I'm working on, which is a series called Wide Open Spaces. There are five main characters and they all live in a fictional town in Oklahoma's Panhandle. If you'd like to see where my fixation with small towns stems from just read my blog post entitled Where The Green Grass Grows. I'm beginning to see that many of my passions are intertwined with one another. My passion for storms connects to my passion for Oklahoma, my passion for Oklahoma connects to my passion for small towns. My passion for small towns connects to my passion for the countryside. So perhaps my passions aren't so discombobulated and inexplicable after all! :-)

Anyway, my short-story series Wide Open Spaces gives me a chance to delve into my passion for severe weather and couple it with small town life in the countryside. Albeit over my lifetime I am sadden by the fact that I've set to see a true severe thunderstorm, my overactive and wanderlust imagination conjures up storms for me that would most likely brew in Tornado Alley. The things that have always driven my inspiration for my stories are quite simple, and as you've found out already, quite interconnected as well! Not only do storms inspire me with their raw beauty and untamed power but historical homes drive stories into existence. Invariably, just as the character's live in a storm prone area - most likely the Great Plains - so do they live in a historic home. I find it funny and ironic that although I myself have never experienced the violent storms I write about and unfortunately have yet to live in a historic home, I find the most comfort basing my stories off of these two topics. As if my mind has already developed such an imagine of what that would be like, and the stories I write have become so real to me, therefore I find a niche of sorts I can fit my stories into, like a favorite window seat facing the sun.

This blog post is very haphazard, and like I've said before, I have a very strong tendency to get myself off track. My mind often times pours thoughts onto the keyboard like a typewriter hitting random keys and spitting out random words. But, again, like I've said before, I've always been a free handed writer and therefore am indebted to such varied topics. Although, if you look closely, and take the time to read my other blog posts you'll understand...that what I wrote about in the paragraphs wasn't so haphazard after all, but like a vast patchwork of thickly bedded fields stretching across the Great Plains, each one is interconnected. If only by the single border where they meet. But it's enough of a connection to bond them together, each one melding into the other.