A Love Letter to Stormy Weather

We’re coming into my favorite season in my favorite part of the world. Autumn in the Pacific

Northwest means gray days, vibrant leaves, cottony mist, and the intoxicating smell of rain. Growing up on the edge of the Capitol Forest in western Washington, I spent many a rainy day under the cover of the towering cedars riding dragons, displaying amazing swordsmanship, and going on quests that stretched on for weeks and even months.

I’ll readily admit that I never really grew up. Whenever autumn comes and the rain starts to fall, I still want to go outside and play make-believe. There’s something in the smell of the air, in the weight of moisture I feel against my skin, that just sparks my imagination like a sunny summer day never could. Writing is the closest thing that I have to being that uninhibited child again.

Rain at the beach is even better. I love stormy days by the sea, watching the frothing rollers being pelted by heavy raindrops. My favorite memory of my honeymoon is kissing my new bride on a seaside cliff standing in the shadow of a lighthouse as a rolling storm approached  from a turbulent sea. I have never been unable to write when it’s raining at the beach.

I would suspect that many writers feel the same way about some familiar, atmospheric setting. Whether it’s the hypnotic allure of an electrified city nightscape or the meditative calm in a field of wildflowers filled with the droning song of insects, a writer that can convey the emotion and mood of one of these magical settings has accomplished real literary alchemy, transforming plain words into a visceral experience for the reader.

I recently read the manuscript of a good friend who demonstrated a deep appreciation for the harsh winters of the high deserts of Wyoming. The image of frozen sagebrush and snow dancing in the wind for an eternity before falling gave his novel an atmosphere and emotional setting that complimented his writing style like a cup of cocoa on a chilly day. I felt like I had been somewhere after reading his book, and longed to return almost as soon as I put it down.

I sometimes wish I could have it rain all the time in my stories. I wish I could give each chapter and episode I write the same dream-like backdrop that I had when I played make-believe as a child. As it is, I probably already cheat a little by describing sunny days less frequently and with fewer details than when I write a scene with stormy weather.

I can’t apologize for it though. I may have played on sunny days, but I don’t remember them. All the memories I have of playing make-believe happened in the rain. All the memories I have of moments when I couldn’t breathe for the beauty all around me have happened in the rain. I think that no matter where I go in my life or what I do with the time that I have, I will find that whenever I escape to my imagination, it will always be raining there. 

All photographs by Elicia Schopfer