I love the sound of a good rain early in the morning—and late in the evening too, really. The pitter-patter on the roof, the gentle kerplopping outside my window, the fragrance that draws a smile from within my soul as I step out onto the porch, the sun hiding far-off somewhere behind the mountains. I can’t get enough of it.
That fragrance—that peculiarly unique aroma brought on by the rain, of the rain—changes something inside me, relaxes something, frees something. I write better when it rains. I hear my characters more clearly when it rains. I don’t know why, but all my best ideas come to me in the rain, as if the hustle and bustle of a million drops of water racing toward the earth somehow clears my mind of all the muddle and elevates the truly beautiful ideas living inside me. It’s as though inspiration has been with me the entire time, and the rain simply allows me to become aware of it, to revel in it, to savor it. Continue reading