Thunderstorm Challenge

Inspirational Photo of the Week: Put your character on a back porch watching the thunderstorm from the safety of their home, or in a vehicle trying to get somewhere. What is their reaction? Are they afraid? Do they enjoy the sweet smell of rain? Do they have something outside that will be drenched and ruined?  Show the emotion of what they’re feeling as they feel the storm around them. Writing from inspiration can sometimes be an easier way to get into the mood of writing. Good luck!

Thunderstorm Tease

2 thoughts to “Thunderstorm Challenge”

  1. And what if they’re not all snug — What about this?

    Fozzie peered through the windshield wipers, trying to stay on the muddy dirt road. Didn’t the engineers understand the shortest distance between two points was a straight line? He yanked the wheel and slammed his foot against the brake pedal as a fallen tree appeared in his headlights, half-blocking his side of the road. A crunch from under his rented compact coupled with a sharp pull to the right didn’t bode well. He wrestled the vehicle to the shoulder.


    He grabbed his torch, smashed his battered Akubra onto his head, and went out to inspect the damages. Flat. Of course. And why should he stand out in the pelting rain to fix it? That’s what all that pricey rental car insurance was supposed to cover, right?

    He flipped on his cell phone. No signal? It took a moment to remember this was his phone, not a Blackthorne satellite unit. Besides, even if he could call, odds were it would be hours before a tow truck would get to Back of Beyond Bumfuck, Oregon. He reconsidered fixing it himself, but the repair folks could bring a real tire, not the stupid toy donut in the car. A fifteen-minute quick march should have him at his destination. He clicked the remote to lock the car and put his arse in gear.

    Crossing his arms and burrowing into his tropical-weight jacket, he plunged ahead. This howling rain was nothing like the Miami thunderstorms he’d lived with lately. After countless false trails, he’d caught a break two days ago, and damn it, he was going to march up to her door, deliver his message and get the hell back to civilization. Better yet, back on a op with his team.

    Marching, quick or otherwise, might be optimistic. He’d slog his way to her door. Head bowed, rain dripping off the wide brim of his hat, slog he did, keeping to the left-hand shoulder where he was less likely to break an ankle on the rut-filled road and could see approaching traffic, should anyone else be idiotic enough to be out in this weather. Little Miss Vickie had better offer him a nice, stiff drink while he delivered his message.

    (From ROOTED IN DANGER, by Terry Odell)

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