Monologue Of Hurricanes

The words flow slowly at first, hesitant, struggling to take form. Like condensed cloud clusters, fragments of information around which I can build a plot, or a character, rotate slowly around in my head. As an idea for a story takes shape, the thoughts begin to swirl faster, spinning faster and faster, gaining momentum and speed. As I pick up my pencil I am a hurricane when I write, the words spewing forth onto the paper, accelerating with unexpected intensity. But such intensity is impossible to maintain and like an eye wall undergoing replacement, the number and speed of ideas grows weaker, sometimes wandering off course altogether. But then, like a strong gust of wind, a new inspiration generates a fresh torrent of ideas that beg to become a part of the story to be told. Hurricanes get their energy from warm moist ocean air and spin around a center known as the “eye”. As a hurricane becomes better organized, the winds increase in strength and spread out over an
I am a hurricane when I write, using sarcasm and irony to grab the reader’s attention, sucking them further and further into the storm. By creating a contrast between the main character’s present situation and the action that will unfold, I keep the reader searching for closure, keeping them hanging. By withholding the resolution of any one plot line without creating another open loop, I make it impossible for the reader to disconnect. Like the saying goes, when you find yourself in the middle of a hurricane, or an engaging short story, it’s too late to leave town. All you can do is ride out the storm. Once a hurricane moves over land it no longer has warm water to power it, quickly dissipating. And, when I have exhausted the whirlwind of pent up thoughts and ideas onto my paper, I know it’s time to start cleaning up the