Tonight we're expecting a 'ciclón', or the onslaught of a severe weather front. Gale force winds, torrential rain, maybe lightning. Why does stormy weather spur me to blog? 
Did the headline draw you in? Do you hear stories telling themselves to you in your head? I do. I believe many (most?) authors do. It's a strange and wonderful thing.
Just to be clear, I'm in no way comparing myself to Ernest Hemingway, but the sentiment in his quote above has been echoed by many a writer. The creative process of writing changed my life and gave me an inkling into what Hemingway meant.
What happened to me is that Olivia, my heroine in my book Spring Rush of my Raven Harbor Novels series, came to me on a walk one morning with my dog Henry. Just like that. Popped into my head and started telling me her story. It was like listening to the radio. I swear. And Olivia would show up day after day and take me on her adventure. One of the smartest things I've ever done was to listen to her! At that time, I would rush home to write down what I’d ‘heard.’ These days I usually don't leave the house without a pen and paper.
I also sing to myself on my walks with Henry. Loud as I like when we're in the far fields. I keep hoping to be the channel for songs, too. Bittersweet heartbreak with a whiskey chaser. A country two-step twanged out on a steel string guitar. I visualize Patsy Cline or Johnny Cash dropping a 'done me wrong' ballad in my ear. Nothing's showed up, yet. No songs to send off to Keith Urban. But I'll keep listening.

​I try to keep my joy under the radar about such things when I'm seen in town. People already wonder enough about me, muttering to myself on morning walks in the 'campo' or countryside. That's the time when plots and intrigue flow with abandon through my brain and following along out loud helps me to keep up with things. My dog Henry understands my process.
Don't misunderstand. I don't want alllll rain, all the time. You may have seen the photos I post on Twitter and Facebook (like this one at the beach and this one). Surely they are testament of my fondness for fair weather, too. Not to mention, without the sun I would never have these pomegranate glories right outside my door.
So, on a happy stretch such as this, before the rains move back to Glocca Morra, I mumble my thanks to the gods of liquid sunshine and carry on with Mr. Darcy. To lure your into my grateful mood, I've shared a clip above of a favorite (and rainy) scene from a version of Pride and Prejudice. Then off to the campo we will go again, me and Henry, until our petticoats are six inches deep in mud.   xox Amy