It's an Ill Wind . . .

As the saying goes, "It's an ill wind that blows no one any good." The past month saw record-breaking high temperatures across the Midwest to the East Coast, from Kansas City to NYC, Baltimore, D.C., Hartford and Boston. On the heat wave's highest day, the east side of the nation baked under temperatures seldom seen outside the west.

Meanwhile, that "ill wind" blew cooler air to our home in northern California. During July, when we typically expect the 100-degree+ temperatures, our highs registered in the middle-90s. Most days were actually pleasant.

Decades ago, we lived in Connecticut during a heat wave and I remember the misery. Not only were our temperatures in the upper-90s, but the humidity was at 98-99%. That turns hot into unbearable. 

My thoughts have been with those suffering on the eastern side of the country, but (with some apology), I have to admit I'm grateful for the lovely days we've seen here. This week, when life is becoming livable again in the east and temperatures are rising in our hometown, we are AWOL, hanging out in cooler temperatures to the north.

We'll return to our home digs soon, knowing that the August heat will be there to welcome us. We can handle it. We've had a welcome break.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 18 published novels. Her latest is SUNNY'S SUMMER, a romance set in the Sierra foothills near her northern California home in the aftermath of the devastating #CampFire. Watch for AMBER IN AUTUMN, coming in September. She lives with her husband of 49 years, Roger. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at www.susanaylworth.com, @SusanAylworth, susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Also on Pinterest and Instagram.

What's with the weather?

I know, I know. Weather is about the most boring (and neutral) topic I could pick. Only...just maybe...not. At least, not this year. My husband and I just made a long drive across the deserts of northern Nevada to visit friends and family along the Wasatch Front (the Rocky Mountains in Utah). The scenery surprised us. Greatly!

I've visited these locations in the months between November and March and have found the high mountains covered in snow. That's not surprising during ski season in one of the more active ski locations in the world. I did not expect the same sight in June. June! Some of the ski runs were still open and welcoming skiers. (If you don't believe me, I won't blame you. I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't been there to see the deep snows myself.)

Perhaps even more shocking, the drive across northern Nevada was ... wait for it ... beautiful! I'm shocked even to see myself write that, but it was true. We passed fields where cattle grazed knee-deep in green grass while snow-covered mountains hovered in the background. Some animals drank from streams created by seasonal run-off. In one field, two antelope joined them.

Other places boasted wildflowers I have seldom seen in this dry high desert, celebrations in purple, white, and yellow. The scenes were pastoral, paint-worthy, and yes, beautiful. Unfortunately, we didn't stop long enough to get pictures there.

Meteorology is not my thing. I listen to what the broadcast weather reporters have to say and wonder what it will really mean for carrying an umbrella or wearing a jacket and I stay glued to the Weather Channel when tornadic storms threaten my kids in Oklahoma. That's about the best I do with weather.


Given that, I don't begin to understand the processes that gave us snow in June and a beautiful trip across Nevada. I don't understand them, but I can certainly appreciate them. I did and I do!

Nature Can Be Nasty

BENEATH SIERRA SKIES was not only my first book, but my best effort at the people-vs-nature plot. Of course, a story is more complicated when there are a few other things going on as well. Let me share a short segment from the book as an example.

In this scene, Robin and Brandon have been stranded by a plane crash which has left them both with minor, but debilitating injuries. They have lost their location devices so nobody knows where to find them and they've been unable to get any kind of signal out. They have made a shelter in the body of the airplane and are just waking up on their sixth day, awakening to the call of nature, when this scene takes place. It suggests a little more of what is happening in this story:

The wind was howling furiously, clawing at their precarious shelter and driving a heavy snowfall with it. It was a blizzard, the first since their accident.

“Damn, I have great timing,” Robin said aloud.

“Hmm? What?” Brandon awoke slowly.

“Nothing,” Robin answered, her voice dripping disappointment as she trembled with the cold. “It’s just... we’re having a storm.”

Brandon, who still slept with his arm in a sling, edged up on his good elbow and looked out the window. “Um. Looks like a bad one.”

“I don’t think we’re going to have a hot breakfast.”

“No.” The wind roared and Brandon lay down again, drawing Robin close. “Looks like we’re just going to have to stay here and find ways to keep warm.” He nuzzled her hair and she felt a little thrill run through her.

“Down, boy,” she said, pulling away a little.

He grinned lazily. “Suit yourself. It just seemed like a good way to pass the time.”

Oh yeah. They have their work cut out for them.

Breaking the Weather Rule

PLEASE NOTE: I am running my first-ever contest. To learn more, click on the little blue "Contest" tag at right. Welcome!

One of the unwritten rules many would-be critics have warned me against is "Don't start with the weather." According to one reader, the weather is what one discusses when one has nothing to say.

So what do you do when the weather matters -- when it's so important to the setting of your story that it's practically a character in itself? Here is how I am starting one work-in-progress, a novel tentatively titled RIGHT FACE:

Winter had come early to Utah Valley. It was only the first week of October, but already the mercury had registered several consecutive days of sub-freezing weather. Outside in the quad, a relentless wind howled like a tortured soul, lashing the heavy snowfall into drifts and swales or driving it into the eyes of the students who dared to brave the cold. Even here, in the central hall of the Harris Fine Arts Center, the cold still penetrated. Other buildings on the BYU campus were kept toasty warm, but the H-FAC stayed at even, cooler temperatures year-around, a concession to the pianos and paintings.

Is that too much weather talk? Would you give up on me after the first paragraph just because I included the weather?

I'm hoping not, but I'll listen to anything you have to say.