  Horror/Scary
This week: What Wicked Weather We're Writing Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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What Wicked Weather We're Writing
Late Sunday afternoon, a fast-weaving loom of wind brought new gray cloth for the rents in the clouds, patching over every last glimpse of blue September sky. My writing room darkened.
A crash, a roll, and an echo of thunder preceded a violent fall of rain. For a while, fat droplets of water snapped bullet-hard against the window in great profusion and with the sound of a dozen submachince guns. The wind hummed, then moaned, then howled like a wild thing in pain. In time, the storm abated somewhat, but only temporarily; it settled into a rhythmic pattern that alternated between fury and docility, between a torrential downpour and a pleasant drizzle. Cloudbursts were followed by the soothing pitter-patter of light autumn showers.
Although the storm waxed and waned, the day grew steadily darker, not brightening even for a moment, and I sat there all day and looked toward the coming nightfall with barely containable fear.
I needed fresh air, and donning my jacket, stepped out of the front door.
Cold wind forced its way under my pants and capered around my legs. It seemed to be sniffing at me as if it were a large, excited dog trying to make up its mind whether to wag its tail or bite. Beyond my door, a black rain-swept street lay in the yellowish glow of a pair of tall sodium-vapor lamps, each of which bore two globes like luminescent fruit.
The rain had nearly stopped falling now, as the storm entered one of its quieter moments. Only a thin mist floated down from the dark sky.
The wind, however, was fierce. It stood my hair on end, made my eyes water, and forced me to squint. When it gusted, howling banshee-like, I had to stand with my head tucked down and my shoulders drawn up. It was surprisingly cold, too; it stung my exposed face and cut through my jacket.
In the distance, lightning pulsed softly, and thunder crashed like a train derailing in the darkness. The light mist began to paste my hair to my skull, and then the rain came down hard again. Now there were sharp ax blades of lightning chopping up the pitch-black sky, and the thunder bellowed. Rain fell in spurts at first, then in a sudden, terrible flood.
I ran through the hammering rain, then ducked under a mammoth spruce tree, through which the cold wind soughed in an enormous chorus of whispers. Above the roar of the rain, above the trumpeting of the wind, I yelled, "This night is unfit for man or beast!"
As if in answer, an exceptionally brilliant flash of lightning briefly transformed the night into day, and as my eyesight cleared, the rain began falling harder than ever.
My thoughts on the whole thing were that this was wretched weather, wretched weather worth writing about.
Until next time,
billwilcox
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DEAD LETTERS
Debbie M 
Comments:
Great article. Thanks. Speaking of great writers that need to kill their darlings, though, I wonder how many people have told Stephen King (in vain) to stop rambling on about Maine and get to the *&^%$#@! plot already...which was always (well, usually?) brilliant.
Speaking of lesser talent, I have recently resurrected a story that has been haunting and frustrating me for years. Tried to give it up because life just wouldn't let me focus and finish the thing...but for some inexplicable reason, I've come back to it with a fresh (and hopefully more mature) outlook. I believe you may have reviewed it yourself once...years ago...."Whitechapel" ...Haven't posted any revisions to it yet..but working on them...again... 
Arwen9
Says:
I agree/disagree. On the one hand, you do have to kill your darlings and clean up some prose to make things crisper and more efficient. But I wouldn't kill them all, even if they add nothing to the story, per say. You mentioned Dean Koontz (my favorite author, btw and probably explains why I like your stuff so much, 'cos you write with a similar style) Some of his descriptions are annoying--with the weather and all of that. But sometimes (and most of the time for me) it sets a mood, either of happiness or darkness. Somber or joyful.
And, I call to mind "The Taking" in which the weather itself was almost a title character. Malevolent, aggressive, and dangerous. That is my all-time favorite horror book that still, after many re-reads, can creep me out after reading it for a few minutes.
I love your style, W.D. Don't change it too much? 
LJPC - the tortoise
Moans:
Hi Bill! Thanks so much for the terrific newsletter about "killing your darlings" and how difficult the editing/revision process is. Sometimes, it's best to let a piece sit for a few months and attack it with a fresh eye, reviews in hand. N. M. Kelby's words were so true.
I don't know what all this about reading aloud comes from. I never do that. My husband thinks I'm crazy as it is...
Funny thing about you picking Biggun for reviewing fodder last month. The same day the newsletter came out, I sold the story to an anthology. Glad they didn't read the newsletter - what's this about holes in the story line??! 
-- Laura
Adriana Noir
Squeals:
Great reading list and just in time! You've saved me the agony of surfing today, Bill. Oh, and I loved that line. I squeal like a fangirl every time a new edition of Writer's digest comes in the mail. 
spikes363
Adds:
In a horror story, you can have a little comic relief and maybe a smart-mouthed heroine.But, when it comes down to it in the end somebodies gotta die.
Anyways, nice work, I've been kinda ignoring the messages, but I'm gonna read almost all of them now.
BIG BAD WOLF Feeling Thankful 
Wants You To Read:
"Triple Danger"
Then Comments:
This is one story that shows how seemingly docial women can be extreamly scary. The moral to this story: Don't Ever cheat on your wife/girlfriend. They might know some extreamly scary people.
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Horror/Scary: September 22, 2010 Issue [#3975]
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