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They scare me silly, but Dave, the hero in Sara David, loves thunderstorms. Here's an excerpt from the book of a thunderstorm and how he reacts:
Dave woke in the middle of the night to a spring windstorm. Small branches thumped on his roof, and occasionally lightning made its syncopated shadow patterns through the house. He was still getting used to thunderstorms; they weren't nearly as common in
. He loved them. He rolled out of
bed and headed out the door. California
The wind brushed the hair from his forehead. Thunder boomed, still too far away to hold any danger, but strong enough so he could feel a slight rumble under his feet. Sara declared him a lunatic for his delight in standing out in a storm, especially since the tension in the air usually drove him to climb high to catch the unencumbered wind. He moved towards his roof, ignoring the metal ladder to start up the oak that grew near his small cottage.
The muscles he had built from a lifetime of woodwork, surfing, and hiking in the mountains above
served him well. He enjoyed the
barefoot scramble up the tree, across a limb, and the rush from the
couple of feet he had to leap to reach his roof. Branches whipped at his face,
and the power of the storm around him made goosebumps on his skin. He crawled
on crab-legs to the point of the roof and straddled it. When the downpour came,
he balanced carefully on the point of the roof. The rain slapped on his bare
arms and chest. He turned his head and let the rain run down his throat
and wash his face. When he was thoroughly soaked, he sat back on his perch. Los Angeles
The storm skirted the house, and he watched the sky light up to the north. The flashes of dark cloud stirred an ancient instinct of danger, giving him an agreeable surge of adrenaline. The rain stopped. He closed his eyes and slipped into an easy meditation, feeling the roughness of the roof tiles against his legs, the clean coolness of the breeze against his rain-soaked skin.
When even the gentle breezes behind the storm had calmed, the sky began to lighten to the east. He shimmied down the roof, dropping through the skylight in his studio onto a workbench. He went to his bedroom without turning on the lights, and slipped on his running clothes and shoes. By the time he got back from his run, the sun still had not brightened the sky to more than a rosy pink. He showered, and fixed himself a cup of coffee. Time for a little detective work before breakfast.
Dave and Sara is in editing right now--hoping it will be available for purchase by the end of 2014.