I don’t meditate on brutal thunderstorms that often, nor do I sit and contemplate my writing process, but they are similar. As a cold rain begins to drizzle down, I discover an idea, slowly but surely. Keeping the steady fall, my thoughts develop, build up, and crash onto the paper. Sometimes my pen darts across the page as if it were lightening striking a metal pole. Gusty winds race through my brain, my pen continues to leak more bold ideas onto the blank canvas. The gentle, light drizzle is long gone. It is now a booming collision, crashing upon all the words. Some storms quickly die off, but no, not me. I will make all human kind realize why hurricanes are named after people. Thus the process is finished, until I decide to destroy your property again.