A Writer's Rainfall

I love the sound of rain falling on a roof and dripping down from the eves. Sometimes the wind blows so hard that he can’t hardly hear the rain unless you listen very hard.

photo by Ed Yourdon

I once likened the taping of a keyboard to rain drops. Its I an idea I rather like because rain has no trouble falling and I would love for my fingers to keep such a rhythm.

There is another parallel I’d like to draw between writing and rain though. I would say that rain drops are like ideas or even words. They fall on your head as easily as anything but if you’re not ready to catch them they are just as likely to drip off the end of your nose and sink into the grass or gather in puddles for children to jump in.


Poetry is very like rain I think, once you catch a drop in your cupped hand you can easily gather enough for the rest of it. Stories, especially book length ones, take a bit more time. You will need a sight more drops then can fit in a hand. Most people find that a pen holds enough room for a story, but some need several of them. They work best in conjunction with a notebook, though some disregard both pen and paper and care something electric with them at all times. In this case you must be very careful when gathering rain drops. In either case one must be prepared to catch every rain drop as it hits them, no matter how inconvenient it is. You never know for sure when it will rain or for how long it will last so you must always be ready with an umbrella and your favorite tool for catching it, the rain I mean, not the umbrella. [I think my metaphor maybe running away with me here, sorry.]

Once you start listening for the rain, for the words, you may find that you can’t help but hear them. Every moment is filled with them, soaking into your mind and beating steadily with your every thought. Thoughts are no longer just thoughts but scraps of poems and bits of prose. You’ll find fingers itching for a pen, desperate that they shouldn’t get away. Write then, write down what ever comes into your head. Save it, keep it, don’t through it away for anything.

A writers rain has been falling for the whole of your life, words always, and rarely, ideas too precious to let slip away. In this busy world it is too easy to block out the steady beat of the rain, the flow of words born from the earth we tread. Its a sweat music too few now care to hear.

Listen and write. Listen, listen, listen, and write.

~ Rita