Hello All,
September 2014 marks the ten year anniversary of
Category Five's release. As I look back, I remember the words of advice given to me by veteran author John Sandford, he simply said: "hang on." He was right, and thanks to my readers, it's been quite a ride, and I appreciate each and every one of you.
At the time, I had no idea that Donovan Nash would still be around ten years later, let alone that
Aftershock, Donovan Nash #5 would be coming out this spring, or that I would be working on the sixth Donovan Nash novel, and that somewhere on this desk, there's a slender file of notes for DN #7.
A while back I was asked to write an article about severe weather, so I wrote about a hurricane, the one that I was in that prompted me to write Category Five. It's how it all began, and it seems appropriate to share it with you.
I could feel it in the air, everyone could. Something deep within the reptilian remnants
of our once primitive brains responded to the dark skies and a rapidly dropping
altimeter. It was the fall of 1999, and I
was undergoing my annual recurrent pilot training in Wilmington Delaware. We all knew there was a hurricane coming, it
had a name, Floyd. I, along with
everyone else expected it to drop some rain and dissipate quickly as it came
ashore, especially this far north.
Having grown
up in Kansas, I’m no stranger to severe weather. My childhood was filled with memories of
being swept out of my bed by a parent and rushed into the basement as the storm
sirens warbled their song of approaching tornadoes. Black skies in Delaware, while disconcerting,
certainly didn’t seem life threatening.
It was early, not yet six in the evening when I drove from the airport
to the hotel. All of the fast food
restaurants were closed—everything was closed.
Then the winds came up and it began to rain. In the Midwest, the rain and wind, while
violent and torrential, would blow over within minutes. Not Hurricane Floyd. The rain started and then worsened. The wind was relentless, it sounded as if
both were on the verge of ripping my hotel into splinters. For the first few hours I had electricity,
and then the power went out. A look out
the window revealed sheets of water pouring from the roof, limbs were down and
whitecaps blew through the flooded parking lot.
Earlier I’d gathered the few things I’d take with me if I had to flee a
destroyed hotel room. It was at that
moment I knew I’d lost my fight or flight options—I was trapped. Hour after hour of winds and rain kept
coming, any momentary lull in the roar would always seem to be followed by
gusts of higher intensity, the rain whipped into greater frenzy.
I needed to
sleep, and I finally did, in a chair, fully clothed, as the structure around me
creaked and groaned under the onslaught.
Whatever severe weather seasoning I thought I’d gained growing up in
Kansas was tested that night in Delaware.
The next morning the flooding and destruction were bathed in bright
sunlight. I’d learn later that Floyd had
taken lives.
Not long
after that night, I started writing a book called Category Five. The opening scene begins in Bermuda, where a
hurricane is bearing down on the island.
A key scientist is racing to escape the island via private jet before
the winds close the airport. Having been
to Bermuda, I’m familiar with the lay of the land. There is a single causeway
that connects the main island to the airport, and I use this feature to enhance
the drama. I wrote about the waves
crashing into the causeway, exploding upward, making a crossing perilous, if not
suicidal. On the ramp at the airport,
out of reach, is the jet with engines running.
Time to escape the island can be measured in minutes. My characters barely manage to cross the
causeway without being swept away by the growing waves. They board the jet and in sixty-mph wind
gusts, the pilots takeoff and climb into the teeth of the storm. Once airborne, they battle through massive
turbulence and rain to get above the tempest.
Seven miles above the ocean, they burst into the calm rarefied air and
turn for home. In my novel, it’ll not be
the last time they tangle with this particular storm.
Years later, Category Five was written, agented, sold, and
coming out in hardcover. My job as a
corporate pilot had me scheduled to fly to Bermuda, where, days earlier,
Hurricane Fabian had hit the island. Calls
are made by both the flight department, as well as the top executives, and we discover
that while there was damage to the island, the trip was still possible, so we
went. When we landed, it was obvious
there was far more damage than I’d thought.
As we left the airport, there was a backup in the traffic because the causeway
I’d spent so much time writing about was down to one lane. When we finally inched out onto the
structure, I could see the debris, and the sections of the concrete railings that
had been washed away. The very causeway
scene I’d created in my head was suddenly very real. As we slowly continued, our driver crossed
himself, and then explained that as Fabian rolled over the island, four people
were swept off the bridge and out to sea. Once again, I was reminded of the power our
planet can generate, and how helpless we as humans are in the face of such
fury.
