On hurricanes
I've lived in Louisiana almost all my life, and in south Louisiana almost half of it. We've weathered Andrew, Katrina, Rita, Gustav, and a couple of others that I can't remember the names of. The bigger ones shut down the power for a week or more, and that was part of the inspiration for The Saints of Lost Things:
How the power suddenly disappears, and then the only sound is nature trying to kill us. If you're like me, there's certainly an awe to it, the trees being pushed around, the sideways rain, things flying through the yard. That part lasts a few hours.
Then it gets hot, and in south Louisiana it gets real hot, vaporizer hot. And we're all left with just one another, little or no electronics. Generators drone everywhere. And everyone checks on each other and shares food and stories and hows-ya-momenem. The food from hoarding freezers is brought out and cooked. After a few days we begin speculating on when the power will come back. We listen on battery powered radios to WJBO or WWL to get updates. After a few more days we stop talking about it altogether, though we still flip light switches on without thinking and without results.
Then one day, word reaches us that line crews are down the street, and then suddenly lights snap on and the AC begins to blow and our lives, our electrified lives, are given back to us. And we are grateful for a few minutes.
In The Saints of Lost Things, Sammy and Betsy spend three idyllic weeks like that. As opposed to us, they have no desire for the power to come back. They're illuminated by each other.
How the power suddenly disappears, and then the only sound is nature trying to kill us. If you're like me, there's certainly an awe to it, the trees being pushed around, the sideways rain, things flying through the yard. That part lasts a few hours.
Then it gets hot, and in south Louisiana it gets real hot, vaporizer hot. And we're all left with just one another, little or no electronics. Generators drone everywhere. And everyone checks on each other and shares food and stories and hows-ya-momenem. The food from hoarding freezers is brought out and cooked. After a few days we begin speculating on when the power will come back. We listen on battery powered radios to WJBO or WWL to get updates. After a few more days we stop talking about it altogether, though we still flip light switches on without thinking and without results.
Then one day, word reaches us that line crews are down the street, and then suddenly lights snap on and the AC begins to blow and our lives, our electrified lives, are given back to us. And we are grateful for a few minutes.
In The Saints of Lost Things, Sammy and Betsy spend three idyllic weeks like that. As opposed to us, they have no desire for the power to come back. They're illuminated by each other.
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