title: Superstorm Sandy: A Diary in the Dark
author: William Westhoven
description: A former mobile disc jockey, voiceover artist and Crazy Eddie store manager, William Westhoven was a full-time journalist from 1989 to 2011, when he fell victim to newspaper industry-wide layoffs. Since then, he has branched out to fiction, writing and publishing two complete novels. One-Hit Willie, a historical novel that covers 50 years of music in America, was released in December of 2011. The Puddingstone Well, a contemporary mystery-fantasy, was released on Oct. 26, three days before Superstorm Sandy hit the Jersey Shore. Westhoven began writing Superstorm Sandy: A Diary in the Dark three days after getting power back to his home on November 9, 2012. He spent the 12 days before that in his home without power or heat. Written and released within a month of Sandys departure, Superstorm Sandy: A Diary in the Dark is the first published book to document the devastating storm and its initial recovery period. The author pledges to donate all paid royalties from the sale of this book to the nonprofit Hurricane Sandy New Jersey Relief Fund. During his newspaper career, Westhoven earned several national and state awards for writing, editing and page design. His theater column, Morris Stage, ran for nine years in the Daily Record and, as a performing-arts critic, he earned seven first-place awards for Critical Writing from the New Jersey Press Association. Westhovens first book, Eric Clapton: Career of a Rock Legend, was published in 1996. In between his book projects, he continues to work as a freelance journalist, with recent work appearing in several newspapers and Patch sites, the Huffington Post and Guitar World Online. For more information, visit www.onehitwillie.com.
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  # To the Vile Dust
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### E.W. Hornung
  
  
  This page copyright © 2001 Munsey's.
  
  
  http://www.munseys.com
  
  
  VANHEIMERT had been in many dust-storms, but never in such a storm so far from
  the haunts of men. Awaking in his blanket with his mouth full of sand, he had
  opened his eyes to the blinding sting of a storm which already shrouded the
  very tree under which he lay. Other landmarks there were none; the world was
  swallowed in a yellow swirl that turned browner and more opaque even as
  Vanheimert shook himself out of his blanket and ran for the fence as for his
  life. He had only left it in order to camp where his tree had towered against
  the stars; it could not be a hundred yards away; and along the fence ran that
  beaten track to which the bushman turned instinctively in his panic. In a few
  seconds he was groping with outstretched hands to break the violence of a
  collision with invisible wires; in a few minutes, standing at a los