animal games – Carolyn

Oh, shoot! Here it is almost midnight and I am just getting around to doing my blog for Sunday. Just shows what happens when the book I am working on is actually working. I forget everything else. I don’t play music when I write, because I never hear it anyway. Nor television. Half the time not even the telephone. I have tunnel vision that makes the Holland Tunnel look like a mouse hole. Meanwhile the bills don’t get paid, the correspondence and the Internet don’t get tended to, and obviously I forget blogs. For which I am heartily sorry.

If the book hits a snag, all of a sudden I get an urge to clean out my closets and polish the silver. Anything to avoid facing the keyboard. I think most writers function like that. When things are rolling, we can’t wait to sit down to write. When they are drifting or flat out stalled, we’ll do anything at all to face the screen.

I am not a linear writer. My solution when I am stuck and/or bored is to pick a scene that may be much farther along in the story and write that. Then when I reach the point where it fits, it’s already in rough draft and waiting for me. It’s the tying everything together from start to finish that can get boring. And the last thing I want is for things to get boring for my reader.

My present book is about people who rescue abandoned wild animals. I had no idea we had so many of them in my neck of the woods, but we do. For instance, Reelfoot Lake North Of Memphis has one of the largest groups of bald eagles in the world. When we were canoeing down the river in Yellowstone, we saw eagles’ nests that had been in the same locations for a hundred years. The same thing holds true in Reelfoot. The lake was only created during the earthquake of 1812, and I don’t how soon the eagles discovered it was a good place to nest, but they do return year after year after year.

And they are arrogant. From time to time they wind up close to me, south of the lake. A year or so ago I came around a curve by my house to find a white-headed and therefore mature bald eagle standing in the middle of the road with his winds (humongous) fully spread. He was not about to move, but simply glared. I slammed on my brakes and sat there blinking my lights to warn anyone coming from the other direction. After a couple of minutes, having, I assume, made his point as to who was boss, he folded his wings and flew away. Truly awesome. But kind of dumb, too. In a duel between the eagle and my Escape, the Ford would have won hands down.

Anyway, I am enjoying hearing stories from the people who actually foster wild animals. I hope my readers will enjoy the final book. No idea what the title will be.

 

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