An overcast sky indented with crow wings and the sharp commas of crow talons.
It is good to go outside. To look up. To let the wonder of all that is not us seep in.
Early this morning, while scenery is more of a suggestion than substance, I marvel at the Writer Elkhound, who bounds through the dark, her white tail flashing. Her prey, sleek and feline, trots down the fence top and vanishes into the inkwell of a predawn forest.
Emerging from the self imposed attic of keyboard and screen, backing up the first draft of my latest story, I savor the process. The alchemy consists of strong coffee brewing, the coalescing and scattering of ideas as startling as a spooked covey of ptarmigan, an undercurrent of lucid onyx-penned dreams, and research.
“Paradox, absurd metaphor, surgery without anesthesia, the slaughter of darlings, irony that approaches nihilism – these need to be in your writer’s toolkit.” John Rember MFA in a Box, A Why to Write Book
Out come the sharpened knives. Time to get to work. I used to hate revision, viewing it as a necessary agony. Now, I summon every honed blade and needle nosed tweezers in my possession and begin again.
“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.” Terry Pratchett
To begin again. To continue with the telling.
In the words of my father, Keep your eyes keen, and your ears open. And don’t ever forget that this is a tough trip through paradise.