It's another day and I'm torn. I need to work on my therapy book but my fiction books are the most fun. Seems like I face this decision daily. To say nothing of marketing the book that is already out there ... and researching ... and editing ... and ....watching the eaglets hatch in Decorah. Yeah, I know I derailed a bit there. My family is from Decorah so it carried a little more meaning for me I guess, than the average person.
I watched the first eaglet hatch and was struck by the mother's constant gathering, positioning and moving around the eggs and chick. She fed the first little dude some meat that I assume was regurgitated, although my view was blocked a little. I wondered it this was her first batch of eggs. Do all new mothers feel the same way? Nervous, overattentive, continually adjusting our responses to the baby's cries? I watched the mother eagle and it seemed almost as though there was a tangible intensity emitted from her. The movements were broody and tense.
You never know when you'll need those kinds of details when you're writing. All experiences feed into the stories you write in some way. A writer friend of mine, when bad things happen in her life, is fond of saying, "It's all material." Yes ... and no. Some of our experiences serve to change our view, others feed into our bank of sensory awareness, still others we merely enjoy or get through.
Today I'll check on my eagles. Brood a bit over my book babies and finally settle in to feed one.
See you next time.
For goodness sake ... write somethin', will ya?
Much love and joy,
Karen
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