Well there are some real disadvantages to using a sunroom as an office. One is the fairly close association the room has with the weather (floor to ceiling glass doesn't provide much in the way of insulation.) The other is the very close association the room has with the surrounding wildlife.
Death in the morning is only fun if it's not real.
As an aspiring mystery writer I have to construct some fairly distressing death scenes and it's really pretty fun- I mean, when you've come to the first murder you've really reached a good place in the book.
Watching a fledgling bird take his first flight from his nest and into my window wasn't fun at all.
I went out and gently picked the little guy up off his back. He was warm and trembling. I didn't want to distress him further so I put him down in a potted strawberry just out of reach of the dogs. I left him alone for a bit, went back and the poor little thing was dead.
I've got to tell you it pretty thoroughly ruined my morning.
I don't understand why the bird flew into that particular window. I have all kinds of stickers on the window to show a wary bird that the window is not, in fact, sky. This bird didn't seem to know better. I'm not super sure what he thought he was doing anyway because directly across from the window is a brick wall.
I don't know, I looked at the window to see if maybe it was more mirror-like than window-like but nope. The view is of a shimmering brick wall with a bunch of stickers floating before it.
Poor thing was probably curious. Or really, really stupid. Maybe he was afraid of the wall. And now he's dead.
I've been thinking about death a lot lately, I mean outside the whole writing thing. Not to be all emo about it but I seem to be surrounded by the very nearly dead and it's extremely depressing.
But a part of me could not help noticing that, at the moment of impact, a fluff of feathers poofed up around the spot where the bird hit the window. It was like a cartoon almost. Even though the situation wasn't funny at all, even though I regret the needless death of that poor little bird I can see the humor in the situation.
There's almost always something funny even in the worst situation. When you stop seeing the humor you're starting to take yourself, and everything else, a little too seriously. And wham! Before you know it you're heading for shimmery brick walls.
Maybe, possibly, next week I'll have some writing type news. I'm finally a member of a real writer's group (another ex pat New Englander and I are swapping novels) and it's quite a relief. I had stopped seeing the humor in my failure. Now that I have some chance at a new perspective I'm starting to perk up.
This summer I've felt quite a bit like that little bird. "Oh what's that? A wall? Geez what would happen if I forgot to fly around it? What would it feel like to hit it? Ouch!"
Sending KMS to editors and agents, friends who don't really read (or don't want to read) my stuff. It feels like a fascination with failure. It's good to be flying through an open window for a change even if it is just getting me a little closer to the actual brick wall.
I believe that there's every possibility I'll be able to soar over the brick wall when I can actually see what I'm up against- once the shimmer and glimmer is out of the way. And, if worse comes to worst, I can always look forward to going out (figuratively speaking) in a cartoonish puff of feathers.
Oh brother. As usual I need to update my post.
There's a reason I don't keep birds as pets. Devious little things. The bird that I thought was dead? He's flying around with a bunch of other little cardinals.