All’s right with the world. I’m hatching a new novel, FIRE IS NICE, and a pair of bluebirds are busily creating new life in their home on our property in California.
When we bought our 1993-built home in 2000, a birdhouse, hammered to a backyard post, came with the purchase. Over the years, bluebirds made use of the cramped quarters even though the structure was coming apart. I asked my husband to build a slightly
larger replica and screw it into the same post. This year, the bluebirds are back, with babies due in a couple of weeks.
While the bluebirds are in their final stages of production, I’m in a similar place in my writing. FIRE IS NICE is out of my brain and deep into the editing phase. You see, below, I have a cover, so deftly designed by Kris Lynn. The plot and character-building (nest) is done and I’m trying to feed my chick to make it healthy. It yearns for a life of its own; I aim to let the story and the characters free in a couple months.
Hate to be callous, but once my novels fly away, it’s on to the next one. We do the best we can, learn from our mistakes and try again. Birds do the same.
But here’s where the comparison ends. My novels have a nine-month cycle (think human gestation) from conception to flight on their own. Bluebirds accomplish their amazing production in a little more than a month.
How I envy the bluebird.