by JD Faulkner
Outside my front door, a sparrow decided to build her nest. The tiny eggs were adorable: a creamy blue with brown speckles. It was instant love. I only allowed myself a look once or twice a day but, in my heart, I doted on these little babies. And then, the eggs hatched. What replaced them, you may ask? Cute little fluffy birdlings?
Wrong. The newly hatched babies were wicked ugly. Naked, awkward things, all needy mouths and blind eyes. Still, like any new mother, I loved them dearly. They were my little darlings and I watched over them protectively. A proud cat lady, I shooed my cats away from the door, refusing to let them even near the nest that was, admittedly, well protected from any feline advances of overfed house cats. I watched as those strange alien creatures grew into something more resembling actual birds.
But then, they were gone. While I was toiling away at my job, my little birdlings left. Without so much as a goodbye. Fluttered their newly feathered wings and flew (awkwardly) away into the great beyond. I was devastated. No longer did I have the cute cheeping creatures to check in on every day. I had to imagine wishing them well, fondly dabbing my eyes as I waved my handkerchief after their departing forms. Good luck, my little ones!
|Mirrored Time by JD Faulkner|
However brief their presence in my life, they did make me think. One day, I found myself with an idea for a book. A little blue egg of an idea, sitting there innocently in the back of my mind. Like any good bird-mom, I sat on the idea for a while. Mulling it over until it finally hatched as a freshly written first draft.
And boy, was it wicked ugly. I was so green, I didn’t know enough about writing to even recognize the mistakes I made. Luckily, I stumbled upon a talented group of fellow writers and they took me into their flock. I have learned so much from these wonderful women; my story would never have taken flight without them.
Anyway, back to my newly hatched story. It had more in common with those featherless, hideous creatures than I wanted to admit. After a lot of care (and even more patience), it eventually grew into a story. One that found its wings.
But just like with my baby birds, I find myself struggling to let go. I think the lesson I need to learn is that, eventually, I have to let my words fly on their own. I do my best as a writer to tell a story the readers will love. At a certain point, it is no longer in my hands and I can only hope that I’ve done enough. So, here’s to the dream that my baby flies far and true. Good luck! Time to go nurture a new egg.