Someone should have told me never to mess with the settings of a blog late at night, when tired and fraught after The Serious Writing Course (TSWC). When my head is filled with the possibilities of writing, but the pages remain blank as the pause continues. And so I find myself writing on a blog which, at the moment, is visible only to myself. I don't know whether I'll see this little piece when I post. So, here goes...I will test the internet waters and see if my toes freeze and fall off. Back in a tic...
So here I sit, back at the coalface, and this little blog seems to have reappeared, almost by itself, with a little clicking from its author. So I don't need to say "Oh dear. Stay tuned; I'm running for help." It's all good! In the meantime, peddlin' the metal is the way to go here. I'm putting the novel aside to submit a story into the inaugural Overland Magazine's short story prize, announced recently. There'll be no more recipes for procrastination; no home made tomato sauce (see previous post) until after the due date. Those editors in Melbourne don't give believe in giving writers time to procrastinate!
This morning a bird lay struggling on the road outside our house, blinking furiously and trembling when anyone approached. The offspring couldn't bear to have a car run it over, so she stood beside it, wondering what to do. Next she asked me to mind it and left me there, on the side of the road in my pyjamas, while she raced inside and phoned WIRES. Then she appeared with a towel, scooped the panting little bird into a bucket and headed to the vet who, she was told, would take it from there. No one in our family has stepped inside that vet's office since our beloved dog died.
It wasn't a broken leg. It wasn't a damaged wing. That little bird had had a stroke, and so the offspring left it with the vet to be euthanased. We felt sad and the house fell quiet, until we realised the vet's option was better than having that little bird taken out by a truck. How simple the big issues seem, when it comes to little birds lying on busy city streets.
Back to task.
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