I’ve been feeling really desperate to write recently, and am constantly running into that big, brick wall: time. In between editing a magazine and now, the recent influx of freelance novel editing work I’ve undertaken (which I love, by the way — it’s definitely my dream job!) and packing my house for a move, switching bank accounts and cleaning the house/doing groceries/making the occasional grunt at my fiance, I feel like I don’t have any time to write.
However, this has turned me into a crazy person. Now I’m making up short stories and recounting them to my partner.
Only, they’re not so much stories, as voices.
Voices for ducks.
For example, this morning I saw a group of four ducks huddled on the sand at the beach. One was walking toward the waves, stopping every few seconds to glance back and check the other ducks were still looking.
“Go on, Vern! It was your idea to go to the beach! You said you wanted to go swimming, didn’t you?”
Or on the weekend, when I was running toward some ducks with my two dogs.
“Move out of the way, move out of the way!”
“No, I’m going to lure that dumb dog over here. She’s on a lead. She’s going to try make a run for me, go snap around in a circle and land in that puddle.”
“Quack, quack-quack-quack-quack-quack!” (Neighbouring ducks burst into laughter as my dog does just that)
Sadly, I saw a dead duck (and a whole lot of feathers) in a nearby neighbour’s yard, a dog grinning proudly above it. At first, I was sad. Then I saw other ducks nearby and realised that, really, this was probably a deal they’d struck with the dog.
“You give us free reign to parade in front of your house all year and, every twelve months, we’ll present you with a sacrifical offering. Just go easy on the barking for the other eleven months, so we don’t have heart attacks and all die.”
The moral to this story? I’m really grateful that, even in this time of chaos, I have that.
Oh, and ducks.
I’m inspired by ducks.