Is it me or are the robins gigantic this year? It’s been raining on and off all day and these huge fat robins are poking around on our newly seeded front lawn ripping worms out of the earth like it was their last meal. Usually robins are such an iconic sign of spring. Their sweet little chirp, their blue speckled eggs, their shiny red breasts. But these guys are monstrous. Round glassy yellow eyes darting around like guilty serial killers, chests ripped from steroids and the $10 a month deal at Work Out World, Pterodactyl beaks ravaging villages of worms. Is this another side effect of Global Warming? Rejects from the set of The Hunger Games? An overactive imagination and too much caffeine?
Or maybe I’m just distracting you from what’s really going on. From the New Year’s resolution to go at my writing like a nuclear missile set on Russia. From my promise to write daily or at least have a weekly schedule that I adhere to. For every feeble attempt at trying again and failing. For ditching this blog. For taking 3 weeks to read The Plot Against America (in my defense the language is pretty dense and I’m not much of a history buff). I’m trying to cover up the fact that I gave up for awhile again. That I chickened out. Decided it was too hard. Packed my bags and left.
But today a copy of Poets & Writers mysteriously appeared in the mail (did I order it in an alcoholic stupor some night and not remember?). And I commented on another blog. And I had a dream last night that a colleague at work read my novel in progress and told me to quit my job and keep writing. And if that isn’t enough, I got on the elevator with a woman who smelled like Kentucky Fried Chicken and started writing a story about her in my head.
I will take all these signs and any other the world is willing to throw my way to get back to the writing. And I’m not going back grudgingly or blindly. I know there’s a ton of work ahead and I know I’m going to fail again. I’m going to be a worm in the beak of a giant robin and feel it swallow me whole. But there will also be days when I’m the robin. When I come out strutting my big ass self across your newly planted lawn and there’s not a thing you can do but stare. Inside me is the worm, scared and shaking. But outside are the crazy good sentences, and a few genuine characters that tug at your heart, and a scene that has you howling and crying and peeing your pants, and a fleeting moment of me out there. Putting myself right out there for anyone to see, for anyone to read.