The First Bird

Prompted by a discussion on a writers list, I'm finally reading Bird By Bird for the first time, and now I know what all the fuss is about.

If you've been living on the moon and are unfamiliar with Anne Lamott, here's the blurb from the back cover:

"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was  ten years old at the time, was trying to get a  report on birds written that he'd had three months to  write. It was due the next day. We were out at our  family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen  table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper  and pencils and unopened books on birds,  immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my  father sat down beside him, put his arm around my  brother's shoulder, and said, 'Bird by bird, buddy.  Just take it bird by bird.'"

I wish I could write a review of this wonderful book, as if the world needs another one, but I've actually been commissioned to write a review of a different book (yippee!) that I should be working on as we speak.

Instead of working, however, I found myself thinking about how important it is to sit down and write every day, and how I don't, and about what might happen if I did, and in a flash this came out: 

"Felicity, for the thousandth time, stop kicking the back of the seat."

...and is now the first sentence of a short story that's been rattling around in my brain forever.

The first bird. Hey! And the second bird, too, because a whole paragraph followed, unbidden.

As we all know, birds tend to fly away to be replaced by other birds, but capturing the first one, even for a little while, is like spotting the first robin of spring--sweet, hopeful, exhilarating.

And infinitely better than spotting the last witch of Halloween!