The end of summer is hard for some. Vacations end, school begins, the season of lazing in the sun is over. It’s time to get up. Get moving. It seems that way looking out my window, even if my day job keeps me home. FYI: I’m an Exec level domestic engineer — code for at home wife/mom who’s been doing this way too long — when not pursuing fiction writing, that is. So maybe I’m not that much of a domestic.)
A typical day will find me feeding the birds (and the squirrels) at some point. We get all kinds in Northern Virginia; cardinals, finches both brown and yellow, red-headed woodpeckers, bluejays, “Butterbutt” warblers. Still, no Eastern Bluebirds, darn it. And now most of the fledglings have since flown, but today — despite Hurricane Florence’s spinoff wind and rain — was a treat.
The squirrels that always get a bad rap for dumping my suet cage had a fledging ceremony of their own. First one then two then three squirrels were spotted on the towering maple out back. Directly outside my office window (aka bedroom window ;^)
These squirrels were the tiniest. Two of them anyway, little more than a handful of soaked cotton balls, albeit brown, with pathetic wet strings attached. Mother squirrel — that suet thief — was egging them on down the tree away from a ravaged drey of tumbling leaves. How cute. Get the video cam. Then I saw it. The smallest one.
No way. The thing was too small. I had to be seeing things. (I just got new progressive lenses that have me bobbing my head up and down like some nutcase. A charge for another time considering my bird/squirrel obsession.) But a third baby squirrel emerged from beneath its mother–a separate entity–the miniature of its siblings and proceeded to tackle the tree. Impressive. (Adorable, too, so out went multiple handfuls of nuts on the back deck. Rewards are a good thing.)
So why when these squirrels are doing their best to keep the schedule do I struggle so with letting go of my wordy babies? Queries? Partials.? Requests for full manuscripts with synopses? I’m here in a warm, dry house without the wind bearing down. I’m not drenched to the skin. But maybe that’s what it takes. Driving wind, rain, and a mental kick in the skirts.
Seasons change and there comes a time to send those babies out–even the runts. (I may be the tallest girl in my family of 8, but I am the youngest. Not exactly a runt, but it’s time.)
I’m seeking literary representation. Not quite facing headlong down a tree but daunting. Stick around to see if I get a couple of nuts (no offense to any literary agents out there) thrown my way. Until then…