Inadvertent beginnings
My latest release, Brave the Skies: The Hawk Book Two certainly falls under that heading, as do some errant but fun EPP blocks that might or might not turn into more than shinies. Time will tell.
When starting a novel, I allow the characters free rein. We plan to let our chickens free range, but that's months away, lol, yet a similar notion, although if not all the hens survive into winter, that is out of our hands. Birds of prey, as well as foxes and possums, roam our neck of Humboldt County, and while we'll do all we can to keep the flock safe, nature always triumphs. As an author, I have more control, at least of nature. What my cast muscles their ways into is another story.
The Hawk began with humble aspirations; I had been writing short stories back in 2013, my goodness, that's a dozen years ago now! Anyway, I'd been penning, or typing, brief tales and wholeheartedly assumed Eric, Lynne, Sam, Renee, Stanford, Laurie and the rest would neatly tie up loose ends in a rather succinct manner. LOLOL! Could I have been more wrong, I don't think so. Because along came Frannie, Seth, Marek, Louie, Klaudia, Jane, Cary, Walt, Luke, Dora, Callie, Susie, Tilda, Sigrun, Harald, Adrienne, and don't forget Mrs. Harmon! And several others, but I think the point has been made. A cast this large wasn't going to be shoe-horned into anything less than a saga, not that all emerged by Chapter Ten. Yet they made their stealthy ways into the prose, into what unto my wondering eyes appeared as a sprawling collection of hopes, dreams, and yes a few nefarious schemes, although mostly melodrama based on love, faith, loss, and healing. The main themes of The Hawk are love, redemption and healing.
When first crafted, I was in the thick of familial maelstroms, namely my father's ailing health. Fortunately that was hedged by both of my daughters' journeys toward motherhood, abuela-hood for me. My first grandchild was born six weeks before my dad died, then two months later another grand joined us while The Hawk kept on getting larger. Settling into the role of Grandma, I mastered how to make quilts, a pretty timely endeavor what with more grandkids arriving, yet my mum's health waned in too fast of a manner, passing just three years on the heels of losing Dad. From 2013-2018 I wrote a massive tome, lost both of my parents, welcomed three wee ones, another on the way. It was beautiful and tumultuous, educational and wearying, often driving me to my proverbial knees. Yet I couldn't STOP telling this tale, just as I couldn't heal my folks. Some parts of this life are truly out of our control.
I consider that when pondering the chickens, roaming freely, but at the mercy of the elements around them. Yet all of us dwell in that state of grace, which at times feels prickly, harsh even. As an author, I've killed off favourite characters, it happens. When I began The Hawk, it was merely to relieve my mind from a dream that wouldn't leave me alone, about a man who turns into a bird against his will. All the ensuing drama is courtesy of the muse, the spirit, the way I approach this gracious life that gives and takes and blesses and at times leaves me deeply confused. Still, every morning is a miracle, every word written a gift, every stitch secured a small piece of fabric love. If the blocks pictured within this post turn into their own cozies, that's awesome! If they were just to pass a little time, that's fine too. The Hawk taught me not to underestimate the glory of creative effort, as well as perseverance. And as it moves further away, I am grateful for the opportunity to briefly call it mine. May you enjoy it too, and all manners of this amazingly crazy world that touch your soul.
