Before I could start writing on my laptop this morning, I had to put away the various papers like printed out parts of my book, character drawings etc., I had lying around, covering everything. Unfortunately, I do not have much space as I live on a farm as a worker and only have a little corner downstairs to myself. It’s just enough space for a single bed, a tiny old school table (just enough space for a laptop and a mousepad with a mouse next to it), a drawer and a little seat under which I can hide things like my backpack and suitcase. But then: you don’t need much to write. I can always go outside if I feel things are too restricted in here.
Yesterday, the owner of the farm caught one of the cats with a still living little bird, a wax-eye, in her mouth. I took it downstairs with me, hoping it was only shocked and would survive but unfortunately it died in my hands. Blood came out of its beak, so it must have had serious internal bleeding even though there were no marking on the bird’s outside. I was devastated even though I knew that the cats would be able to catch little birds every now and then – after all, they have no problem with catching mice and rats. It’s a different story to have a bird dying in your hand, though. It’s not the first bird whose death I witnessed. We have lots of birds and sometimes they get sick, sometimes they get injured and maybe once or twice a year there’s a native, wild bird that needs help. I do not succeed in saving every single bird. Esp. the wild birds are hard to save. Every time, a bird dies, I feel very sad and that poor little thing must have died with terror in its little heart. After all, the cat would be about 50 times its size. If there were dragons, then it would be comparable to a human being carried around in a dragon’s mouth.
The death of that beautiful little bird made me think that I need to do something positive. I started reading a book about writing and about feeding your writer soul so you can keep on living and writing (Live To Write Another Day: A Survival Guide for Screenwriters and Creative Storytellers). This and the bird made a change in my life. So last night, I got out my old writing, the first 100 pages of my fantasy book and decided to start typing it, making changes and improvements along the way. I also added a prologue, feeling like the ideas have always been buried deep inside of me. I had started that book when I was 17 or 18 years old and fortunately, I had printed the chapters out ages ago. The computer I wrote them on died many years ago (in another country), but I still carry the 100 pages, maps and character portrays with me wherever I go.
I am 30 years old now. I think it’s about time that I make my dream come true. I’ve wanted to be a published author since I was young. I never dared to really follow that dream. No one supported me. Now I know that even if there’s no one to support me but myself, I simply need to do it. Other authors always have someone to dedicate their book to. I was waiting for such people as well. But they did not come. I will simply dedicate my book to the people who inspire me even if I have never met them.
Yesterday was a day of death, but also a day of rebirth.