If Anything Happens To Me, It Was The Canada Goose

Right now, I am at my desk, planner open in front of me, Pilot G-2 gel pens at the ready. I am running about an hour late, give or take a few minutes, but still roughly on schedule. The sky is clear outside my office window, and part of me wants to shut off the computer and head to the park because A) I want to leaf-peep, B) park people are already setting up for the holiday light show, and C) I want to see if the mallards and Canada geese are still there. I think so, on that last one. I don’t know if they are “our” ducks, or visitors from up north, on a layover as they head for their summer home, but I am pretty sure the geese are ours. If anything happens to me, this guy did it.

1010canadagoose

Big guy in the center of the frame, that is, but do not underestimate his mate, next to him. I am pretty sure she has some skills of her own. They own this end of the pond. Let’s be honest, the whole pond, but this seems to be their favorite spot, possibly because of the benches, which mean humans, which mean food. To be clear, I mean that the humans would bring food for the geese, not become food for the geese, but let us consider this gander, above. I cannot rule that out.

I’ve taken to the habit of making at least one loop of the lake on my afternoon walks during the eek, whenever possible. It’s come to the point now, that, if I don’t make my loop, I miss it. Normally, I would play music on my headphones, but a writer friend suggested I try a podcast or audiobook, for a change. I am now on my second audiobook of the week. The first one was All The Bright Places, by Jennifer Niven, and I am still not emotionally recovered. Since my friend also suggested that I make the audiobooks for walks only, as an added incentive, and I didn’t want to wait to find out what happened to the two leads in ATBP, I bailed on the audiobook, got the hardcover at the library, and blazed through it.

Still thinking about that book (a love story, but not a romance) and the other Niven title I got at the same time, Holding Up the Universe. That one is a romance, and I’m not sure where History Is All You Left Meby Adam Silvera, which I got at the same time, is going to end up; could go romance, could go not-romance, but there is definitely a love story (or two, maybe three, depending on what one counts) and maybe a bromance. Still too early to call on that one, and I would be perfectly happy taking it with me on my loop around the pond this afternoon, but it’s hardcover, not audiobook, so I may need to take it to a park bench or my favorite coffeehouse instead.

What I’ve noticed about this most recent YA binge is that I am gobbling the love stories in these books, while I give guilty looks to the two historical romances, one on my Kindle, and one in paperback, that still wait, with varying degrees of patience, for me to get back to them. Maybe I’m still not over my last historical romance read, Tyburn, by Jessica Cale. I know I’m still mourning a secondary character who left us far too soon. Books most certainly do have mourning periods, and respecting them is usually a smart move.

Later, tonight, after walk and geese and audiobook and dinner, I will settle into my office chair, and divide the screen into two windows. One window will be Skype, so I can talk to my writer friend, H, and the other window will be Netflix, so that we can watch the last two episodes of The Seven Deadly Sins season one, together. It’s anime, which I never would have picked on my own, and do not quiz me on the magic system, anime tropes, or the like, because what has my attention is (no surprise) the love stories. Renegade knights, sought for crimes they didn’t commit, tortured backstories, and star-crossed lovers who find ways to make it work? Um, yes, please. There is a part of my mind that is filing all of this away and figuring out how to siphon the essence for future historical romance doings.

This Saturday, I will attend my CR-RWA meeting, where Marie Lark will give a workshop on core story, which has been on my mind a lot lately, both for writing fiction and for updating the content of my own workshop that I’ll be giving online in March, through Charter Oak Romance writers.  I don’t think any of this is coincidence.

Where I am right now in my second draft of Her Last First Kiss, I need to get Ruby, my heroine, so wound with anxiety that the air crackles around her, with all the possible things that could go wrong, which is exactly when she throws herself in front of one of them. It’s a romance, so things will turn out fine, but up until then, no guarantees. Maybe I’m doing the writer version of carb-loading for that. This may require more than one loop around the lake, to sort everything out, and possibly a hot beverage in a travel mug.

Cave ansarem. (that’s Beware the Goose in Latin)

TheWriterIsOut

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