Tuesday, January 6, 2009


Hawks are good for reminding writers that their writing has been neglected. It is aching to be let out. Ready to play. Go out and watch a hawk eat lunch. Feathers and blood everywhere. A mess on the lawn. Beady-eyed gaze guarding what's good.

Yeah. Go on.

Before the end of the meal, that hawk is likely to be distracted, interrupted, maybe shot, killed, eaten, you name it. But do you think that she'll let go of the carcass she's wolfing down as fast as she can? Will her beak let up for one second, allowing it to fall to the ground? Not on your life.

So, like I said, go ahead.