The swallows were out yesterday, two or three whole families of them swooping, diving; youngsters practicing their new found freedom within the wind currents of the thundershower as it rolled through. Fearless the storm and even of the family of hawks that also live here but were suspiciously silent and unseen.
I haven’t posted in a while and I thought I’d and tell you why. I wrote a book. I didn’t write it in a week, it’s a project that I began scribing back in 1986. But it’s about to be printed and the company I’m using caught a few “inconsistencies.” They didn’t tell me where and I didn’t ask, so it’s like a treasure hunt.
I’m going through it — I want to say “with a fine tooth comb,” — but more original — fine toothed — oh I got one — fine toothed nit-gittin’ comb.” (A little salute to all you parents of young kids and the upcoming school year. I remember how it was.)
I’m making sure everything that needs my attention receives it. This is, of course, not the first time I’ve done this. Like the pesky little monsters many first-graders bring home that parents think they’ve got under control, little tiny errors hide within my manuscript and I have to get every one of those critters.
But a lot of what I find doesn’t constitute an actual error or “inconsistency.” I’ve addressed the mechanics. I had to wait and do some praying for a new set of eyes. I had to wait for my new eyes to appear instead of try and force them. They arrived yesterday, along with a child’s heart. The swallows brought them.
What a blessing to be able to read my manuscript with those two new and precious gifts!
I’ve grown as a writer and as a person since I last edited my manuscript and the changes I’m making no one but me would see. My new eyes spot more clarified and concise ways to say things. So as I read through my manuscript from my older, wiser perspective, while I finalize my index from a reader’s perspective, I’m exploring for nits and bolts, throwing some out and turning others into treasures.
I thank God that I could witness the show, the exuberance of all the young swallows and their parents dancing to Life within the storm in spite of the dangers, for my new gifts and perspective.
Such is a writer’s life.