Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report written on birds that he’d had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books about birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.”
I’m keeping this short because I’m busy doing my homework this morning.
My writing coach sent back all my manuscript draft submissions filled with red pen marks and annotations, and I need to review all of them and have answers or suggestions before we meet later today.
I’d planned to be all done by now, but the glorious empty day that stretched ahead of me yesterday morning got filled up with my own medical stuff, and then a family member’s, and I went to bed last night with zero progress.
But I am not going to panic.
‘Bird by bird, Nicole,’ I keep telling myself.
It’s agonising, but also exciting!
So: me, coffee, words.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
See you tomorrow,