Thursday, February 11, 2016

How I Hiatus




     I'm necessarily reminded again and again that not everyone thinks like I do. In terms of a hiatus this is readily apparent. My husband has "had to" hiatus, meaning he lost his job several times during his twenties and thirties. He's the kind of guy who doesn't like having someone tell him what to do, so it took him a few tries to find exactly the right position. Like having a job with a boss who let's him figure his own shit out. Thankfully, he's happily employed while I'm on a break to write a book.
     Which brings me to my point about people doing things differently. When my husband was between jobs, twice for six months, he did things like clean the garbage cans, vacuum the inside of the cars, separate the nuts from the bolts, make intricate dinners and plan meals for the entire week.
     That kind of itinerary would have me back to work lickity-split. Cleaning the garbage cans sounds positively medieval and separating the nuts from the bolts would literally break the hemispheres of my brain in two. Cooking or planning to cook goes without saying, but if you need a metaphor, plucking my eyeballs out with a toothpick comes to mind.
     This hiatus, my first ever, is being spent writing a book. Not a fun book about faeries and magic, but a difficult, introspective one about childhood abuse. As the pages flow I'm looking out the window onto our wooded property. For two days straight two enormous red tailed hawks have been stalking a wee squirrel (well not so "wee", he's been dining quite well on the birdseed I put out for the birds). Yesterday the chub master was pinned to the side of tree, while the birds of prey moved in for the kill.
     I watched the story play out, similarly to the one I'm writing about two much more powerful individuals, holding the life of a smaller person in their grasp. Knowing that my interference would only set the birds onto another target or delay the inevitable, didn't matter. I went outside in my slippers to interfere. The hawks left immediately, while chubs waited until the coast was clear.
     After being the hero in someone else's story, I made chocolate chip cookies. Which I hope I don't have to explain is way different than making dinner. They turned out perfectly perfect. I ate three in a row with a glass of milk. It was a "hell yeah" reward for giving chubs another go at the bird feeder.
     At the end of this day of hiatus I have 12 pages written, temporarily saved the life of a squirrel, pissed off a pair of hawks, ordered take-out sushi and did not touch the inside of a single garbage can. I'm thinking that all is pretty damn well in my neighborhood.

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