Bird By Bird: Some Instructions On Writing And Life Novels & Stories

Then I remember Steff’s note, ‘the bird protects what she loves the most. The bird, the bird, is protecting what she loves the most. I know I have to get up there, but it is so high. It will be easier to drop from the top. Now I have a plan. I guide myself to the ground. Time is of the essence right now, as the rest of that sentence makes me worry, will I be too late?

I opened my journal. Then I closed it again. For the first time in a long while... I didn't know where to begin. How do you write about the beginning... when you're standing inside it? The flame burned steadily upon the ancient pedestal. Around us, the valley was no longer silent. Not because voices filled it. Because life had returned. Birds circled overhead. A gentle stream, hidden until now, began flowing through the silver grass. Wildflowers opened beneath the warm morning light.

"I thought..." Then he stopped. The wooden bird fluttered. Once. Twice. Its carved wings moved gently. The little bird lifted into the air. Not because it had become perfect. Because it had become alive. The boy laughed. His grandmother's eyes widened. "I..." She whispered. "I've never seen..." The bird circled above them happily. Then landed upon the boy's shoulder. Its cracked wing still showed. Yet it flew anyway. The boy smiled. "I think..." He stroked its tiny head.

I was having flashbacks to Sebastian’s grumpy face when working with my gift. I released all emotion as Nyssandra had said, closed my eyes, and sought the bird in my mind, not with my eyes. When I could bring the images together in my mind, I froze it and rewrote him flying in from another direction. “Excellent,” said Nyssandra.

Ethan giggled, I had a weird feeling about this image, I couldn't see myself as the female bird, because it never looked like me. "It's not, this isn't me and you... First off I'm never described a bird and secondly if I was to be a bird I would be a dove and not some evil looking bird" I tried to convince him, knowing that they were deeper thoughts into this than what he was saying. "It seems awkward that your book thinks we're ugly" Ethan scoffs as he places the book in my hands. "I don't really know..." I was shocked when I turned to the last page of the book, one of the birds was dead and it had the name Paul written on it's wings "you need to see this Ethan"

Ethan shouted, pointing his small finger at a group of mallards by the water. I laughed, sitting on the park bench with a sketchbook in my lap. For a moment, the corporate wars and the silver-dipped roses felt a million miles away. Ethan was running around in his dinosaur t-shirt, his laughter the only soundtrack I needed. “You should use a cross-hatching technique for the shadows under the wings. It creates more depth without muddying the blue.” The voice made me jump. I looked up to see Julian standing a few feet away, holding a bag of organic birdseed. He was dressed down today—jeans and a soft navy sweater—looking every bit like a normal citizen enjoying the park.

Life seems to be fair to a lot of people. Life seems to be good to some people. Today, I left home to see birds perch on the bank of a river and I was speculating how they spread their wings while searching for the right flow. It has always been a cognitive content interlacing my childlike brain of how birds reach out to the sky and get instant replies. I have questioned a man once about the beauty of flight. He looked at me, shook his head and told me to ask God.

The air shimmered, and a tiny, fiery bird appeared before me, its feathers flickering with flames. I gasped, marveling at the sight. The bird flapped its wings, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. Sylvia clapped her hands, her eyes shining with pride. “You’re getting the hang of it,” she said. “But remember, control is key. You need to maintain the spell without letting it consume too much of your energy.” I nodded, concentrating on keeping the bird stable. It required a delicate balance, a constant flow of magic that didn’t waver. The bird chirped, and I felt a connection to it, a bond formed through the magic we shared.

The bird was naïve, thought she could fight against the world which was trapping her. She did not obtain visible scars from that faithful day, only the bars. The bars were her scars to remind her she was nothing, but a caged bird bonded to her master.

"Reflection enables us to evaluate the experience, learn from mistakes, repeat successes, revise and plan." -Sherry Swain- *** The large black bird flew across the sky and landed on top of the railing on the balcony where Herod was standing. The bird reported everything he had observed for the week and told him about everything he witnessed. Herod listened in silence and took a deep breath as he released the bird back to do its job. With a reassured gaze he walked toward the living room to find Josephine who was practicing her blood magic on several pinky mice on the ground.