The third random epigraph from Dreamdarkers, my first novel, this quote coming from Umberto Eco’s Travels in Hyperreality, his book of semiotic essays.
The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else.
Eastern bluebirds, eastern kingbirds, northern mockingbirds, cattle egrets and a legion vast of other birds fill the days and nights at the family farm in East Texas. Mom was especially pleased when a pair of scissor-tailed flycatchers took up residence, a species she had not seen in years. And much to our surprised delight, a pair of Inca doves has kept station in the woods surrounding the house, a species outside its mapped range in this area but well within the expanded range indicated by reported sightings.
Of the avian species that inhabit this section of the Piney Woods however, one we seem to collect with ease is the ruby-throated hummingbird (Archilochus colubris). The dense woods and meandering waterways and availability of food ensure they fill the sky with their buzzing wings, their theatrical antics, their tropical beauty and their mellifluous voices.
Generally I’m disinclined to photograph wildlife baited into position. Not that I have anything against feeding birds and squirrels and deer and whatever other creatures you feel inclined to feed. I’ve been known to do the same thing. Yet when it comes to taking pictures of nature, I prefer the challenge and reward that comes from doing so on nature’s terms, not mine. Nevertheless, Mom keeps three feeders outside the back door, and as part of life here at the farm I simply can’t ignore the wonder of these tiny birds.
In spring when the hummingbirds begin returning from their wintering grounds in Central and South America, one feeder is made available until more birds arrive. Then another is added. And when the population reaches critical mass, the third feeder is made available.
My mother generally waits until the middle to end of spring before the first feeder gets hung. Before then it goes to waste. Her timing has always been impeccable, thus it came as no surprise when she mentioned a few months ago that it was about time for the birds to return and she should prepare some sugar water. As she spoke she walked to the back door and pushed aside the curtain. Confirming her impression that it was indeed time to put up a feeder, just outside the window a male hummingbird hovered, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, all the while staring through the window and trying his best to look famished. After the long migration they go through to return here for nesting season, looking famished came easily for the little guy, though his entertaining arrival and display did more to communicate knowing impatience than hunger.
A simple recipe of one part sugar to four parts water fills the feeders—and therefore the hummingbirds’ bellies—from the time the first feeder goes up until the last one comes down in autumn. Throughout the intervening months, dawn and dusk provide a show that would beguile and entertain the hardest of hearts, for anywhere from one to two dozen hummingbirds arrive for their first drink of the day and for their last drink of the day. Territoriality over feeders and competition for resources ensures shenanigans on the wing and vociferous dialogue.
Once nesting season ends, the number of birds increases as the young begin visiting, taking their fill as needed. Yet smartly Mom has never relied solely on the feeders to provide for ruby throats. Doing so is akin to providing a solid diet of fast food to children. Augmenting their natural diet with sugar water is one thing, but making it a staple is quite another. So a variety of flowers, both wild and gardened, surround the house and fill the woods, from trumpet vines to spider lilies to cone flowers to morning glories to passion flowers and a whole lot more. A smorgasbord of natural food sources ensures the hummingbirds need only rely on the feeders for quick fixes, the sure thing when they haven’t the time or interest to hunt for something wild. And the flowers attract small insects and spiders, an important part of the birds’ diet and something not provided by feeders.
Because they must be cleaned regularly lest the sweet contents become a sour mess, the feeders are allowed to empty on their own before refilling. This sometimes means all three become empty at the same time, and that creates the best encounters of all, for walking out the door with just-filled feeders brings the birds right to us. It’s not unusual to have them feeding while the feeder hangs from our hands, and it’s also not unusual to have them sate their curiosity by investigating us while this happens, often flying back and forth in front of our faces as if trying to determine the intentions in our eyes.
Even when not pushed to such encounters by empty feeders, the birds lack significant fear of people, hence close encounters with them occur regularly. They happily perch within reach, fly by at breakneck speeds so near that the wind from their wings brushes our skin, and otherwise tolerate our comings and goings with little drama. Well, at least little drama with regards to us since they have plenty of drama betwixt themselves.
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Photos (all of ruby-throated hummingbirds (Archilochus colubris):
Another random epigraph from my first novel Dreamdarkers. This comes from Stephen King’s It.
If there are certain preconditions for the use of magic, those preconditions will inevitably arrange themselves.
As I’ve recently mentioned in social networking circles, I want to offer a bit of fun to those interested in being immortalized as a literary character. Let me explain.
A few years ago deep in serious work on Dreamdarkers, my first novel, I would sit at our neighborhood Starbucks and drink coffee whilst visiting with dear friends. Over the course of many such mornings, asked often about my progress with the novel, the delightfully devilish Nathalie began buttering me up such that I would include her as a character. She even had chosen a name and disposition (she wanted to be a villain).
I at first thought ill of the idea, considering sacrosanct the world my words created, thus my characters would—should—be my creations. Then quick enough to surprise me I changed my mind, finding her suggestion entertaining, useful, even timely (I had realized by then that I would need a character very much like the one she offered.)
Since then—as I said, that was a few years ago at least—I have pondered the idea of using real people as templates for literary characters, and the premise has grown on me to the point of becoming an entertaining and fun way to generate interest in the books, to create realistic physical descriptions, and to let others participate in the creative process.
Therefore I’m now taking applications for the The Breaking of Worlds Character Contest.
Here are the rules:
To apply, send me the following via e-mail, Facebook message, Google+, or whatever means are at your disposal:
If I use your character, here’s what you get:
Considerations:
Remember, if I choose to use your character, the minimum I will use is your physical description. Utilizing more than that will be solely at my discretion. Also, applying now does not mean I will make decisions immediately. The Breaking of Worlds, the series of novels to which this contest applies, will be several books long (six or seven, perhaps more), so I might not know I need a character until I get to a particular part of the overall story; I won’t kick out six or seven books in the next twelve months, so it might be a bit of time before you know something, though the winner of the contest will know by the time the second manuscript is complete.
I will let you know immediately that I’ve received your application. Afterward, I will let you know if and when I decide to use your character.
It’s important to note that I have many characters yet to be established. Similarly, I have many characters already created who do not have a physical presence. I say that to clarify this one consideration: From the US President to the leader of a dark army hundreds of millions strong to new participants in a war eons old, now is the time to play a part in a drama glacial and unyielding and powerful.
So consider whether or not you want to be a character, one immortalized in literature. If so, here’s your chance.
I’ll keep this opportunity open for sixty days only—to expire on September 6, 2012. Beyond that, your immortality depends entirely on my generosity. And for those already involved in the series, editorially or artistically or otherwise, you’re not prohibited from participating. I make all the decisions about who wins a place as a character, thus I choose who is involved, all other participation notwithstanding.
All things considered, good luck!
A random epigraph chosen from Dreamdarkers, my first novel and the first installation from the series The Breaking of Worlds. This is by Charles Wright from his poem “Littlefoot.”
Is there an emptiness we all share?
Before the end, I mean?
Heaven and earth depend on this clarity,
heaven and earth.
Under the gold doubloons of the fallen
maple leaves,
The underworld burrows in,
sick to death of the light.