The noise was incessant. I mentioned it to my husband, who was working from home. "What is up with that BIRD?" 

We noticed Kizzy staring intently at something just outside the window. 

It was a baby bird. A fledgling goldfinch, fat as a tennis ball with tiny little legs.

And it was cheeping its heart out.

At first I laughed at Kizzy's interest, knowing he couldn't reach the bird.

Then I worried. 

I called the nature center. They said no biggie, the parents are feeding it. It's just learning to fly.

I googled some things. The Internet said leave it alone.

I had lunch. I took some calls. I worked.

The cheeping continued.

My maternal instincts said something was wrong.

I moved outside to see if any parent birds were coming.

They were not.

I wondered how many hours the fledgling had been alone without food.

The baby bird tried to hop. He fell over.

I called the nature center again. I said, "There are no parents."

She said, "Are you sure he's a fledgling? It's late for that."

I said, "Yes. I'm positive."

She said, "Bring him in."

I went and got a shoe box and lined it with an old tshirt. I put on a garden glove and picked up the baby bird, who cheeped at me. I put him in the box. 

I drove to the nature center.

I talked to the baby bird the whole way there. I told him it would be okay.

When I got there, I opened the box. 

The first thing I saw were his hooked little feet. Hooked in a way they should not be hooked. His eyes were closed.

"Oh, no!" I gasped.

The nature center worker took the box, barely glancing at it. She patted my arm. "I'm so sorry," she said.

I gave her the box as the tears started streaming down my face. I did not want the dead bird's coffin anymore. 

"I'm sorry," she repeated again as I turned to go.

As I drove home, tears streaming down my face, I thought about ISIS and ebola and genocide and war.

But I did not care.

That baby bird was in my backyard. On my deck. And if I had acted faster, I could've saved him.

I felt like we got to know each other a little.

He was my baby bird, and I failed him. 

Today I'm over at Fiction Reboot|Daily Dose talking about how hard it is to write a believable teen character. Read it here.

I had this friend who died almost two years ago at the age of 41 teaching people to body surf in the ocean.

I had this friend who made fun of me even as I sat in the hospital with cat bite fever. He sent me a bouquet of flowers. The card read: "Suck it up."

I had this friend who lived life so large it scared me sometimes, because I am small.

He has been gone for nearly two years, and part of my young adulthood died with him.

I had this friend, and I will not forget him. May we all live such a life that leaves a mark on everyone we touch.

Ani DiFranco was wrong to try to host a gathering in a Southern plantation, but she also taught me a lot about life as a writer.

"I am struck by the mediocrity of my finest hour."

"I don't know why red fades before blue, it just does."

These two sentiments have colored my career as a writer.

I struggle to be taken seriously, mostly in my own head.

The anger I feel always fades before the shame that I am not better. The knowledge that we all die alone doesn't stop me from wishing someone would remember what I said before I went.

And then there is the horror that I care.

It is the first cool night of fall, and always, I remember how much I feared the cold when I was starving myself.

When I was eighteen, and my boyfriend went off to college and there were no texts or cell phones, and all I had was a Jimmy Buffet CD and letters to warm me.

When I was nineteen, I got a tattoo of the sun on my inner heel to warm me. I was still starving myself. My grandfather rendered the sun in copper, and now I own it but don't know where to hang it.

I don't fear winter in the same way, because I am not that girl anymore. I know how the story plays out, at least as far as the second act. I know the protagonist is no longer starving.

But there is still fear. That I won't be relevant. That I won't be heard. That I'm what I fear: Just another small life on the rock that burns and then flames out for the sake of warming the planet for one second in an ocean of years.

It gets colder and the rock turns, but at least I am better equipped to face the turn.

Because I have grown. And I am no longer starving myself.

Her hair flies back in the wind because the motor's almost shot in Vicki the convertible so the top stays down now. It has to be helped up like an old man out of a chair, and most of the time, we don't feel like dealing with it. We leave ourselves exposed to sun and sky and wind because the sun feels good when it's not raining.

We are talking about growing up, and I tell her the thing my dad told me about SEEs, Significant Emotional Experiences, the thing I put in THE OBVIOUS GAME, how you have to have two SEEs before you can really contribute to society, how some people go their whole lives without having two. You need two to understand other people's anger.

"You've had your two already," I say. "When Grandpa died and when Bella and Petunia and Buttonsworth died."

"Did you have two when you were a kid?"

"Yeah. When Grandma got cancer. And then when it came back. And then when my gran died. All that happened before I left for college."

"I've had more than that," she says, and her hair whips again around her face, her eyes shaded with sunglasses.

"What was the other one?"

"When Ka'Vyea got shot."

Oh. Yes.

I've been wondering how that affected her. We haven't talked about it. I've been waiting. She was such a trooper every visit to the hospital, and I have never been so proud of my daughter as when she walked into a room to see her friend with a feeding tube in his nose unable to sit up in bed and act completely natural, to play Connect Four instead of staring in shock at the machines surrounding him.

"Yes. That was really scary, wasn't it?"

She nods. There's more to say, but neither of us knows how to say it now. He's back at school part-time. He didn't die. We're very glad about that. But it's still not fair he can't walk. None of this is fair, and we are both gobsmacked every time we start to talk about it. So we stop.

I keep driving. Her hair streams out behind her.

Here I've spent the first half of 2014 thinking I could no longer run giveaways for THE OBVIOUS GAME on Goodreads because it was published in 2013. (The dropdown in the author tools area only give you options for the year prior to your pub date and the year of your pub date.) I was sad, because Goodreads giveaways are such a win/win. They are inexpensive for an author to run (you only pay for the books and shipping) and they provide exposure as each sign-up adds the book to the signee's to-read shelf, thus giving the author and the book exposure she wouldn't otherwise have had. Lately most of my dealings with THE OBVIOUS GAME have been either asking people to review it or answering emails from people who love people with eating disorders (in which really what can I say but, "Well, I wrote an entire book about what I want to say to you now, so maybe you could read that and then let me know if you want to talk more"). The answering the emails part is really hard. Really hard. But I am really glad I at least have the book to point them to.

And this is the part where I say, "Hey, if you've read THE OBVIOUS GAME, could you drop me a review on Goodreads and Amazon? It doesn't even have to be nice! Nobody likes everything." And then I follow that up by saying, "If you haven't read THE OBVIOUS GAME, mightn't you request it at your library, and if your librarian has trouble, she can contact me and I will get her the book with my author discount?" And then you might say, "But I really want to help you MORE." So of course I would smile sincerely and say, "Well, you could buy my book! Or even just share the giveaway so more people will know it exists." And then I burst into tears and throw my arms around you.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Obvious Game

by Rita Arens

Giveaway ends October 27, 2014.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

 

Enter to win

Here I've spent the first half of 2014 thinking I could no longer run giveaways for THE OBVIOUS GAME on Goodreads because it was published in 2013. (The dropdown in the author tools area only give you options for the year prior to your pub date and the year of your pub date.) I was sad, because Goodreads giveaways are such a win/win. They are inexpensive for an author to run (you only pay for the books and shipping) and they provide exposure as each sign-up adds the book to the signee's to-read shelf, thus giving the author and the book exposure she wouldn't otherwise have had. Lately most of my dealings with THE OBVIOUS GAME have been either asking people to review it or answering emails from people who love people with eating disorders (in which really what can I say but, "Well, I wrote an entire book about what I want to say to you now, so maybe you could read that and then let me know if you want to talk more"). The answering the emails part is really hard. Really hard. But I am really glad I at least have the book to point them to.

And this is the part where I say, "Hey, if you've read THE OBVIOUS GAME, could you drop me a review on Goodreads and Amazon? It doesn't even have to be nice! Nobody likes everything." And then I follow that up by saying, "If you haven't read THE OBVIOUS GAME, mightn't you request it at your library, and if your librarian has trouble, she can contact me and I will get her the book with my author discount?" And then you might say, "But I really want to help you MORE." So of course I would smile sincerely and say, "Well, you could buy my book! Or even just share the giveaway so more people will know it exists." And then I burst into tears and throw my arms around you.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Obvious Game

by Rita Arens

Giveaway ends October 27, 2014.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

 

Enter to win

Recently The Writers Place in Kansas City asked me to teach a workshop. And I said yes! Here are the details:

PITCHING, QUERYING AND SUBMITTING: WHAT TO KNOW ABOUT SENDING IN YOUR WRITING

Saturday, 10/25, 2 – 4 PM 

Teaching Artist: Rita Arens 

What separates a good essay from a viral essay? What do you need to know before you query an agent with your memoir? How much can you expect to make with online publishing? Bring your questions and your query letters for this hands-on session. 

CLICK HERE TO REGISTER: $40 nonmembers / $30 members 

You must have a current membership to enroll at the member rate. Click here to join or renew.

Tell all your friends!