I don't really know why I wrote this. I was holding my starling today, trimming his beak, bathing him, that sort of stuff. Maybe that's why, but this isn't autobiographical for me or my bird. I'm not even sure if it's a story, so I called it a slice of life. It just flowed out of me this afternoon, kind of like a stream of consciousness thing. Anyway, I hope it's enjoyable for some and not too depressing. -Sue
ELLEN'S BIRD by Wind River
Ellen flitted through life, wondering what it was all about. Unable to find meaning in the many jobs that she'd held through the years, she focused on helping others. Late at night, she held the phone like a lover's hand and talked with her friends, telling them that they'd be okay. The pain of others caused her to wonder about life even more. It doesn't make sense, she thought. You live. You cry. You die.
One day while she was running errands downtown, a starling fell into her life. The featherless nestling dropped from the eave of the old bank and into a large pot of petunias and ivy. Two inches to the left, and it would have crashed on the brick sidewalk. She looked up at the roof edge. Nesting material was hanging out of a crack, and dirty white droppings streaked the building's side.
It was too high to return the bird to its nest, so she cupped it in her hands and walked home.
The bird screamed and gaped every twenty minutes. She poked food down its throat and cleaned its make-shift nest. As its feathers grew, she identified the bird as a starling. "A trash bird," her mother said. "You should pinch its head off."
Ellen was in love with the bird. "I think he's beautiful." He fluttered to her shoulder and spread her lips apart with his beak. "No worms in there, you silly bird," she said. With a small squawk, he appeared indignant and made her giggle. She reached to pet him, and he grabbed a little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. "Ouch! You bad bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger with her other hand. He cocked his head, pecked at her knuckle, and tried to pry her fingers apart with his beak. All of his antics intrigued her and endeared him to her.
The bird was her companion for fifteen years. During that time, she didn't question the meaning of life. She lived it and appreciated the gift she'd been given. One evening, Ellen noticed the bird resting in the bottom of his cage with his feathers fluffed. Like a nestling, she cupped him in her hands, but the warmth didn't revive him. He was too old and tired.
After he died, she stood in the cold night air and gazed at the stars. The tiny lights reminded her of the speckled bird. What is life all about? she wondered. It doesn't make sense. You live. You cry. You die.
> I don't really know why I wrote this. I was >holding my starling today, > trimming his beak, bathing him, that sort of stuff. >Maybe that's why, > but this isn't autobiographical for me or my bird. >I'm not even sure if > it's a story, so I called it a slice of life. It just >flowed out of me > this afternoon, kind of like a stream of >consciousness thing. Anyway, I > hope it's enjoyable for some and not too >depressing. > -Sue
> ELLEN'S BIRD > by Wind River
Well, I've got news for you-this is depressing. I mean, really depressing. It has a spark of hope when the bird comes into the picture, but....wow, is this depressing.
Oh, hi Sue! I think I forgot to say that.
This is a good piece. Comments below:
> Ellen flitted through life, wondering what it was >all about.
I don't know if I like "flitted", though I think you're trying to stick with bird images.
> Unable to > find meaning in the many jobs that she'd held >through the years, she > focused on helping others.
Like what? Details, ma'am.
>Late at night, she held the phone like a > lover's hand and talked with her friends, telling >them that they'd be > okay.
Oh, ok, these must be the details. I thought that she had gotten a job helping others. Maybe she can work for a rape hotline or something? Oh, and I really can't reconcile the image of a phone being held like a lover's hand. Sorry.
>The pain of others caused her to wonder about >life even more. It
> doesn't make sense, she thought. You live. You >cry. You die.
I like those three short sentences. Very nice.
> One day while she was running errands >downtown, a starling fell into her > life.
Try "She was running errands downtown one day when a starling fell into her life." This way, the sentence starts with action. Whaddya think?
> The featherless nestling dropped from the eave >of the old bank and > into a large pot of petunias and ivy. Two inches >to the left, and it > would have crashed on the brick sidewalk.
I don't know if I like crash. I think of plates crashing. Maybe landed? A better verb might be in order, certainly.
>She looked up at the roof
> edge. Nesting material was hanging out of a >crack, and dirty white > droppings streaked the building's side.
Very nice details. You're in your element when you get to write vivid images.
> It was too high to return the bird to its nest, so >she cupped it in her > hands and walked home.
I have a problem with this too, but you might be overexplaining a bit. If you just said "The nest was too high, so she cupped it in her hands and walked home", we would get the implied message.
> The bird screamed and gaped every twenty >minutes. She poked food down > its throat and cleaned its make-shift nest. As its >feathers grew, she > identified the bird as a starling. "A trash bird," >her mother said. "You > should pinch its head off."
> Ellen was in love with the bird.
You might want to consider Ellen naming the bird so you don't have to keep referring to it as "the bird."
And especially, if the bird lives with her for fifteen years, the bird WOULD get a name.
> "I think he's beautiful." He fluttered > to her shoulder and spread her lips apart with his >beak. "No worms in > there, you silly bird," she said. With a small >squawk, he appeared > indignant and made her giggle. She reached to >pet him, and he grabbed a > little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. >"Ouch! You bad > bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger >with her other hand. He > cocked his head, pecked at her knuckle, and >tried to pry her fingers > apart with his beak. All of his antics intrigued her >and endeared him to > her.
Nice. My only suggestion is to either restructure this paragraph or break it into smaller paragraphs. Because, the way it stands right now, you have three pieces of dialogue all in the same paragraph.
> The bird was her companion for fifteen years.
I don't know much about birds, but do they live that long?
>During that time, she > didn't question the meaning of life. She lived it >and appreciated the > gift she'd been given. One evening, Ellen noticed >the bird resting in > the bottom of his cage with his feathers fluffed. >Like a nestling, she > cupped him in her hands, but the warmth didn't >revive him. He was too > old and tired.
> After he died, she stood in the cold night air and >gazed at the stars. > The tiny lights reminded her of the speckled bird. >What is life all > about? she wondered. It doesn't make sense. >You live. You cry. You die.
> END
Depreesing ending, but I love how you brought it full circle with the repetition of those three concise sentences.
> Well, I've got news for you-this is depressing. I mean, really depressing. > It has a spark of hope when the bird comes into the picture, but....wow, is > this depressing.
> Oh, hi Sue! I think I forgot to say that.
Hi Patrick! Did I depress you?
> This is a good piece. Comments below:
> > Ellen flitted through life, wondering what it was >all about.
> I don't know if I like "flitted", though I think you're trying to stick with > bird images.
I don't know if I like it either. I wrote it and posted it with only one a quick edit. I'll have to let it sit.
> > Unable to > > find meaning in the many jobs that she'd held >through the years, she > > focused on helping others.
> Like what? Details, ma'am.
You sound like the guy in that old show, Dragnet. "Just the facts, ma'am." Okay. I know it's sketchy. My thoughts were she flitted from job to job, looking for meaning in her life. That's what I should've said. :)
> >Late at night, she held the phone like a > > lover's hand and talked with her friends, telling >them that they'd be > > okay.
> Oh, ok, these must be the details. I thought that she had gotten a job > helping others. Maybe she can work for a rape hotline or something? Oh, > and I really can't reconcile the image of a phone being held like a lover's > hand. Sorry.
Aw. I guess plastic isn't too romantic.
> >The pain of others caused her to wonder about >life even more. It > > doesn't make sense, she thought. You live. You >cry. You die.
> I like those three short sentences. Very nice.
But they're depressing.
> > One day while she was running errands >downtown, a starling fell into her > > life.
> Try "She was running errands downtown one day when a starling fell into her > life." This way, the sentence starts with action. Whaddya think?
I see what you're saying, but I was trying to avoid starting so many sentences with "She".
> > The featherless nestling dropped from the eave >of the old bank and > > into a large pot of petunias and ivy. Two inches >to the left, and it > > would have crashed on the brick sidewalk.
> I don't know if I like crash. I think of plates crashing. Maybe landed? A > better verb might be in order, certainly.
I had splattered at first. Landed won't work because nestlings can't fly, and the fall on bricks or pavement would probably kill them. I'll come up with something better. I don't care for crash too much either.
> >She looked up at the roof > > edge. Nesting material was hanging out of a >crack, and dirty white > > droppings streaked the building's side.
> Very nice details. You're in your element when you get to write vivid > images.
I love that kind of writing, but I need to work on other stuff to be more well-rounded. Sigh. Can't I write a whole story with nothing but images?
> > It was too high to return the bird to its nest, so >she cupped it in her > > hands and walked home.
> I have a problem with this too, but you might be overexplaining a bit. If > you just said "The nest was too high, so she cupped it in her hands and > walked home", we would get the implied message.
Let me think about it. I'm not sure.
> > The bird screamed and gaped every twenty >minutes. She poked food down > > its throat and cleaned its make-shift nest. As its >feathers grew, she > > identified the bird as a starling. "A trash bird," >her mother said. "You > > should pinch its head off."
> > Ellen was in love with the bird.
> You might want to consider Ellen naming the bird so you don't have to keep > referring to it as "the bird."
> And especially, if the bird lives with her for fifteen years, the bird WOULD > get a name.
You're right, it should be named. I shouldn't admit this, but I have two parakeets that I've had for seven years. I never named them. We call one of them "the blue parakeet" and the other one "the yellow parakeet".
> > "I think he's beautiful." He fluttered > > to her shoulder and spread her lips apart with his >beak. "No worms in > > there, you silly bird," she said. With a small >squawk, he appeared > > indignant and made her giggle. She reached to >pet him, and he grabbed a > > little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. >"Ouch! You bad > > bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger >with her other hand. He > > cocked his head, pecked at her knuckle, and >tried to pry her fingers > > apart with his beak. All of his antics intrigued her >and endeared him to > > her.
> Nice. My only suggestion is to either restructure this paragraph or break > it into smaller paragraphs. Because, the way it stands right now, you have > three pieces of dialogue all in the same paragraph.
Yep, you're right.
> > The bird was her companion for fifteen years.
> I don't know much about birds, but do they live that long?
Yep. I have a starling that's fifteen. He's not as active as he used to be, but he's still in good health. I think the longest lived one on record is twenty years. I doubt mine will live that long, but I hope he makes it a few more years. I like him.
> Depreesing ending, but I love how you brought it full circle with the > repetition of those three concise sentences.
I was trying to show that her life had meaning for those fifteen years, because she stopped seeking the meaning. I don't know. Just kind of a fun thing that wrote itself.
> I don't really know why I wrote this. I was holding my starling today, > trimming his beak, bathing him, that sort of stuff. Maybe that's why, > but this isn't autobiographical for me or my bird. I'm not even sure if > it's a story, so I called it a slice of life. It just flowed out of me > this afternoon, kind of like a stream of consciousness thing. Anyway, I > hope it's enjoyable for some and not too depressing. > -Sue
Nice work here, Sue. And the lovers' hand metaphor was a peach. It's a sweet piece - well, bittersweet perhaps. A question- are you suggesting that to be in love is to stop questioning the meaning of life? But well-written, certainly. (I was also going to ask if 15 years isn't rather long for a bird to live, but I'm quite sure you've researched that part!)
Wind River <windri...@voyager.net> wrote in message <news:3FB19671.50ADEF54@voyager.net>... > I don't really know why I wrote this. I was holding my starling today, > trimming his beak, bathing him, that sort of stuff. Maybe that's why, > but this isn't autobiographical for me or my bird. I'm not even sure if > it's a story, so I called it a slice of life. It just flowed out of me > this afternoon, kind of like a stream of consciousness thing. Anyway, I > hope it's enjoyable for some and not too depressing. > -Sue
> ELLEN'S BIRD > by Wind River
Yes, well, definitely depressing over tone, but a surprising contrast with the meat of it and the message (if I read it right) which is rather up-lifting.
A woman, disatisfied and depressed with her own life, finds a certain amount of meaning in helping others, albeit from a distance (through the phone). When a chance comes for her to share her life with another living being, she stops questioning the meaning and the giving credence to her depressing thoughts and just lives and enjoys that interaction. When that chance for immediate interaction is gone is when it gets depressing again as the reader learns something, but she, sadly, does not.
She's right back to the same old thing. Like I said, a depressing character, but a surprisingly uplifting message.
Nice work, Sue.
(please notice the above contained no Dr. Seuss-like chlidren's ryming games)
> Ellen was in love with the bird. "I think he's beautiful." He fluttered > to her shoulder and spread her lips apart with his beak. "No worms in > there, you silly bird," she said. With a small squawk, he appeared > indignant and made her giggle. She reached to pet him, and he grabbed a > little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. "Ouch! You bad > bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger with her other hand. He > cocked his head, pecked at her knuckle, and tried to pry her fingers > apart with his beak. All of his antics intrigued her and endeared him to > her.
Also meant to add that the above passage is what pushed it passed, for me, just being the story between the bird and the woman, and started speaking in the larger terms of relationships.
The little hurt the bird caused, the bird interacting with and influencing her, making mistakes in their relationship that would cause her to say "Bad bird!" The antics that intrigued and endeared.
She was in love and caring for for something besides herself. A little self-loathing and co-dependence thrown in and we have the complete picture of the relationship in so few words. Nicely done, Sue.
On Tue, 11 Nov 2003 19:53:07 -0500, Wind River <windri...@voyager.net> wrote:
>I don't really know why I wrote this. I was holding my starling today, >trimming his beak, bathing him, that sort of stuff. Maybe that's why, >but this isn't autobiographical for me or my bird. I'm not even sure if >it's a story, so I called it a slice of life. It just flowed out of me >this afternoon, kind of like a stream of consciousness thing. Anyway, I >hope it's enjoyable for some and not too depressing. >-Sue
>ELLEN'S BIRD >by Wind River
Snip
Hi Sue,
It's a little depressing, yes. If you want to do something about it, it's the end you need to look at. It points backwards rather than forwards and that is essentially what makes it depressing. If the death of the bird made her get on with her life from passive to active participant in life, it would lighten up the story considerably.
I wonder if Ellen would have had a lot of jobs? She seems to be the steady support of her friends, living a quiet life, dominated by routines but with no fixed obligations towards others. I say this because caring for a nestling requires plenty of time. She would need to take some time off from work until the bird is able to find food on its own.
The essence of the story, Ellen's relationship with the bird, is brilliantly described. After reading the first paragraph I was going to mention the old mantra: "Show, don't tell", but you 'tell' to get to the point without boring the reader, and then 'show' the reader her love for the bird. Beautiful.
michael wrote: > Nice work here, Sue. And the lovers' hand metaphor was a peach. It's a > sweet piece - well, bittersweet perhaps. A question- are you suggesting that > to be in love is to stop questioning the meaning of life? But well-written, > certainly. (I was also going to ask if 15 years isn't rather long for a bird > to live, but I'm quite sure you've researched that part!)
I didn't intend the message of love being the reason she stopped questioning life, but more that she was living life instead of analyzing it. Something unexpected came into her life, and she didn't turn her back on it. As a result, she found meaning without realizing it. That sort of thing.
My pet starling is fifteen and a half. He's old, but still doing fine. It's amazing how long birds do live. Some parrots have lifespans longer than ours.
> > Ellen was in love with the bird. "I think he's beautiful." He fluttered > > to her shoulder and spread her lips apart with his beak. "No worms in > > there, you silly bird," she said. With a small squawk, he appeared > > indignant and made her giggle. She reached to pet him, and he grabbed a > > little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. "Ouch! You bad > > bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger with her other hand. He > > cocked his head, pecked at her knuckle, and tried to pry her fingers > > apart with his beak. All of his antics intrigued her and endeared him to > > her.
> Also meant to add that the above passage is what pushed it passed, for > me, just being the story between the bird and the woman, and started > speaking in the larger terms of relationships.
I was hoping it would go beyond the bird for some readers, but still make a nice surface story for others.
> The little hurt the bird caused, the bird interacting with and > influencing her, making mistakes in their relationship that would > cause her to say "Bad bird!" The antics that intrigued and endeared.
> She was in love and caring for for something besides herself. A > little self-loathing and co-dependence thrown in and we have the > complete picture of the relationship in so few words. Nicely done,
> Yes, well, definitely depressing over tone, but a surprising contrast > with the meat of it and the message (if I read it right) which is > rather up-lifting.
> A woman, disatisfied and depressed with her own life, finds a certain > amount of meaning in helping others, albeit from a distance (through > the phone). When a chance comes for her to share her life with > another living being, she stops questioning the meaning and the giving > credence to her depressing thoughts and just lives and enjoys that > interaction. When that chance for immediate interaction is gone is > when it gets depressing again as the reader learns something, but she, > sadly, does not.
> She's right back to the same old thing. Like I said, a depressing > character, but a surprisingly uplifting message.
> Nice work, Sue.
I must have done something right because you got the message. Thank you, Bart. I really appreciate the feedback.
> (please notice the above contained no Dr. Seuss-like chlidren's ryming > games)
> It's a little depressing, yes. If you want to do something about it, > it's the end you need to look at. It points backwards rather than > forwards and that is essentially what makes it depressing. If the > death of the bird made her get on with her life from passive to active > participant in life, it would lighten up the story considerably.
I thought of moving her forward, but I kind of like it returning to where it was. I might try it the other way as an experiment. It's short enough to play around with.
> I wonder if Ellen would have had a lot of jobs? She seems to be the > steady support of her friends, living a quiet life, dominated by > routines but with no fixed obligations towards others. I say this > because caring for a nestling requires plenty of time. She would need > to take some time off from work until the bird is able to find food on > its own.
It does take a lot of time caring for a nestling. I remember taking one to work with me. Fortunately, my job was one where my boss didn't mind as long as I got the work done. Once he brought his neice to work with him and was disappointed that I didn't have a baby rabbit or something in my office.
> The essence of the story, Ellen's relationship with the bird, is > brilliantly described. After reading the first paragraph I was going > to mention the old mantra: "Show, don't tell", but you 'tell' to get > to the point without boring the reader, and then 'show' the reader her > love for the bird. Beautiful.
> Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for reading, Danson. I really appreciate the feedback.
windri...@voyager.net wrote: > ELLEN'S BIRD > by Wind River
Interesting and well-written piece, Sue. I had no idea you had a starling. Quite a co-incidence, writing a non-autobiographical story about something like that <g>
> Interesting and well-written piece, Sue. I had no idea you had a > starling. Quite a co-incidence, writing a non-autobiographical story > about something like that <g>
Well, I'm different than Ellen, and my starling is different than hers. :)
I got mine as an immature bird. Someone was working in their garden, and he landed on their back and wouldn't get off. They were afraid he had rabies and called the wildlife center I volunteered with. I tried several times to release him, but he refused to leave. He liked me better than a tree and the indoors better than the outdoors. I figure someone raised him, and he imprinted on humans. They'll do that unless you raise them with other birds.
> My pet starling is fifteen and a half. He's old, but still doing fine. > It's amazing how long birds do live. Some parrots have lifespans longer > than ours.
Wow. That's nearly as old as my little brother.
> Thanks, Michael, for the feedback.
> -Sue
I was thinking about this today, Sue. Dust it off a little - some of Pat's word suggestions seemed prescient - and check out www.flashquake.org or www.insolentrudder.org - I suspect both would be interested in this piece. Let me repeat, I think you did a great job with this.
> > My pet starling is fifteen and a half. He's old, but still doing fine. > > It's amazing how long birds do live. Some parrots have lifespans longer > > than ours.
> Wow. That's nearly as old as my little brother.
You make me feel so old sometimes. :)
As long as you don't tell me I'm acting my age ... That would be dreadful.
> > Thanks, Michael, for the feedback.
> > -Sue
> I was thinking about this today, Sue. Dust it off a little - some of Pat's > word suggestions seemed prescient - and check out www.flashquake.org or > www.insolentrudder.org - I suspect both would be interested in this piece. > Let me repeat, I think you did a great job with this.
Since this was not labeled as "Flash" I thought that despite experience and what I take (rightly or wrongly) to be my better judgment, that the miraculous could occur, that such brevity would not always mitigate against a piece of prose so far as it might meet the barest minimum of standards for a story--well, I went ahead and read it.
So, let all "better judgment" be set aside, even so, we usually find that experience seldom lies, and this is no story; instead, it's rather a decent little sketch dashed off as the outlines of something that could become such. The inspiration was a bird, the wiggly little morsel of meat of the matter was the manner in which a presence of the bird--so long as it lived--served to divert the protagonist's all-too-normal angst-filled concerns about the "meaning of life".
But that this is the mere sketch for a real story, a murmuring at the ear of inspiration come at the chirping of a bird is given by a serious problem of credibility, for this reader, in any case who would find it difficult to attribute such an epiphany of existential healing to so minimal a relationship. It might have worked for the Birdman of Alcatraz, but there's something real stingy in me that refuses to grant any such magic to a bird when there are so many humans out there who have 'crashed' to the sidewalk under broken wings to whom a like level of devotion could perform ever so much more.
You see? I would be more inclined to agree with the protagonist's mother . . .
| "A trash bird," her mother said. "You | should pinch its head off."
Yes, and then go out and save a human being. You see? When the bird died, there was nothing for it but that the old existential angst should come roaring right back again. The bird was too easy to love and required very little sacrifice from the soul of the bird-lover. The Birdman was the murderer of a human being, but he did so love his birds. So I can't give my sentiment to something that I see as just another sort of self-indulgence that acts as a poultice for a worse kind.
Yet there is a truth given by it which is simple but powerful: that devotion to other is the necessary loss of self which frees man from morbid thoughts about the "meaning of life", that is, in the face of, namely, Death? Yes. The inspiration from the bird here is bigger than the bird and the story which is implied is bigger than this sketch.
As to all this whining from other reviewers about "how depressing it is", well that is just their own self-indulgence, their fear, their desire ever to keep their eyes averted from the existential problem presented by this story. Without a happy ending given them they start whimpering because they have yet to be brought face to face with the biggest Bluebird of Truth in life which is this: true devotion given to the other is Death to the self, and no, it isn't just something 'like' death, if it is True Love it *is* death, the same death that must be faced at mortal death which is the immense pain of knowing that one's own self must cease to exist--and against that pain, all physical agony pales to a mere aggravation.
Death is what must happen in order for a person to love, truly love the other, and once that's been done in the biggest way it can be done, there is never any telling what else can be done, whether as by someone like Mother Theresa and her first love, Jesus or as the world has seen it performed in the drama of every great romance, whether of Paris and Helen, Orpheus and Eurydice, Romeo and Juliet or by Oona O'Neill and Chaplin; from the imagination of E. Wharton in Ethan Frome, in every real life situation where people have learned a more selfless love of one another that cannot perish with death, then and only then, with that kind of love only is all blind terror of angst banished from the human soul's existence.
And if you, Susan, were the little Starling perched on my shoulder, then this is the inspiration that your little sketch has chirped to me.
So, thank you very sweetly. -- JP
| | Ellen was in love with the bird. "I think he's beautiful."
You start empty/depressed, add hope/purpose, extinguish hope/purpose, and we're left empty/depressed. That she's one of those who tell others there's meaning makes it even more depressing.
You're writing well since you manage to pull us through all that.
I liked how you ended the story in the beginning, and teach us insights about starlings in a non-preachy way.
The negative aspects of the bird, "it's a trash bird", "he grabbed a little piece of skin", really make him more endearing and interesting.
The only confusing part was in the fourth paragraph, "she identified it as a starling." You identified it in the second paragraph. Maybe it's better you don't mention it's name there if you're going to identify it later?
Wind River <windri...@voyager.net> wrote in message <news:3FB19671.50ADEF54@voyager.net>... > I don't really know why I wrote this. I was holding my starling today, > trimming his beak, bathing him, that sort of stuff. Maybe that's why, > but this isn't autobiographical for me or my bird. I'm not even sure if > it's a story, so I called it a slice of life. It just flowed out of me > this afternoon, kind of like a stream of consciousness thing. Anyway, I > hope it's enjoyable for some and not too depressing. > -Sue
> ELLEN'S BIRD > by Wind River
> Ellen flitted through life, wondering what it was all about. Unable to > find meaning in the many jobs that she'd held through the years, she > focused on helping others. Late at night, she held the phone like a > lover's hand and talked with her friends, telling them that they'd be > okay. The pain of others caused her to wonder about life even more. It > doesn't make sense, she thought. You live. You cry. You die.
> One day while she was running errands downtown, a starling fell into her > life. The featherless nestling dropped from the eave of the old bank and > into a large pot of petunias and ivy. Two inches to the left, and it > would have crashed on the brick sidewalk. She looked up at the roof > edge. Nesting material was hanging out of a crack, and dirty white > droppings streaked the building's side.
> It was too high to return the bird to its nest, so she cupped it in her > hands and walked home.
> The bird screamed and gaped every twenty minutes. She poked food down > its throat and cleaned its make-shift nest. As its feathers grew, she > identified the bird as a starling. "A trash bird," her mother said. "You > should pinch its head off."
> Ellen was in love with the bird. "I think he's beautiful." He fluttered > to her shoulder and spread her lips apart with his beak. "No worms in > there, you silly bird," she said. With a small squawk, he appeared > indignant and made her giggle. She reached to pet him, and he grabbed a > little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. "Ouch! You bad > bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger with her other hand. He > cocked his head, pecked at her knuckle, and tried to pry her fingers > apart with his beak. All of his antics intrigued her and endeared him to > her.
> The bird was her companion for fifteen years. During that time, she > didn't question the meaning of life. She lived it and appreciated the > gift she'd been given. One evening, Ellen noticed the bird resting in > the bottom of his cage with his feathers fluffed. Like a nestling, she > cupped him in her hands, but the warmth didn't revive him. He was too > old and tired.
> After he died, she stood in the cold night air and gazed at the stars. > The tiny lights reminded her of the speckled bird. What is life all > about? she wondered. It doesn't make sense. You live. You cry. You die.
> "Wind River" <windri...@voyager.net> wrote in message > news:3FB19671.50ADEF54@voyager.net... > | > | ELLEN'S BIRD > | by Wind River > | > | Ellen flitted through life, wondering what it was all about
> Since this was not labeled as "Flash" I thought that despite experience and > what I take (rightly or wrongly) to be my better judgment, that the > miraculous could occur, that such brevity would not always mitigate against > a piece of prose so far as it might meet the barest minimum of standards for > a story--well, I went ahead and read it.
> So, let all "better judgment" be set aside, even so, we usually find that > experience seldom lies, and this is no story; instead, it's rather a decent > little sketch dashed off as the outlines of something that could become > such. The inspiration was a bird, the wiggly little morsel of meat of the > matter was the manner in which a presence of the bird--so long as it > lived--served to divert the protagonist's all-too-normal angst-filled > concerns about the "meaning of life".
That's why I labeled "slice of life". It's not a typical flash story with a strong twist at the end, and it's not a traditional story either. It is more like a sketch, but in many ways I love Rembrandt's and Surat's sketches more than their paintings.
> But that this is the mere sketch for a real story, a murmuring at the ear of > inspiration come at the chirping of a bird is given by a serious problem of > credibility, for this reader, in any case who would find it difficult to > attribute such an epiphany of existential healing to so minimal a > relationship. It might have worked for the Birdman of Alcatraz, but there's > something real stingy in me that refuses to grant any such magic to a bird > when there are so many humans out there who have 'crashed' to the sidewalk > under broken wings to whom a like level of devotion could perform ever so > much more.
> You see? I would be more inclined to agree with the protagonist's mother . .
"I'd pinch its head off" is what my mother once said about a feisty bluejay I raised. The next day, I found her slipping a treat to it through the cage bars.
> As to all this whining from other reviewers about "how depressing it is", > well that is just their own self-indulgence, their fear, their desire ever > to keep their eyes averted from the existential problem presented by this > story. Without a happy ending given them they start whimpering because they > have yet to be brought face to face with the biggest Bluebird of Truth in > life which is this: true devotion given to the other is Death to the self, > and no, it isn't just something 'like' death, if it is True Love it *is* > death, the same death that must be faced at mortal death which is the > immense pain of knowing that one's own self must cease to exist--and against > that pain, all physical agony pales to a mere aggravation.
Well said, John.
> And if you, Susan, were the little Starling perched on my shoulder, then > this is the inspiration that your little sketch has chirped to me.
> So, thank you very sweetly.
And thank you. Some wonderful thoughts here. I appreciate it.
> I liked how you ended the story in the beginning, and teach us > insights about starlings in a non-preachy way.
I don't like being preached to, so I try not to do that in my stories. I don't always agree with my characters' actions or thoughts, but I like writing stories which give the reader something subtle to think about. If I don't write something thought-provoking, I'm usually trying to create a mood they can absorb when they read, whether it be calmness or sadness or whatever. I tend to use nature a lot to do this, because it's all around us. Even when someone's driving down the road, yakking on a cell phone, nature's there. The partial wing of a monarch stuck to their car's grill, the rabbit who dashes across the road in front of the car, or the sleet pelting the windshield. Uh ... sorry. I didn't mean to get side-tracked. I think I see the beginnings of a story in this though.
> The negative aspects of the bird, "it's a trash bird", "he grabbed a > little piece of skin", really make him more endearing and interesting.
> The only confusing part was in the fourth paragraph, "she identified > it as a starling." You identified it in the second paragraph. Maybe > it's better you don't mention it's name there if you're going to > identify it later?
Thank you for mentioning this. When I wrote it, I wondered it that would be a problem or create a bump in the story. I'll change it, so we don't know it's a starling until she figures it out.
> Always enjoy your stories. :-)
Wow! Thanks. It means a lot hearing that. Lol, I have written some really terrible ones too. I guess we all have.
Sue, I like this! I think it would work great as a story, perhaps begin at the end and then flashback to the day she found the bird, using specific and immediate images and then maybe add another event in her relationship with the critter. The antics of the bird are great and give him personality that only an animal lover would notice. Most people credit their dogs or cats with personality, but all animals have one if you look long enough. My husband used to have an aquarium with slider turtles. They were fun to watch play or hunt for the minnows he would put in the tank.
Your voice comes through strong in this also, and that is because you're writing about you passion: animals. You should explore that more.
Judie
"Wind River" <windri...@voyager.net> wrote in message
> I don't really know why I wrote this. I was holding my starling today, > trimming his beak, bathing him, that sort of stuff. Maybe that's why, > but this isn't autobiographical for me or my bird. I'm not even sure if > it's a story, so I called it a slice of life. It just flowed out of me > this afternoon, kind of like a stream of consciousness thing. Anyway, I > hope it's enjoyable for some and not too depressing. > -Sue
> ELLEN'S BIRD > by Wind River
> Ellen flitted through life, wondering what it was all about. Unable to > find meaning in the many jobs that she'd held through the years, she > focused on helping others. Late at night, she held the phone like a > lover's hand and talked with her friends, telling them that they'd be > okay. The pain of others caused her to wonder about life even more. It > doesn't make sense, she thought. You live. You cry. You die.
> One day while she was running errands downtown, a starling fell into her > life. The featherless nestling dropped from the eave of the old bank and > into a large pot of petunias and ivy. Two inches to the left, and it > would have crashed on the brick sidewalk. She looked up at the roof > edge. Nesting material was hanging out of a crack, and dirty white > droppings streaked the building's side.
> It was too high to return the bird to its nest, so she cupped it in her > hands and walked home.
> The bird screamed and gaped every twenty minutes. She poked food down > its throat and cleaned its make-shift nest. As its feathers grew, she > identified the bird as a starling. "A trash bird," her mother said. "You > should pinch its head off."
> Ellen was in love with the bird. "I think he's beautiful." He fluttered > to her shoulder and spread her lips apart with his beak. "No worms in > there, you silly bird," she said. With a small squawk, he appeared > indignant and made her giggle. She reached to pet him, and he grabbed a > little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. "Ouch! You bad > bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger with her other hand. He > cocked his head, pecked at her knuckle, and tried to pry her fingers > apart with his beak. All of his antics intrigued her and endeared him to > her.
> The bird was her companion for fifteen years. During that time, she > didn't question the meaning of life. She lived it and appreciated the > gift she'd been given. One evening, Ellen noticed the bird resting in > the bottom of his cage with his feathers fluffed. Like a nestling, she > cupped him in her hands, but the warmth didn't revive him. He was too > old and tired.
> After he died, she stood in the cold night air and gazed at the stars. > The tiny lights reminded her of the speckled bird. What is life all > about? she wondered. It doesn't make sense. You live. You cry. You die.
> Sue, I like this! I think it would work great as a story, perhaps begin at > the end and then flashback to the day she found the bird, using specific and > immediate images and then maybe add another event in her relationship with
I don't know if I want to make this one much longer. I've written a couple of long stories involving wildlife rehabilitators and wild animals, so I think I'd rather work on tidying this one up as a short one. I might add a little more to it, maybe in the death scene. Dunno yet.
> the critter. The antics of the bird are great and give him personality that > only an animal lover would notice. Most people credit their dogs or cats > with personality, but all animals have one if you look long enough. My > husband used to have an aquarium with slider turtles. They were fun to > watch play or hunt for the minnows he would put in the tank.
When I was a child, I hatched two snapping turtles from some eggs that I found under a tree. I was amazed by the difference in disposition between them. They were like night and day. Really interesting animals.
> Your voice comes through strong in this also, and that is because you're > writing about you passion: animals. You should explore that more.
Thank you, Judie. I appreciate the feedback, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. Lol, I do have other passions, so I'm not sure why I always gravitate to the animals. I definitely don't mind exploring the subject more. :)
On Tue, 11 Nov 2003 19:53:07 -0500, Wind River <windri...@voyager.net> wrote:
>ELLEN'S BIRD >by Wind River
I have mixed feelings about this story.
First, it's well written--no need to go picking nits. It's interesting; I read through with no thought of stopping.
Yet when I thought about it, I was unsatisfied. Ellen really is one dimensional. Somehow she seeks love by helping others, but that's not enough; she can't bring herself to commit to a single human being, but she finds a tiny life that she can control almost completely, and falls in love. But when her bird dies, she has learned nothing.
>With a small squawk, he appeared >indignant and made her giggle. She reached to pet him, and he grabbed a >little piece of skin by her fingernail and twisted it. "Ouch! You bad >bird, you!" She laughed and covered her finger with her other hand.
At the end, she completely forgets the two words she needs to add to her understanding of life: we laugh.
Yes, this would be depressing if it were real, but it isn't. What was wrong with her was not depression; truly depressed people don't adopt baby birds. She strikes me as spoiled; she wants love, but is unwilling to give it--except to a bird. When the bird dies, she whines. No, I don't think I like this woman.
So for this to be a truly human story, we need to know more about her. What turned her into an inhuman monster? And how did she manage to give love even to a bird, without learning more of life? Write that story and you'll have something moving and beautiful.
Meanwhile, I'll await your next one with great hope--anyone who writes as well a you do can turn out something wonderful.
> At the end, she completely forgets the two words she needs to > add to her understanding of life: we laugh.
You know, I almost added "we laugh", but it didn't seem to fit. I wanted to show that she found meaning when she was living it, but lost it when she searched for it. And, you're right, she's not a person I'd want to spend time around.
> Yes, this would be depressing if it were real, but it isn't. What > was wrong with her was not depression; truly depressed people > don't adopt baby birds. She strikes me as spoiled; she wants > love, but is unwilling to give it--except to a bird. When the bird > dies, she whines. No, I don't think I like this woman.
I knew a woman who suffered from depression, and about the only thing she really cared for was raising injured and orphaned birds. She wasn't pleasant to be around, but she did a great job with the birds. She didn't like caring for mammals or reptiles very much.
> So for this to be a truly human story, we need to know more > about her. What turned her into an inhuman monster? And > how did she manage to give love even to a bird, without > learning more of life? Write that story and you'll have > something moving and beautiful.
I'll probably give it the drawer treatment -- putting it away for awhile and coming back to it later. At that point, I might expand it.
> Meanwhile, I'll await your next one with great hope--anyone > who writes as well a you do can turn out something wonderful.
That means a lot. I don't always think of myself as a writer, so it's nice to hear.
Thank you, Carter, for the feedback and suggestions. I appreciate it.
