Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
A Snake Named Moon
I glanced up and saw it.
Snake, I said to myself. That looks like a snake.
I got up out of my porch rocking chair and went closer.
That is a snake.
I stopped moving closer.
The snake lay on an overhead beam. It was long and slender.It was doubled back over its body, its head pillowed on one of itsloops. The snake was so dark in color, it looked black. Thewere round, the stare unblinking -- and the round, unblinking eyes were looking at me.I had been sitting on the porch for an hour, editing one of mybooks, and for an hour this snake had been watching me.Now I don ' t like anybody watching me when I'm writing -- particularly snakes.
I can't even write when my dog's watching. My dog can lie down under the word. processor and sleep -- thats fine, but when he starts watching, I can't write. I have to say, "Want to go for a walk?" Walk and sup-per are my dog's favorite words. I can't keep saying, "Want sup-per?" or the dog would end upweighing a thousand pounds.
Here's the way I write a book.
• I start on the word processor and write as much as I can. Then I print it.
• I take what I've printed, go sit somewhere else -- like the porch -- read it say, "This is terrible," and start working on it.
• I go back to the word processor, put in the changes, and it.
• I take what I've printed, go sit somewhere else, say, "Oh, this is still terrible," and rewrite it.
• Ikeep doing this until I say, "This is not as terrible as it used to be," then, "This is getting better," and finally (hopefully), "This is not bad at all."
That's how I do my writing, no matter what kind it is -- short stories, essays, novels. And it's worked for thirty years.
So, I was on the porch saying, "This is still terrible," when I looked up and saw this snake coiled high on one of the beams.
I moved my rocking chair back a bit. If the snake dropped off the beam, it could land on my lap. Nobody wants a lapful of snake.
I settled down to watch.
The snake continued to he in its relaxed coil. It shifted position occasionally -- stretching out full length, recoiling, curving, but it never moved from the beam.
I didn'tknow much about snakes, but the color -- black -- comforting. Blacksnakes are harmless and, beneficial.They go after mice, which I had a few of and which they were welcome to.
This snake was obviously not on the prowl at the moment. It might even be digesting one of my mice.
Slowly the snake raised its head, and I saw the startling milky of the chin and throat I decided to call my husband for second opinion. Yes, it's a blacksnake," Ed confirmed.
"But the throat is white. Are you sure blacksnakes have white throats?"
"Blacksnakes don't... er... bite, do they?"
"They can."
"But their bite is never more than a scratch."
"Ah."
I was gaining confidence.
"If cornered, the blacksnake will put up a good front" he went on. "It will even shake its tail like a rattler, but it's, not a good fighter. Sometimes it becomes so frantic it bites its own body."
That was my kind of snake.
There was a pause while my husband and I admired the snake, and the snake allowed us to.
"Have you got a heavy plastic garbage bag?" my husband asked abruptly.
"Garbage bag? What do you want a garbage bag for?"
"I think I'll take the snake to the airport" Ed said. His hangar at the airport was troubled by mice.
My reaction was instant and protective. "You can't have it" I said, "It's mine.
Meeting a snake on my front porch had been a pleasant distraction, and I like distractions -- especially when I'm writing.
After a while, however, I went back inside to the word processor. The window in the room where I work faces out onto the porch, and I got up frequently to check on what was now "my snake."
The snake was always there, but its position changed every time I looked. Sometimes the snake was draped around the beam like a scarf. Sometimes the snake's tail dangled below. Sometimes the head was tucked out of sight, under the body. Whatever the position, it was graceful and pleasing to watch.
As the afternoon wore on, my snake checks became more frequent I didn't think the snake would spend the night on the porch, and I wanted to see where it went after it left I wanted to see it slither down the wisteria vine -- which was probably how it got up on the porch in the first place -- and I wanted to see where it went.
Then something happened to me. I became totally engrossed In what I was writing.
Now most of the time I plod along, writing word by word, sentence by sentence. But then sometimes, suddenly -- its like switching to a higher gear in a car -- I take off.
That's what happened now -- I took off. I wrote furiously for about an hour. It was as if an invisible, dam had burst, and my fingers on the keyboard could barely keep up with my mind.
It was six o'clock when the magical flow stopped. My thoughts immediately returned to the snake, and I jumped up and went to the window.
The snake was gone.
Of all the stupid things to do -- I had let my writing get in the way of my snake watching!.
Disappearances upset me -- a lot.
