I’m finally working on a new book and thought I’d found the perfect place to write—at the beach on a long, lonely pier. As far as I could see in either direction was nothing but sand and water, well, with the exception of three dolphins fishing for lunch in the water beneath me. Ah, yes, the perfect spot for writing.
A glorious spot to set out the old laptop. The ocean waves were mesmerizing. The sun was warm. Salt water splashed onto the sand, leaving behind soft, sizzling foam. Nope, there was nothing to distract me. Nothing could come between me and my characters. Well, nothing but a lone crow that wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The critter wanted more than to read over my shoulder. It wanted food and I’d come empty-handed. So, as punishment, the bird summoned a few friends to be sure that not one word would ever leave my fingertips.
First one, then two. Then came another and another. Different sizes. Different colors. Didn’t matter. They just came. Whizzing by my head. Darting between my feet. Hopping onto the bench and railing beside me.
Flying overhead, dropping little “Go away!”messages.
And if one left, two took its place.
Soon it was 1963 all over again. Birds of different feathers had begun to flock together. And they were everywhere!
The noise was deafening. Squawks and caws. Incessant chattering. Wings beating like parade drums. Screeching and screeching. Eardrum-piercing screeching! Closer and closer they came. No fear.
Beaks like sharpened spears, aimed at my thumping heart.
They marched and came at me like tireless zombies. They were terrifying.
I expected to look over the railing and see Alfred Hitchcock, or Poe, strolling along the beach.
Wait, did that bird over there just say, “Nevermore?” Was this how it was to end?
I’m not sure about the end being near, but this bird was definitely laughing when I finally surrendered and grabbed my things to leave. After all, they’d only allowed me to sleep for ten short minutes. But what a dream…