“Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time,
was trying to get a report written on birds that he'd had three months
to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in
Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by
binder paper and pencils and unopened books about birds, immobilized by
the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him put
his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, "Bird by bird, buddy.
Just take it bird by bird.”
Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
is about over and I still haven't gotten what I needed to do done.
Feeling a bit overwhelmed, I have no words at the moment. I think the sun
ate my words and spat them out over the ocean. Maybe they will come
back riding on the next high tide. Or return to me, bird by little clay bird. In the meanwhile,here's another very short video.