One does not know their true mettle, whether their testicular fortitude is grapefruit size or chick pea, until they have stared down the gaping, sable maw of a bird flying toward one's face. It happened to me again today as I came around the corner of the house on my way to feed the dog. I ducked, ran to the front door and spent the rest of the day hunkered beneath a ginormous umbrella whenever I went outside. This is getting ridiculous. Man or beast I could handle, but there's something about a small creature with a beak and claws that sends me diving for cover and crying for mommy. I just can't get the image from Zombie 5 of a bird clawing out an eye from my mind. That's just not something I want to experience. I don't know what this bird has against me, prior to both attacks, I was minding my own business and did nothing to provoke it. Perhaps somebody needs to take some anger management classes.
In honor of this demented avian dive bomber, I watched The Birds tonight. Interesting story structure. Nothing much happens for the first hour, and there's an interesting sequence with very little dialogue, only sound the flapping of wings.
I'm up to a total of 53 pages in the novella I'm working on. I might get lucky and be able to tap out another hundred and fifty pages for something closer to novel length.
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