Thomas Sullivan

                                                   17  COMMENTS follow

This one’s for the birds.  Seriously.  They’ve been flopping, flitting, flying and

flapping around in my life for years, but sometimes I can’t see the forest for the trees, or in this case the feathers — white and otherwise.  As the old saying goes, there is no one blinder than he who won’t see.  Check.

So this column is about themes, and one particular theme, and how writers have to be super keen to the subtle vibes in their lives – ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.  Oh, I r keen.

I guess the bird theme in my life started with parakeets, like the one whose last flight ended in our swinging kitchen door when I was 12.  Extreme — one might even say mindless — loyalty is one of my virtues/vices, and I mourned that loss for decades (guess I still do, since I can’t seem to throw away its pathetic memorial kept in a drawer).  A recent Twitter line I posted, “Are parakeets supposed to be black?…maybe I should move the cage away from the stove,” shall go unexplained.

More recently, it was ducks.  When I moved to the shore of a lake in Minnesota, a momma duck decided to nest in a barrel planter on my upper deck.  10 eggs later, I found myself nestsitting because she turned out to be the AmyWinehouse of waterfowl, partying off God knows where all night while predators moved in on her minus-29-day-old young.  I won’t get into paternity suits for unwed fowl, but I wiled away the hours by writing it all up in an article (A BARREL OF DUCKS) and sent it off to the Minneapolis Star-Trib.  When the article proved popular, they asked for more, and so when poly-birthday arrived and the crazy hatchlings followed shameless Wild Mama over an 11-foot drop from my deck (instead of taking the stairs like I showed them), I wrote it all up again as DUCKS REDUX for the Star-Trib.  Was not surprised when I saw Wild Mama swimming around a week later with only two chicks in her wake.  No “wake” for the rest, so to speak.  Sad ending, but what can you say, except AFLAC?

I’ve missed other avian clues to this major theme in my life.  There are the Eagles, founded by one of my closest friends Glenn Frey.  And white feathers, a major symbol well documented in my columns and newsletters over the past year and more [and for those who have asked, the white feather still endures by the tree in the Golden Meadow as of May 9].  Not to mention, Woody Woodpecker drilled the top of my porch post last week, then got stuck inside at the bottom.  To be brutally honest, I might not have been so charitable as to help him out, but I figured he would have made his own doorway anyway.  And, of course, I wrote in my newsletter last June about the amazing swallow at Elm Creek, so opposite Wild Mama, who trusted me when I tried to save her eggs: http://www.thomassullivanauthor.com/newsletters/06162008.htm  

Then there are the love doves.  They seemed to show up in tandem with the white feathers.  Which is odd, because I believe the white feathers began with a rubber chicken named Charlene — Charlene the Chocolate Chewing Chicken, to be exact, who was especially fond of a confection known as Nipples of Venus and was last seen joyriding on the running board of a Ford Explorer.  Anyway, one morning shortly after the love doves showed up, I was eating oatmeal out of a sauce pan in the kitchen when a sudden compulsion to go to the dining room came over me.  I almost never enter the dining room, but I was drawn to the curtained window, and just as I reached out to pull back the sheers, there was a deafening impact on the glass.  I snatched the curtain away and met my own reflection . . . and then below on the lower deck I saw a male dove, twitching on its side.  I rushed down to the lower level, but it was too late and it died of a broken neck in my hands.  Or maybe it was a broken heart, because of course it had seen its reflection in the glass too and, thinking it was a rival, dove into it. 

A year has passed since then.  Four seasons with no love doves and no white feathers, except for the lone one I planted in the Golden Meadow.  And then I stepped out my front door one recent dawn and came nose to beak with a lone love dove sitting on a nest in the arbor vita next to my porch.  We are sharing the spring and soft conversations (she listens, I coo) while her two chicks grow big enough to make it on their own.  (Yes, that’s her in the photo at the beginning of this column.)  I don’t know what to make of this.

And now there’s the chicken-swan.  For this one you have to go to the Apron Hall of Fame.  A terrific new writing talent in Missouri talked me into sending an incriminating photo and also posted my recipe for Shrimp Sully Red.  Carole Lanham’s web site is funny and clever — well worth a look.  Had to borrow an apron from Teri Norby (mother of Norby Nation, the family that has adopted me and whose photos are in some of my past newsletters), but here are the links to the apron shot: http://horrorhomemaker.com/theapronhalloffame.htm & the recipe: http://horrorhomemaker.com/fromthekitchen.htm

Ask my long-time friends and they’ll probably tell you that squirrels are my avatar, not birds.  Well, yeah…lots of squirrel stories, alluded to in past posts by Flamingo Frank among others.  I’m really good with squirrel stories, squirrels are good, ask me about squirrels, got squirrels down swell and Aretha Franklin and psychedelic mushrooms all with squirrels, yeah, yeah, doo-dah – save for another column.

How good are you at picking up the themes and patterns in your life?  Sometimes the most obvious ones are the hardest to see.  I like to think that for a good writer anything that happens twice is a pattern.  It may or may not say anything conclusive to you, but there are associations worth exploring anytime something is repeated.  Finding meaning in things is how I put the universe together and why I need creativity.  Without that final step of thinking I am just a spectator, passive instead of passionate.  That’s like getting all your meals through an IV.  You just exist and you don’t savor the flavor.  Bon appétit!

You can follow me on Twitter now (http://twitter.com/thomassullivan ).  It’s fun and unintrusive.  I’ll also be happy to put you on the mailing list for my free newsletter, which includes photos, if you email me at: mn333mn@earthlink.net. Past newsletters are archived at the website below, photos included.  Your thoughts are welcome, your attention valued.  If you’d like to see a sample of my fiction, the opening chapter from THE WATER WOLF is on my website.  

Thomas “Sully” Sullivan
http://www.thomassullivanauthor.com/ 

http://twitter.com/thomassullivan

Thomas Sullivan

Comments

Comment by Vicki on May 15, 2009 @ 11:46 pm

Poor ducklings. If the surviving two make it through to duckhood, it’ll be no thanks to Wild Mama.

I’d never really thought about themes in life before. It is only now you mention it that I recognise the recurring motif in my life.

Frogs.

The first gift my husband gave me when we were dating was a small wooden frog, which I still have. A photo of a frog in a child’s cupped hands was the inspiration behind my first income-earning short story. I now live on a road with frog in its name. In the last six months, frogs have been regular visitors to my kitchen window.

Yes, definitely frogs.

Thank you for a most interesting and thought-provoking post, Sully.

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on May 16, 2009 @ 7:18 am

Glad to hear frogs are in vogue in the land down under (greenbacks in the outback?). They are completely fascinating. In fact, if you’ll permit a slight sachay to include a near cousin, one of my favorite literary characters is the obsessive/compulsive Mr. Toad in “Wind in the Willows.” And there is a “Frog Crossing” flagstone next to my porch and other frog stuff around the house. Good to hear from you, Vicki, and thanks for giving my humble thoughts a global “theme.”

– Sully

Comment by Janet Berliner on May 16, 2009 @ 11:31 am

Nothing short of a death certificate could make me miss one of your essays.
Bob has a client in Australia. She, too, is Vicki, or could they be one and the same?

Could it be that Cem Dance would publish all of CASE WHITE?

Here’s to drunken tree frogs. Yes. There’s a story in that.

J.

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on May 16, 2009 @ 12:13 pm

The link attached to Vicki’s name will take you to author page Vicki Tyley. Is that Bob’s client? I wonder if frogs croak with an Aussie verve down under.

Have not explored CASE WHITE, the novel, with Cemetery Dance. It’s a thought.

And thank you as always for your appreciation, Janet. Drunken tree frogs have captured my imagination for the rest of the day. Fermented berries?

– Sully

Comment by Janet Berliner on May 16, 2009 @ 4:23 pm

Yep. Same Vicki.

Tree frog: An oft-intoxicated friend in Carmel Valley talked to tree frogs. She left bits of alcohol for them on a large leaf. Perhaps the liquid dried up; perhaps not…

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on May 16, 2009 @ 6:41 pm

Beats champaigne out of a glass slipper!

Sully

Comment by Robert Jones on May 17, 2009 @ 4:27 pm

You are quite right about the most obvious themes and patterns often being the hardest to see. Since it is so easy to dismiss the obvious while consciously searching for something unique, it might be far more frequent than often the hardest to see. And your comment about there being “no one blinder than he who won’t see” is as true as that other old saying about the most costly thing that one can own being a closed mind.

Thank you for revealing yet another facet of The Sullivan by way of a tour of the personal effects of THE Sullivan by way of your relationships with birds past and present. You related it all in a visual style that embraced both sadness and humor in a just so balance. As usual, you included a lesson in the importance of focusing upon observing, writing and living and whatever one might find lurking in between.

Great stuff, mon ami.

Amalgam

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on May 17, 2009 @ 5:23 pm

You know, ever since I quoted that line about, “no one blinder than me you won’t see,” I haven’t been able to get a song that used it out of my head. Maybe if I could remember the title… It was the flip side of a hit by Bobby Bland. Aaargh! Anyway, thank you most kindly for your sentiments, Amalgam.

Sully

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on May 17, 2009 @ 11:11 pm

Well, of course, I typoed the song line in the previous post. It’s “No one blinder than he who won’t see.” Blame it on voice activation software. Thanks to anonymous in South Africa who emailed the answer, I now have the name of the song: “Share Your Love with Me,” the flip side of “After It’s too Late.”

Sully

Comment by Wayne Allen Sallee on May 24, 2009 @ 10:05 pm

Sorry, Sully. I was going to vote for your title as being most erotic of the month, but John beat you out.

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on May 25, 2009 @ 6:02 am

I knew I should have added “Do-dah” at the end, but to tell you the truth, John got my vote too. You can’t beat naked blondes (oops — sex and violence — no pun intended).

Sully

Pingback by Fiction Writing with Storytellersunplugged Thomas Sullivan | My Site on May 31, 2009 @ 8:59 pm

[...] Fiction Writing with Storytellersunplugged Thomas Sullivan Posted by root 20 minutes ago (http://www.storytellersunplugged.com) And there is a frog crossing flagstone next to my porch and other frog stuff around the house comment by thomas sullivan on may 16 2009 12 13 pm Discuss  |  Bury |  News | Fiction Writing with Storytellersunplugged Thomas Sullivan [...]

Comment by Jeanie Ransom on June 7, 2009 @ 9:37 pm

Your way with words never ceases to amaze me. I especially loved your description of you and the lone love dove “sharing the spring and soft conversations.” With two big lakes in our subdivision, ducks and geese abound — if someone could figure out what makes goose poop harden like cement, I’m sure it could be used to solve some world problem. One day, I noticed several cars stopped to watch a mallard duck who was quite visibly upset. His mate had been hit and killed by a car, and the duck would not leave her side. He seemed to either be in in shock or in denial that his loved one was gone from this world, and the depth of his anguish left a lasting impression on my own soul. And then, there are squirrels. I don’t know why I like them, especially since several of them set up house in our attic last summer, but after reading your blog entry, I’m thinking “squirrel theme” for one of my children’s books.

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on June 7, 2009 @ 10:27 pm

Squirrels are sitting ducks for children’s books. And I almost feel irreverent for the glib word play, because the mallard in denial strums something poignant for sure. I’m not big on anthropomorphizing, but animal emotions are way played down by stodgy behavioralists, seems to me. Even the existence of emotions isn’t recognized by some. Maybe you should work that duck story into an article somewhere. Thanks for weighing in, Jeanie…

– Sully

Comment by Vicki on June 14, 2009 @ 1:14 am

Ahh, yes, who could forget the inimitable Mr Toad.

Hello, Sully. Apologies for the belated reply. I’m not long home from a month in the South Australian outback. No telephone, no Internet, no computer. And no frogs. Or at least none that I came across.

Where I live is dry, though not arid as Australia’s interior. The frogs at home tend to be nocturnal, emerging in the cool of night to feed. Insects attracted by the kitchen light make for easy pickings. Fast food for amphibians: http://www.vickityley.com/frogs/

– Vicki

P.S. Hi to Janet

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on June 15, 2009 @ 11:38 pm

Australian novelist Vicki Tyley posted a second comment here along with this link, but it has been lost to cyberspace. Apparently it followed up on the first post and referenced the three photos of frogs seen here: http://www.vickityley.com/frogs/

We’ll at least see if this hyperlink stays up…

And, Vicki, if you’re reading this right after it’s posted, know that my outgoing email is jammed and I’ll reply to yours as soon as my server clears. Thanks for the link in the meantime.

Sully

Comment by Thomas Sullivan on June 16, 2009 @ 8:13 am

And there it is. Vicki’s comment mysteriously back (and just before my denying that it’s there). Sigh…

Sully