The night I finished my first novel, as I was printing it (I could hear the printer spitting out pages in the background), I had a panic attack.
That was twenty-seven years ago, but it remains a lasting mark. Deeming a novel finished is no joke. So, this Monday, when I had sent the corrections to the galleys of a new novel, I let out a clean, prudent breath so as not to let my guard down and prevent the anguish accumulated over the years of writing from suddenly coming out.
Strangely, the snorting turned into a vibrating noise, like papers above me. For a moment, the printer flashed into my head. I looked up and saw a verdum flapping its wings, colliding with the ceiling and the books above it. The roof of a Roman palace.
Among the books that the bird flew over, wasThe Raven, by Poe, andThe planets of verdum, by Carner. This latest book explains that in the Virreina there was a "curious individual" with a caged verdum. "Go anywhere and read."
In my case, I thought, the verdum would choose not one page but an entire book. Finding no way out, it stopped on top ofAnna Karenina Which, for whatever reason, I have somewhere high up, like a petrified bird on the highest branch. Then the verdum flew and landed on the books I'd written, also placed high up, because I rarely touch them.
This summer I'm commissioned to write a few pages about Karenina. I'm also about to publish a novel. There were plenty of books to choose from.
I trust the visit was a good omen. "Augury" comes from the word "avian," and it couldn't be more flattering to see a bird enter your home, settle down among your books, and regain its freedom.
