We found a garden slug travelling up the garage door the other day. It was a beautiful shiny black, moving so slowly I could have gone for lunch and come back by the time he moved about twelve inches. We have them here in various colours—tan, brown, spotted, as well as black. I’ve seen them crossing our gravel driveway, and wonder what benefit there can possibly be to travel at that pace across what must seem a desert of sharp stones on a smooth slimy stomach.
On the other hand, and in contrast to the slugs, we also have the Pacific chorus frog. They are so tiny, they often back into the petals of my dahlia blooms and wait there to catch flies or mosquitoes as they fly past. They are fast, I’ve only been able to catch one in all the time we’ve lived here on the west coast—or the wet coast, as we like to say. And unlike the slugs, they are loud. In February and March when the frogs emerge from the wetlands and begin to mate, it’s hard to sleep for the noise they produce.
Writing is a lot like these two little animals. Sometimes the process is so slow, it’s like watching paint dry, and about as exciting. Other times it leaps ahead so I can hardly keep up with the flow. One book will take six long months to write. Another will pop out in six weeks, and just need another two for editing. There is no predicting it.
Life happens. So when I am working on The Last War: Book Six and halfway through I have to start reading at the beginning yet again, to get a grasp of what has happened so far and what has yet to take place, I think of the slug moving slowly across the sharp gravel. And if I ever get to a point on this book where I can leap ahead to the finish, I’ll celebrate loudly like the little chorus frog.
What little animals inhabit your world?
