The new book I've started, and its inevitabilities · Posted Aug 5, 12:07 PM by Todd Babiak
This morning I was startled to discover some crap smeared on the white tile floor of the downstairs bathroom. We recently had people staying with us, but they’re unfailingly clean. Those of us who live in the house almost never use the downstairs bathroom; the two-year-old among us can’t go down both flights of stairs by herself, and “potty time” is still a major event, with declarations and pronouncements and celebrations, like a stop on the Nascar Sprint Cup series, so it surely wasn’t her. I haven’t been drinking much, lately. Never more than a couple of glasses of wine, or a dreamy glass of tequila out in the garden. And it couldn’t have been my wife, because sexy ladies don’t poop.
So it must have been that giant raven.
I’m starting a new book, in which a giant raven appears to certain people in the city of Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. Not giant so much as human-sized, which is giant for a raven. The novel is plotted out, but I’m fussing with the first chapter. Since I’m unsure of the “voice” of the book, who knows if “giant raven” will be appropriate. A more elegant phrase may be necessary.
Either way, the other morning I heard four steps in the living room. It was precisely 4:00, by the clock next to the bed. I have these Kali sticks, from my martial arts days, so I reached down for them. A resourceful Labrador retriever could break into our old house, so I keep the sticks handy. Sometimes, men walk by in the early evening, cussing to themselves. One of these days, a loon or a proper thief could get in here and I want to be ready to bust some ass. Unfortunately, I’m going blind and I never remember to keep my glasses near the bed. So if I DID have to bust ass, I’d have to run into the bathroom first, put on my glasses, and then launch my attack. By then, I will have lost the advantage of surprise.
Of course, I was too spooked and frightened to exit the bedroom. I sat up and listened for twenty minutes and I didn’t hear any more footsteps. My daughters were quiet. I knew, somehow, all my thinking about giant ravens had caused one to manifest in the living room, however briefly. The giant raven wasn’t keen to stay in our house. Nine hundred and twenty square feet, rice puffs and blueberries everywhere, no carrion. So it went downstairs, took a dump, smeared its ass on the floor, and sneaked out the back door.
It’s all so damn obvious! What I’ve done is I’ve imagined something and set it loose on the people of Western Canada. Sorry, everyone. Keep your bathroom doors closed in the night.
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Giant Raven. If that’s not the title of your novel, then I’m calling dibs on it.
— Mari Aug 8, 03:42 PM #