I love chickens, and feel a close kinship to Gonzo on the Muppets. Your chicken story is precious. My grandparents had chickens on the farm in Santa Ana where I spent my first six years. I have since, twice tried raising chickens, but failed to make a secure henhouse and, well, EVERYTHING eats chicken.
My son was going to build me a chicken house when he visited at Christmas, but we had 200 percent more rain this December than normal, and he didn’t make much progress. We had so much rain that a waterfall appeared over a rocky promontory on the mountainside across the highway, flowing for about a week, very pretty. But I have a plan B that I hope to get to this year. I can’t see paying five dollars a dozen for organic eggs when I can grow my own for chickenfeed, so to speak.
I gave my manuscript to a professional editor who is also a creative writing instructor. Two months later, just after Christmas, I got it back. Overall, she said, it lacked plot structure and tension as a novel, but needed very few changes as a memoir. So now I am working on THE MEMOIR. The “novel” was about a couple of years in the ‘60s, the two years before THE MEMOIR. The memoir is tentatively titled “BICOASTAL: A Kidnapping/Custody Battle.” I am 50,000 mostly painful words into the first draft. But I think it will serve the overall good for women in any kind of custody battle, if only as a how-not-to.
Happy Valentine’s Day. I made the butter brickle, not real pretty, but very tasty. Bought the cookies at my local farmers market and, of course, the almonds are locally grown and processed. Enjoy.