Last night, I got the paw…a soft one, but nevertheless, it was a call to action. Right after that, a soft, but urgent cry followed. My boy. He needed to get out. It was well after midnight and I had to get up at 5:30 for a commitment I’d made with a friend, something I cared deeply about. But…his urgent cries continued. So, I wrapped myself in my fleece robe, leashed him up and followed as he flew out the door and down the street.

And once we’d stopped, I heard it. That loud mournful sound coming from high up in a grove of pine trees nearby. And then, moments later, I heard it again. I’ve learned never to ignore that call. Nature has plans. I’m a writer, after all, so even if this is what my dad would say, ‘All in my mind,’ I believe in intention rather than coincidence now. Why was I called to wake out of my warm bed? This is not something that ever happens to Wrigley. But, I’ll bite. I’d probably still believe in Santa and the Easter bunny if you’d let me, I write for kids. I’m that gullible. But owls? They mean something to me.

A few years ago, too many now, a certain group of owls awakened my senses to life beyond this life. That story follows here.

As a writer, I experience that call all the time. Currently, I have a voice calling in my brain. It’s not my own, in fact she (the voice) is living through an experience I’ve never had, not in this life anyway. But, she calls. And I dare not ignore her. My main character. She’s about 14 or 15 with jet black hair, punky kind of kid. With a booming voice, kind of snarky–giving off the vibe of knowing all she needs to know about life. Well, that is that teenage sensibility. I shared that commonality, but in no way was I as brash as her.

I’m about 75 pages in with about 27K words written. Lots of notes embedded in the draft as well. I am a pantser. I know, people tell me my work will come together faster if I can outline, know all the variables, be prepared with a pitch, etc. And they’re right, I know that. But right now, I’m listening to the call of this girl. I’ve got her voice, but need to spend more time with her to get to know her story.

Much like that owl calling in the night? Writing calls. Its details are  invisible to me at first.  You could say, ‘what owl?’, ‘what story’, ‘what character’? And like my dad, you could tell me it’s all in my mind. But NO. Writing, for me, comes from a world that rumbles at first, but is still unseen. Little by little though, it dribbles its way on to my page. Once I grab hold of at least some of her story, I’ll work that pitch, shape that desire, internal and external. I’ll have that conflict set. I’m almost there, I know. When I finally pull the curtain aside and see her in a real way, that’s when magic overcomes reason. And to some degree, maybe Dad was right, it was in my mind. But I prefer to think my heart plucked it out of the universe and delivered it onto a blank page just for me.

By the way, the dog–he’s better. After that we had a full night’s sleep, thank goodness!

Currently querying IVY LEIGH EVER AFTER, the story of an almost twelve year old girl whose struggles lead her to overcome her own hardships by walking in the shoes of others who often go unseen.