(Written January 17th, 2016) Winds howl through the overhead power lines once again. The noise makes me aware that the coyotes are unseasonably quiet this evening. Water drips, drips, drips from the taps at an irregular pace that is a bit slower than the analog clock that tick, tick, ticks away the seconds of ordered time. The inside of this cabin is a bit more quiet than the coyotes, which tells me those howling winds aren't really as desperate as they seem.
I've struggled with wanting to make a character in my sequel to Misunderstood passive, but she keeps defying my plan and is attempting to become a rather corrective force (in this case a hunter). There is a truth in her that seeks balance to an overpopulated world, at least within my imagination. Somewhere I think there is a symbiotic relationship she seeks to attain; quite unlike the real world I inhabit in my everyday life.
On nature’s clock, animals don't seem to always maintain as symbiotic a relationship to one another as I once imagined. Populations appear to react to overwhelming food supplies by overpopulating, perhaps, unselfconsciously, to ensure some will survive when food supplies run low. I fear it a sad reality that in the real world humans are just like any other animal in this way. Be fruitful and multiply only works when there is fruit to sustain the multiplying. But somewhere in some distant timeline that doesn't rely on such methods for survival, I can’t help but imagine there is a predictive balance. It is just such a balance that I think my young hunter is trying to discover.
I don't yet understand why characters of an author's creation tend to have minds of their own. I can do all the plotting and planning I want prior to writing a story, and yet there is an existence that drives these characters down paths beyond my planned intention. I can’t help but wonder if the imagination isn’t like a treasure trove of surplus food. Hmmm…I’ll have to think about that a little more as my mind drifts back from my writing and to the sounds of the cabin I reside within.
The water continues to drip from the faucets at an uncertain pace, just as the clock continues to tick away time; time that despite its regularity must be adjusted in its measure if it wants to keep pace with the natural world. I think what my hunter is seeking has nothing to do with animals, maybe what she is hunting for is the balance between the environment and food supplies, overpopulation and symbiosis, dripping water and ticking clocks, nature and machine.