Digging for Bones

A few days ago, I wrote a post about HDR photography.

Well... not really.

I didn't actually write a post about HDR photography.  I started one, but then I checked my email, my messages, surfed Facebook for a few minutes (30 is a few, right?) and when I was finished, I looked up at the screen and yet another post about video games was staring back at me.  I have no idea how it got there.  I mean, it was late at night and things were kind of fuzzy.  As I trudged off to bed, I thought of something that Stephen King wrote:

"I want you to understand that my basic belief about the making of stories is that they pretty much make themselves.  The job of the writer is to give them a place to grow...  Stories are found things, like fossils in the ground."
                  - Stephen King, On Writing

So I started writing about HDR photography and, in my inbox, discovered the fossil of a post about video games.  Then, this morning as I got my daily fix of social networking (sure, I'm addicted to Facebook, and maybe I'm even becoming addicted to Twitter, but there are just so damn many bones in there, waiting to be dug up) I was struck by a tweet from Chuck Wendig, pimping his latest blog post (I'm not stalking you, Chuck. Your stuff is just so damn good).  Go ahead.  Click the link.  I'll wait here.



And as usual (at least since I've been reading), he's right.  Spot on.  Hammer.  Nail.  Head.

Which reminds me...

I hit an owl with my car once.

Seriously.  I was driving down a deserted stretch of highway a few hours before dawn.  I was trying to keep my eyes open while Nick snored in the passenger seat.  It was the middle of nowhere and as far as I know, there wasn't another car for miles.

All I saw was a white blur just before the hard wet smack.  Except smack isn't really the right word.  It sounded like someone had just hit my car with a baseball.  If it had been a few inches to the right, it would've continued its happy owl life.  If it had been a few inches to the left, it would've come through the windshield.  I'm convinced that Nick would have at best spent the morning in a hospital.

As it was, there was owl residue all over the side of my car.  Have you ever tried to clean owl feathers from under your door handle?  It was a lot harder than it sounds.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch the Owl Box.