I vanished this week. I was at a birth, and then I was home, sleeping. It was the last birth I expect to attend, aside from any I might go to as personal favors, so it was a bittersweet experience.
There are all sorts of parallels to be drawn between birth and writing, but it feels artificial to sit down and list them. For today, let’s just leave it at one: both are incredibly complex and individual experiences, and it cheapens them to reduce them to merely mechanical events. I may have more to say about it at some future point, but not now.
I can say one other thing. I’ve been present at enough births that I could be somewhat jaded about the process. I’m not. Having a thorough understanding of the mechanics of labor in no way diminishes the “Holy Sarsaparilla!” moment of birth. (Please note that sarsaparilla is not the word that I would actually use, but I do try to be accommodating in my word choices.) Anyone looking for evidence of magic in the world, hang out at a few births, any species, and see what you find.
I’ll be back tomorrow with a story recommendation for the week.