Singing Like a Canary
Last year, for my birthday, I got a peach-colored canary. I named him Zen. At least Zen was supposed to be a male--because only male canaries have a song. But months later, no song from Zen. He was a silent bird. This was very, very odd. I talked to the breeder and he offered to exhange Zen, assuming he was actually a she. But by then, I was used to my silent canary. I figured Zen was either a girl, or a transvestite. Given my circle of friends, and my love for all my gay pals, I thought it was rather fitting.
I have raised--and bred--all sorts of birds--finches of every sort, canaries, cockatoos, lovebirds, and conures. So, I know how to keep my birds happy. I added fresh grasses in little pots into Zen's environment, real tree branches, as well as all kinds of toys and treats. Still no song. When I moved here last summer, I tried hanging his big cage out on the porch so he could see the yard and the creek and feel the breezes. Nothing.
In winter, I kept him in my office where he would always hear me talking on the phone, where he heard music all day long. Where I could chat with him. Silence.
This past Sunday, now that any chance of frost has passed, I moved Zen back to his old spot on the porch. And? A song! Not just any song. A beautiful, lovely canary song--it's glorious. He is indeed a He and not a trannie bird, and he sings! Now, each evening, I sit outside (he sings around 5:00) and listen to him.
Which got me thinking. For many of us, we came to writing after we tried different things and other careers. Or we tried one type of writing or genre, and it didn't make us sing, but then we found our voice doing a different type of book.
For me, I had tried writing psychological suspense. It wasn't bad, but . . . then I tried comedy, and the result was Spanish Disco, which sold in a matter of weeks. Comedy is really important to me, and even my dark stuff has such quirky characters that there is humor, in the way, I suppose, some people laugh at Pulp Fiction.
So . . . anyone with a canary-like journey? How did you learn to sing?
I have raised--and bred--all sorts of birds--finches of every sort, canaries, cockatoos, lovebirds, and conures. So, I know how to keep my birds happy. I added fresh grasses in little pots into Zen's environment, real tree branches, as well as all kinds of toys and treats. Still no song. When I moved here last summer, I tried hanging his big cage out on the porch so he could see the yard and the creek and feel the breezes. Nothing.
In winter, I kept him in my office where he would always hear me talking on the phone, where he heard music all day long. Where I could chat with him. Silence.
This past Sunday, now that any chance of frost has passed, I moved Zen back to his old spot on the porch. And? A song! Not just any song. A beautiful, lovely canary song--it's glorious. He is indeed a He and not a trannie bird, and he sings! Now, each evening, I sit outside (he sings around 5:00) and listen to him.
Which got me thinking. For many of us, we came to writing after we tried different things and other careers. Or we tried one type of writing or genre, and it didn't make us sing, but then we found our voice doing a different type of book.
For me, I had tried writing psychological suspense. It wasn't bad, but . . . then I tried comedy, and the result was Spanish Disco, which sold in a matter of weeks. Comedy is really important to me, and even my dark stuff has such quirky characters that there is humor, in the way, I suppose, some people laugh at Pulp Fiction.
So . . . anyone with a canary-like journey? How did you learn to sing?
Labels: writing styles, Zen
posted by Erica Orloff at 8:09 AM
9 comments
