What do alligators write about?

These guys look over my left shoulder as I'm writing. Sometimes they offer suggestions, which are not very helpful because they speak alligator and bird, respectively. You'd think, given the language barrier, that they would refrain from making comments on my stories, but that's how it is. I tell them they should write their own damn books and I'm not sure but I think they reply that if I would buy them tiny computers they would be happy to oblige. I wonder what they would write about. Rain and acorns, apparently. Love, loneliness, alienation. The taste of river water, and how bossy snapping turtles are, and what it's like to fly for the first time. And life in the bird orphanage, maybe. Eggshells, the crack of a hunting rifle, lightning striking a mangrove tree, death, the underworld, the dentist, trying to master the freaking yo-yo, braiding a lover's hair, cutting a child's fingernails for the first time. Loss. Sharing an umbrella. Forgetting the words to a song your mother sang you when you were a wee reptile baby in a river the color of moss. Migration. Being overtaken by terrifying huge pelicans in the sky. Acorns. Sandwiches. Snow. The same things we write about. Or would they? Maybe they would just write about the polka dots on the ceiling and then take a nap.

Today I had a wonderfully long phone conversation with a kindred spirit about writing. I also found out from the vet that Shiloh's bloodwork was normal, which is a relief. I glazed tiny cupcakes with orange-scented icing, then sprinkled the tiniest amount of cardamom on them and finished with a sliver of candied orange peel. Had vegetarian corndogs for dinner, read a murder mystery, listened to a Joss Whedon interview on the computer (love love love), and dipped different tiny cupcakes in white chocolate then topped with toasted coconut. Dithered around wondering what to do next. Made edamame. Didn't write. Why didn't I write? I want to be one of those writers who says in interviews that they write every single day of their lives, even Christmas. Maybe I should start giving myself little pieces of number jewelry celebrating how many days in a row I've written, like the day and month tokens in an AA meeting. And then when I ruin it and skip a day I have to start over from scratch. Ah, wouldn't work. I'd just lose count. I think I'll just keep on as usual.