So as some of you may know, I've been writing a book for the past few months. It's a novel and it's about magic and kids, and it's not Harry Potter. When I started out writing the book it was my first piece of work in any capacity insofar as writing. I hadn't so much as put out a blog post when I started the book, yet it wasn't daunting at all. It was very meditative for me. I would get up early and write, then feel somewhat settled when I started my H.A.S workday at around 8:00am each morning. The old me would have been rendered mentally impotent given the task of performing two jobs at one time, but I was determined not to let one supplant the other. I wanted to do both and so help me Martha Stewart, I knew there were enough hours in the day to do both. Especially given the fact that at the time of starting the book I was working from home. I didn't have to commute, I didn't have a boss to ask me what I was doing with my first three hours of morning consiousness, and most importantly I wanted to do both, so I declared myself a two-project woman and I got on with it.
Now to the title of this whimsical blog: My mum said to me the other day, "...I do enjoy turning a pig into a peacock." I thought about it for a while. I thought about the mental illness that, without doubt, haunts my family and I wondered if making up your own saying in an effort to remain a traditional-heathen was part of it. Then I thought about the meaning behind it: Really, what use is a peacock to anyone? I see what my wee ma meant, and in that particualr case I'm sure she does want her back garden to be more of a peacock; pretty to look at and useless unless you catch Scotland's one day of Summer any given year and manage to tan (I use the term tan loosly). I, however, need pigs.
Pigs have the cognitive ability to be quite sophisticated. Even more so than dogs, and certainly more so than human 3-year-olds. Pigs appear to have a good sense of direction and have found their way home over great distances, not to mention FREE TRUFFLES, as well as their uncanny ability to predict natural disaster. Yes, I'm definately a peacock-to-pig type of person. All of that brings me to this: When I started the book it was indeed a peacock. It served no purpose other than to amuse my 5am self with writing down my thoughts of magic and caustic kids. It still provides that service, but it's now also a functioning, breathing piece of work with a life of its own and a tough, well structured backbone.
Are you a peacock to pig person, or a pig to peacock person? It's also worth noting that my mother believes that pigs are filthy and messy, and therefore her pig predjudice was able to shine through. For the purposes of this topic we shall go with her and allow outselves to believe those poor pigs are happy in shi*t. So, which are you?
Laters, Pig Poacher Maxie.
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