Let the Snake In

On Thursday I was having a shitty work day. The kind where the writing feels forced and uninspired. Summer breathing down my neck. I’ve been on a good run lately (knock wood, throw salt), which can make the bad days sting even more. I got up to move around, switch the laundry, get a drink. It was already a hot day. I decided to venture the length of the driveway to bring in the trash and recycling. You’d be surprised how often this short round-trip journey to get the mail or garbage resets something in me. Knocks a word, phrase or image loose.

What transpired next happens in the span of 1-3 seconds. It will surely take me much longer to type these words and for you to read them. I opened the front door and a snake was perched on the outside doorknob. It dropped inside the house on the doormat and slithered to my right under the baseboard heating. I remained completely calm.

A different, dead snake

Ha, right. No I did not. I screamed and looked around for a stick or broom or sword or Nerf gun. When nothing appeared, I got a flashlight and searched the length of the baseboard heat for 30 minutes. Nada. Not a trace of the guy. Meanwhile, these three Mensa members slept through the entire thing in the other room:

Eventually I had to leave. I had to pick up the girls, get to the fuss of after-school activities. Several people have said, I can’t believe you left. Or why didn’t you call me? What choice did I have? Was I to stare at the baseboard heating until the snake dared make an exit? Have you come stare at it with me? I was not going to dissemble the heating cover (Jimmy did that later¹). Calling 911 obviously too melodramatic an option. I made loud noises; I went completely quiet. This sucker was not gonna bite.

We live outside. I forget this because we’ve constructed four walls and a roof, a safe illusion. But insects and critters get in all the time, a sharp reminder of boundaries as a form of theater. How flimsy these delineations can be and the control we think we have over them. A real “theme” these days, writ large.

I just want to know. That’s what I kept coming back to. I don’t care if the snake is dead or alive. If it’s scared of me or wants to crawl over my foot. I want to know where it is and what it’s doing. I want to know when we’ll find it, if we will at all. I want to know its general life plans. Give me the day and time.

But that’s everything, right? I want to know when this writing project will be done. And what will happen next. Will anyone ever read it? How many people? I want to know what people will think, what the cover will look like. I want to know what my agent will say when we have a call tomorrow. I want to see beyond the doubt, the process, the messy drafts. I want, I want, I want to know and be prepared for everything. But where’s the fun in that.

According to the Chinese lunar calendar, this is the year of the snake. I pulled this book off the shelf. “Philosopher, theologian, political wizard, wily financier - the Snake person is the deepest thinker and the enigma of the Chinese cycle. He is endowed with an inborn wisdom; he’s a mystic in his own right. Graceful and soft-spoken, he loves good books, food, music and the theater; he will gravitate naturally toward the finer things in life.”

The Handbook of Chinese Horoscopes, Theodora Lau & Laura Lau

Okay fine. Come sit by me, snake.

So I gave myself a pep talk. Shitty writing day, bad snake day. The project is its own entity, its own being. It has its own energy that is completely separate from me. Everyday I sit down to take another crack at it, talk to it and see what it has to say. I never know how it will go. Sometimes, we really get in a groove together. Other times, we get pissy and give each other the silent treatment. The magic is in the chipping away, seeing something emerge entirely outside of yourself and separate from yourself. Sometimes a snake comes in and you have to live with that uncertainty. Maybe it will leave, maybe it won’t. Maybe make friends with it, sweetie.

1. To no avail.