Photo: This photo makes it look as if this chicken is very confidently and competently about to leave their coop and strut down the little chickie-stairs to the food that’s waiting for them at the bottom. But that’s not what happened. What happened was a literal score of minutes when the flock wouldn’t dare leave.

On Sunday night, the flock left the basement. After many destroyed chewy.com boxes (read: the brooder) thanks to water and poop and general smelliness, it was time for them to go. There was a bit of a rush because my husband had to do some traveling and rather than change the freaking box for the umpteenth time (which, to his credit, is a herculean endeavor), he decided to basically work himself to exhaustion to finish the damn coop. He did accomplish the task (with help from me and our boys), so I’m not mad at him. I will say, though, it was done at literal sunset on Sunday and then he flew out first thing on Monday morning. Monday morning was our first time tending to our flock outside in their new home.

I started writing this post on Wednesday afternoon, having spent the two days chuckling about how that coop and my novel manuscript are essentially the same thing. I’m finishing it here on Friday morning after more evolution of our relationship with the coop. I’m pleased that lack of focus made for delay–the post will be better for it!

I should probably start out by saying that, unlike with the chickens, the novel I’m currently writing is not my first novel. I wrote a little middle grade novel with my sister that I’m proud of, even if it didn’t go much of anywhere. I also wrote a little romanceish novel, which I self-published and then took down and think often of self-publishing again. The novel that I’m working on right now is my first very serious attempt at being taken seriously. I’m writing with the intention of querying. I am getting developmental editorial help and coaching from a good friend. I’ve set ambitious goals. It scares me and delights me at the same time.

It’s still a fucking mess. An absolutely terrible mess.

Just like the coop.

“It’s a first draft coop. We get to really figure it out from here.”–Me, to my eldest child, as we were coaxing birds back into the coop on Monday afternoon.

So… my husband and I designed the Coop after watching entirely too many hours of Chicken YouTube this winter. Chicken folk on YouTube have a lot to say about coop design and have made countless hours of video talking about coops they love, coops they hate, and intricate details that they also love and hate. Super-smart people that we are (plus husband being an engineer), we custom-designed our coop based on all of the advice we gathered online. Biggest things: make sure the coop is tall enough to walk into, make sure the coop part and the run can be separated by chambers, give the chickens some shade for hot days, make a good floor for “deep” bedding method, and make sure that you have nests that give the eggs a little escape route, otherwise the chickens might eat them. Also, plant stuff in the run so the chickens have little snacks and stuff constantly growing forever.

The result was a very cool mockup created in SolidWorks, which I hope I can post some other time and then manifested into this:

I want to draw your attention to that shady area under the sleepy coop area. Notice: we were geniuses for making this a walk-in coop. But you know what’s hilarious? When it’s time to put chickies to bed and they don’t wanna go, do you know where they run to? Mmmmhmmm… right under there. If you’re reading this and you’re over the age of, say, 35, your back hurts just looking at that space. It took me and my eldest child 15 minutes and a broom to get everyone back in the coop the first night! Augh!

But you know what happened by Thursday night? It took me, just me, (still with a broom!) only about 5 minutes–with my ducks being the holdouts. The chickens see my coming and they know what’s up and start going up the ramp.

You know what happened this Friday morning, though? The chickens (not the ducks) woke up on their own and had the audacity to push their way out of the coop door and into the run before I got to it! My eldest child was like “the chickens are out of the coop!” and I panicked!

Anyway, anyway… the feed is in the basement (we need a can or a shed or something for outdoor storage. Least we can do it bring it into the garage for now…? And the water is in the house (the hose will reach, but we need to cut the grass, so I haven’t taken it down there). And we need more primer and need to paint. And the doors are wonky and need to be redone. And we need another door on the coop for better access to parts of it and…

“When do we start on draft two?” My teen asked me.

Cue transition to writing.

I’ve been working on my novel for about 6 months now. It’s taking much longer than I thought it would, but it’s got good bones and I’m enjoying the creative act. When I finish a scene or a chapter and look back at it later, all I can see is the photo above: the raw wood, the primer only going but so far down, the places where plan and execution didn’t quite line up… My Scrivener file for my manuscript is full of little notes on the side for me to remember when it’s time for the next draft–the places where I need to slow down and let things breathe, or add more detail key to understanding future events, imagery I want to make sure makes it in… And sometimes, when I’m going back before going forward, I get excited/impatient for that “when do we start on draft two?”

Building this tajmahcoop, a concept designed in January and now standing and occupied at the end of May, reminds me how much the first draft matters and even how to enjoy the messy, ridiculous process of this first draft (which is usually my least favorite part). The coop is teaching me that a first draft can even be sturdy enough to live in, even if it’s ugly and even if it isn’t ideally functional. The flock has lived in it for a week and all is well. My characters are still offering me inspiration and opportunity, so all is well.

Hilariously, for all this fuss and all this fret and all these weekends of building, not to mention the planting of a garden dedicated to feeding the chickens fresh veggies and grains (peas! oats! corn! sunflowers!), there will be no eggs coming out of any of these birds until August at the absolute earliest. August! Augh!

And yeah, that parallels writing, too, because I thought I might have a first draft done before Clarion West starts. I was gonna seriously try to push and fry myself to get it done. And… yeah that’s not gonna happen. Depending on how things go, that could be September, or December or… I don’t even know when.

But just like that first yolky egg over some home baked bread and some local amazing bacon, that completed first draft will be utterly satisfying… whenever I have it. And I really look forward to that.

So, uhm… Anyway, this is all really to say: get chickens, maybe? Or just… do something stupid and messy. There is joy there, I promise. And write a novel, if you haven’t already. It’s really fucking hard. But it’s glorious. I love it. I’m having a great time.

Quick announcement: I’m teaching a 4-week speculative fiction class for StoryStudio Chicago this August. Come see me fresh off of Clarion West! I’ll likely be a little brain-foggy, but I’m excited to spend a little time teaching after learning a whole bunch. Come read some of my favorite stories and write with me!