Otherways- Fiction Fanatics

Normal people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about eggs. You go to the store, complain about the price, check them for cracks, and then just shove those buggers in the back of the fridge for the next time you get a wild hair to make cupcakes. I was normal, once.

Then I discovered that I really like breeding animals, and showing them. Goats, horses, rabbits, and poultry are what we show, though it is just the poultry that make eggs such a big deal to me. The breed I focus on is called a Self-Blue Bantam Old English, which is a very long name for a very small, fancy, blue bird. As one might expect, birds, even show birds, come from eggs. What you might not realize is how much trouble it is to get a show quality bird out of an egg.

If I want a show quality goat, I start with two show quality goats of opposite genders and appropriate ages, feed them really well, and stick them in the same space at the opportune moment. Then you just feed them really well for five months, keep them healthy, and see what happens.

Birds are strange. Yes, you still need two very well fed, high quality birds of opposite genders and the appropriate age. That’s where the resemblance ends. Not only can things like snakes slither in and eat the eggs before you even have a chance to gather them, the hen can decide that she simply doesn’t like the rooster she’s with, and eject his sperm. She’ll still lay the egg, but it without his contribution it can’t hatch.

Running out of water, even for a very short time, can make them stop laying altogether. Stress can cut back their egg production, and drastically reduce their fertility. Of course, eggs are also famously fragile, so even if your prize hen has successfully laid a fertile egg, you still have to get it safely in to the incubator area.

Still not that simple. Chicks will pick on birds of different ages, often actually killing the younger birds, so it is important to hatch batches of birds at the same time. That means storing the eggs, big end up, and turning them twice a day. If you wait more than ten days, very few of the eggs will hatch. Oddly, waiting less than two days also seems to adversely affect the hatch rate.

Incubation is only 21 days for chicks, but a million things can still go wrong. Temperature and humidity have a huge effect on hatching. Eggs not turned twice a day result in lower hatch rates, higher infant mortality, and increased deformities. Fungus can invade and ruin your eggs in a most vile and explosive way.

Even then, after all this work, you can’t be assured of a show stopper. Most of the birds that hatch will just be birds. Good examples of their breed, maybe, but not the amazing specimen you are hoping to produce.

Why? Because eggs are potential. Just like every other endeavor, from writing to mountain climbing, potential isn’t the same thing as actuality. If you want to achieve those goals you’ve set yourself, then you don’t shirk, not for a single day. You turn those eggs of potential, you watch them diligently, and feed them the very best way you can. Once the whole thing is out of your hands, then you have a choice.

You could, of course, wait to see what happens. I’d understand that, wanting to see how your effort pans out.

Or you could already have another batch of eggs, another set of potentials, slowly developing in the incubator, and a set behind them waiting their turn. Weird as it is, that’s what chickens taught me about writing. Each piece has potential, and you should give it everything you have, but once it is out of your hands, say waiting for a publisher to consider it, the only way to increase your chances of success is to keep writing, to develop something different, in this way, potential eventually has to become reality.

Don’t stop until it does. Hell, even then, don’t stop.

Cheers,

Michelle