Editing Christmas

As I've mentioned before, I hate editing. I mean, it's like the least fun thing in the world to do. Sort of like geometry. Or, at least, geometry in my high school geometry class. I've heard that in other places it isn't as bad as that was. [Just a note: I excelled in geometry (ending the year with greater than 100% in the class (even having episodes where getting 100% on a test would bring my grade down)), but I hated it all the same.] I want everything the way I want it the first time and going back and having to pull things out and add new things in is absolutely no fun for me. And you people out there that like to write fast and dirty and fix everything in the editing...? You people are insane! I mean that.
By the way, George Lucas believes movies are made in the editing room. To him, filming is analogous to gathering your materials, but you actually build your movie in the editing room. But writing isn't a movie, and I don't like editing.

We got our Christmas tree this past weekend. The arrival of the tree each year always means jiggling things around. Of course, at the old place, it was jiggling things around in the same way every year. There was really only one place in the apartment that the tree could go, and we'd just clear that spot out for it, stick it in, and, a few weeks later, pull it back out. This year, though, is different. We don't have a place for the tree to be. Not an established place. We don't really have the house arranged the way we want it, yet. Part of the reason is because of Christmas; we knew we'd have to re-arrange anyway, so we just put furniture where it would work till we got to where we are now.

But we're here, now. Or we were a few nights ago.

The living room was still in rough draft form, but we'd kind of gotten used to it. Isn't it interesting how quickly that happens? But we had this new scene, the Christmas tree, that had to be edited in. But the tree was making the word count too high. Clearly, some things had to go. A lot of it was stuff that should have been taken out already -- extra words in the form of boxes with knick-knacks and stuff (like packing tape and tools). Some was just stuff that needed to be moved. Like the piano. We'd thought we had it where we wanted it, initially, but it was becoming more and more clear that it needed to be shifted. We just hadn't gotten to it. However, some of it was stuff I'm attached to but clearly had to go to serve the higher purpose of including the Christmas tree in the new draft of the living room. You know those bits in your writing that you really like, but they don't do anything for the story? Yeah, those... the ones you just want to leave in for your own benefit even though they detract from the aesthetic of the overall work.

Needless to say, the editing project didn't go as smoothly as my wife and I would have liked. But we got through it, and the room is sort of the way we want it. Maybe. Actually, I suspect, there will be some more tweaking. As my wife says, our furniture is fat. We've been trying to get the couch and, especially, the matching chair to lose some weight, but it hasn't been very effective so far.

And the actual decorations aren't up, yet. Just the tree. So there's still some polishing of this draft to do. Hypothetically, the decorations go up tonight.

But!
There's always a but...

Not only do we have this new scene in the living room chapter, but we have this whole new plot thread in the form of our dog. Including convincing her that she'd rather drink from her own water bowl rather than the Christmas tree stand. How's that for conflict for you? That aside, she's been weaving her way into the overall structure of the piece, and it's working out nicely.
[And just in case you've forgotten what she looks like, here's a gratuitous picture of her keeping warm:

Part of all of this is knowing your audience. I mean, if it was just me, I wouldn't decorate at all. Or have a tree. Although I like the tree and the decorations, that stuff is somewhat like eating crawfish: too much work for what you get out of it. I don't care how good it tastes. I'd just go around looking at other people's decorations, and I'd be fine with it. But I have these children, my audience, and they like all this stuff. In fact, there would be massive protests if we didn't have a tree, possibly even riots. There'd probably be an Occupy Dad movement or maybe even a coup. So, knowing my audience, I edit the room, and, this year, the front of the house, too (this will be our first time since we couldn't decorate the outside of our place at the apartment). See, the amount of editing required largely depends upon your audience.

Anyway... that was my deep thought of the weekend. I'm not really sure if there's a point other  than making the comparison, so take from it what you will.

Merry Christmas!

And good luck with your editing. I mean decorating!

Peanut Butter and Peppermint

It was a rare summer morning that my great-grandmother did not cook a huge breakfast. Often, there would be a dozen or so of us packed around the table covered with bacon, eggs, biscuits, gravy, sausage, sometimes pancakes. I formed a lifelong love of biscuits and gravy at that table. But that morning, there was no breakfast.

My cousins, Becky and Sam, and I didn't really mind, as much as we loved those breakfasts, because that meant we got to have cereal. Cereal was something of a treat down at my great-grandmother's, because there wasn't often an occasion to have it. My aunt kept it around, though, just in case. I'm sure I was having something with those fake marshmallows in it, because my mom would never buy those kinds of cereals for home. Probably Boo-berry. The adults were all gone off somewhere, so it was just the three of us.

"I wonder if cereal would be good with ketchup on it," said Sam as we were sitting down. To put this statement in context, Sam ate everything with ketchup on it. Well, everything except cereal, evidently. Ketchup on his mashed potatoes. Ketchup on his eggs. He would literally trail the ketchup over everything on his plate for things like Thanksgiving dinner. It was kind of gross.

Not that it was entirely his fault. As a baby, in order to get him to eat baby food, my aunt would mix ketchup into it, so it was a flavor he couldn't separate from the idea of food, and, at not yet 10 (he was three years older than me), he certainly didn't have the willpower on his own to try. Heck, he was still eating everything like that when he graduated from high school.

Becky gave him an immediate response, "It would be gross."

"I'm going to try it."

"No, you're not."

"Who put you in charge?"

"I'm the oldest." And, indeed, she was. By a few months.

"So. You're not the boss of me."

"That's gross. You can't put ketchup on your cereal."

Sam turned to me, "Do you want to try ketchup on your cereal?"

"No way!"

"Well, I'm going to."

Becky was getting mad, "No, you're not!"

"You can't stop me!" And Sam got up from the table to fetch the ketchup bottle from the kitchen.

"If you put ketchup on your cereal, you're going to eat it!"

"Of course, I'm going to eat it. It's going to be great!"

Sam sat down at his bowl. I stopped eating to watch him. This was before the days of squeeze bottles, so he had to wait to for the ketchup to slowly make its way to the lip of the bottle. The three of us sat there watching, waiting, until finally a blob of ketchup fell onto the cereal. He slowly circled around the bowl, making a red ring. By the time he returned from putting the ketchup away, his milk had turned pink.

Becky and I were finishing up our bowls of cereal as Sam spooned up his first bite.

"You're going to eat all of that!"

"I already said I am!" and he popped the bite of cereal into his mouth.

But he didn't swallow it. He did that thing that people do when they put something too hot in their mouths but don't want to spit the food out. Trying to hold it in their teeth so that their tongues don't get more burned. But it was cereal, and that didn't work. He couldn't get his tongue away from it. Or the pink milk he'd created.

"Swallow it," Becky commanded.

But Sam's face came down over his bowl, and the glob of cereal fell out of his mouth into his bowl.

"I told you it was going to be gross," Becky smiled. "Now, you have to eat it."

"I'm not eating that!"

"Yes, you are! You agreed!"

"I'm not eating that! It's disgusting!"

"Well, you're not leaving this table until you eat it!"

"Says who?"

"Says me!"

"You can't make me!"

Becky squinted her eyes at Sam and gave him a hard look, "Yes, I can."

And she could, too. Sam and I both knew it. There had been an... altercation... proving it not all that long before. But Sam was my idol. Not that I didn't also look up to Becky. After all, she'd beaten Sam up in my defense, but I spent the whole summer with Becky every year and saw her on holidays and other times besides. Sam, I only saw a few times a year, so he automatically went up in esteem due to the limited time I had with him. Not to mention that he was also a boy. But I was backing Becky all the way on this one.

After all, the conditions had been clearly set at the outset, and Sam had agreed to them. It was only right that he eat the cereal.

So we sat there, the three of us. A battle of wills between my cousins, and me growing more and more bored by the minute. I wasn't good at bored. But, then, what 6ish year old is?

In the end, Becky and I left Sam sitting there at the table with the admonishment not to leave until he'd eaten that cereal. Under threat of "telling." But I no longer cared; I just wanted to go play.

I'm not sure how long he sat there at the table staring at that bowl of pink milk and the soggy substance within, but he did eventually join us. That meant a trek back to the house so that Becky could verify the truth of his statement that he'd eaten the cereal. There was no sign of it, and a search couldn't turn it up. She even looked under the table. Ironically, Sam had actually hidden the bowl under the table as he told me later, but in the time it had taken Sam to find us, someone else had found the cereal and dumped it into the tray for the dogs outside.

Let me just be clear about this: the dogs would eat anything. They got all of the table scraps all the time, and they always ate everything. Including boiled okra. But they didn't eat that cereal. Much later in the day, Becky and I found it in the dog tray. Hours and hours later. Stinking in the heart of a summer day in East  Texas. Flies buzzing all around.

Sam was lucky that day. He'd had to leave for some reason that I don't remember, which is why he wasn't with us when we found the cereal. Becky would have pounded him if he had been. She wanted to remember to beat him up later, but, by the time we saw him again, she'd forgotten.


My oldest son and I were at  the grocery store recently when we were both overcome with a desire for peppermint bark. I love peppermint bark. Actually, I just love peppermint, especially with chocolate. Most mornings, I have peppermint cocoa or a peppermint mocha as my morning beverage. However, buying peppermint bark wasn't really an option as we have a fairly firm prohibition in our household about buying candy. Especially when the kids still have buckets of the stuff from Halloween and more coming at Christmas. But! The conversation about how we both wanted peppermint bark lead my son to decide that he needs to invent peppermint and peanut butter as a "thing."

I had an immediate flashback to the above story about the cereal and ketchup which I then related to my son. He was unimpressed and maintains that his idea is going to be "Epic!" "Awesome!" and, even, "Epically awesome!" I remain skeptical.

Which is not to say that I don't think he should try it. After all, I imagine that there were people who were skeptical about the first mixture of peppermint with chocolate or peanut butter with chocolate. Which is his whole rationale behind this madness. If both of those items, peppermint and peanut butter, are good with chocolate, it must be true that they will be good together. My taste buds are already recoiling at the thought. (But we don't have any peppermints in the house, at the moment, so he hasn't been able to try this atrocity. Yet.)

Still, how often do we find that things we don't think will go together actually meld quite well. Like the accidental discovery of a friend in high school that french fries are really good in vanilla ice cream (seriously, he was just playing with his food, and trying to gross everyone out at the table when that discovery was made). That became a thing with us at McDonald's after that. And I had a friend in college who loved thousand island dressing on pepperoni pizza (I couldn't get behind that one, but he loved it). Or, you know, science fiction and fantasy. Who'd a thought, you know, before it was actually done the first time.

So... even though I foresee a disaster approaching of the magnitude of "Don't leave that table until you eat every last bite of that," part of me wants it to be good. Because it's trying things that don't seem to go together that makes life interesting.

[It's Thursday again. Man, these things just keep happening, don't they? The new Tib chapter is posted up there in the Tiberius tab (or you can just click here). This one is called "The Cop." Next week will be the first appearance of the man with no eyes in the chapter that will be called "The Police Car."

Also, I only have a few copies left on hand of The House on the Corner, so, if you want a signed copy in time for Christmas, order now! I'll be ordering more copies soon, but I'm not sure if they will get here in time to be sent out before Christmas.]

The Bedroom Window

Just a reminder (because no one has glanced at it since I posted it), Tib #3 is posted up there in the Tiberius tab. Tomorrow, #4 goes up: The Cop. Next week, in part 5, the man with no eyes will be introduced. Don't miss out!

You can leave me a comment here about the current chapter if you so desire.

The Problem of People

I'm not a huge fan of people. In fact, you wouldn't be wrong if you called me a misanthrope. Don't get me wrong, I like individuals just fine. Well, at least, I can like individuals just fine, but the mass of humanity... not a fan. I don't believe in the inherent goodness of humanity or anything close to it. I think people are pretty not-good, and it's closer to the truth to say I believe that humans are inherently selfish morons. This is not to say that I don't believe that people have the capacity for good. I do. I believe that (most) people have great potential for goodness. But that's all it is. Unused (or rarely used) potential.

I'm not saying any of this to imply that I'm any better, either. I'm sure that I'm not, but, at least, I'm aware of it, which is more than you can say for most people. It's like that whole thing about wisdom beginning when you realize how much you don't know.

Yes, I have examples:

1. I was driving the kids to school yesterday morning. Driving to school is not something I'm really enjoying having to do, at the moment, although I'm sure my kids are. But the dog isn't crate trained, yet, so she has to go with us, and I haven't been able to have the work done to my bike that will allow her to ride on it with me, so we've been in the car since the dog acquisition. (I'm hoping to get that changed after the new year.) Anyway... We were running a bit later than normal (yes, it was my fault, but I'm blaming the dog :), so I was feeling rushed. However, let me just be clear: I don't speed. (There's a long story about that and being late to a final during college (NOT my fault).) We're coming up the street to where we need to make a right onto the street their school is on. The light is green, and the crosswalk had the big red hand up barring pedestrians from entering the intersection. However, I see on the sidewalk on old woman with a bundle of sticks on her back (yes, I'm totally serious) making for the intersection with no signs of stopping. She didn't look around, she didn't slow down, she didn't act as if she realized she wasn't out in the middle of the woods gathering said sticks on her back. She also didn't stop at the corner. She walked straight out into the intersection and proceeded on her way. This is the kind of behavior that can kill you (you may now refer back to the "selfish morons" comment). Let's pretend that I was driving the same way that she was walking, especially since I was in a hurry. What we would have had was a dead pedestrian, a wrecked car, injured children (and dog), and sticks all over the street. But, as it was, I gritted my teeth and mumbled something about stupid people as I came to stop at a green light so that someone could cross against their own light.

2. Some of you may have picked up on the fact that we're big Star Wars fans in this house. Some of you may also know that Star Wars was recently (I use that term loosely) released on blu-ray. This was a cause for much debate and angst in our household. On the one hand, we own way more copies of Star Wars than anyone needs. I have a very special limited edition collectors set of the movies on VHS that have a leather case, a holographic cover, a book that only came with this edition of the movies and a 4th tape that was also limited to this edition. These are quite old at this point. I also have the last release of the original trilogy on VHS before Special Edition came out along with the Special Edition release of the movies on VHS. And we have them on dvd (it was the dvd release that actually prompted our first dvd player purchase). The original trilogy and the prequels (and The Clone Wars movie and the first two seasons of the show and a bunch of spoofs and parodies (Thumb Wars, R2-D2: Beneath the Dome, Hardware Wars, etc)). As my wife put it, "we don't need another set of those movies. Which is, objectively, true. But there's supposed to be all of this special, never before released stuff on the blu-ray edition, so "I wants it, my precious." (to mix a metaphor (except not)) My kids also wanted it. Hence, debate and angst. Not to mention the complication of the 3D versions which begin coming out next year, and I know I will want to buy those, even if I can't watch them in 3D, at the moment. So... do I buy the blu-rays knowing full well that I'll be repeating that purchase in the near future when the newer versions begin coming out on blu-ray 3D?

I began doing some research into the reaction of people about the blu-ray collection. I also mentioned to a friend of mine the dilemma we were facing, and his response was, "Oh, we pre-ordered them. You can borrow them when we get them." This was awesome. So we're in the midst of "borrowing," right now. But I was still doing research.

When the blu-ray collection came out, people began to immediately complain about Lucas tinkering with the movies again and all of these scenes that got added back in and how they all sucked and how Lucas has just continued to ruin everyone's childhood by messing up a good thing. There were even references to specific scenes in some of the reviews and how they sucked and made the movies suck. Because the implication of every review that I read was that all of these scenes had been edited back into the movies.

IT'S ALL HOGWASH!!!

The collection is 9 discs (which could  have been reduced to 7, thus reducing the price by $20): 1-6 are each of the movies, 7 is special features (including deleted scenes) for the prequels, 8 is special features (including deleted scenes for the originals), and 9 is documentaries and featurettes. There are no new scenes in the movies themselves. The only tinkering is with the sound in a few places, the removal of the scream as Luke falls down the shaft in Empire (which was the only thing added in the Special Edition that I really couldn't stand, so I'm glad they took that back out), some bits of dialogue between holo-Emperor and Vader in Empire (which is the only thing that's a significant change), and a cleaning up of the blaster exchange between Greedo and Han so that it's less clear who shot first (that change having already been made, this new version is better than the first). None of the deleted scenes are added into the movies. They're on completely different discs. In fact, they are no different than deleted scenes from every other movie, and it's just stupid to get all upset that Lucas is letting us see them. Personally, I find it interesting to look at what was cut from a movie, especially if there's an explanation as to why it was cut. (And some of those scenes I've been waiting since I was 7 to see, so I think it's awesome that Lucas finally put them where we can see them if we want to do that. There's nothing to force anyone to put that other disc in or to watch the deleted scenes if you think it will shatter your delusions.)

In the end, the uproar over the deleted scenes is another example of the stupidity of people.

And, although I'd really love to own the blu-ray edition (mostly because of the Luke/Biggs scenes that are FINALLY included in the deleted scenes), I've decided to save my $90 and wait for the 3D releases.

3. Have you seen the news about the post office? In an effort to become more competitive in these troubled economic times, they will be lowering the quality of their service. Not that it will become cheaper.

It's no secret that the post office has been struggling due to loss of business to the internet. Why send a letter when you can send an email. It's both faster and cheaper. Physical letters are on the verge of extinction. Even cards are becoming endangered. Starting next year, in an effort to save money, the post office will be doing away with 1st class, next day delivery. Even if it means holding the mail because it's within the same city. In fact, they're kind of saying that delivery times will be sporadic and unpredictable. This whole move strikes me as something more along the lines of punishing us for not sending enough mail. A move of smite.

See, the smart thing to do here would be to figure out how to become more competitive. But of the three main shippers in the US: USPS, UPS, and FedEx; USPS is the worst. They cost more and offer less already for any kind of service that allows you to track your package. And for anything of any real weight, they cost quite a bit more than UPS, and UPS offers FREE insurance. However, instead of looking at ways that they could, you know, become viable, they decide to stick their tongues out at us and take their ball and go home.

It's a good example of the power of the dark side. Reacting in fear is quicker, easier, and this shows every sign of a fear reaction, which is the general way that people react to these types of situations. I'm not going to start making a list of historical examples of people reacting out of fear due to economic upheaval, but, if you want to do the research, you should quickly find enough on your own.

4. Which brings us to the publishing industry. I only mention them specifically, because their way of reacting in fear to the decline in traditional publishing affects many of you guys out there. They're being the same as the post office in many ways. People are buying less books, so, instead of figuring out how to be competitive, they hike prices and squeeze their authors. This, of course, prompts people to buy less books and the authors to start looking for alternatives.

Fear is the path to the dark side, people! Go back and watch Star Wars again!

>sigh<

I could go on with this stuff all day, I'm sure. As you can see, I'm not overly impressed with people.

Let's just call this post practice for Grumpy Bulldog's upcoming BlahgFest

You know, in the spirit of the holidays.

Merry Bah! Humbug!

She sits and waits...

[Before I get into the post, I want to remind you that it's Thursday. Oh, you already knew that? Well, being Thursday, it's the day I update the Tiberius tab with the next installment of his story. No, I didn't update it last week, so, yes, technically, I'm a week behind. It's going to stay that way. Tib is not my only writing project, so you'll just have to deal. Also, I'd love more feedback about Tib. You can leave it, well, anywhere, really. Except on the Tib page. Because I haven't figured out how to allow comments on the non-post pages, yet. I'll get around to it. Figuring out how to get the PayPal button up for signed copies of The House on the Corner used up all of my allotment for fiddling with tech stuff for... well, a couple or few weeks, at least. Speaking of signed copies, The House on the Corner would make a great Christmas gift, so order your signed copy now! (while I still have them on hand)]

I promise this isn't going to become a blog all about dogs. I did manage to make it more than a month before devoting an entire post to her, after all. But I did have a thought, a particular thought, about the dog when I came out of the bathroom the other day. In fact, it was what the last post was supposed to be about, but I got all caught up in the story of getting the dog and figured 2000 words was enough for one post. Before I go on, how about another look at her?

Dogs have a pretty uncanny ability at figuring people out. They are the only non-primate animal (maybe the only animal, but I'm sure about the non-primate part) that scan faces in the same way that humans do. It allows them to have great empathy for human emotion and is what has made them such a great companion for humanity for the last 15,000 years.
It also allows them to quickly discern their alpha.

Before we had even left the shelter with Tessa, she had already determined that I was her alpha. I'm pretty sure she decided that she was going home with us before I decided it. She just knew. Being the alpha for a dog can be a lot of responsibility, and other people can't always fill in. Some breeds, like Chows, can be very hostile to anyone other than their alpha. Fortunately, Tessa isn't one of those obsessively clingy, needy dogs that has to be attached to its alpha 24/7.

We picked Tessa up the weekend before my kids went on fall break, which was nice, because they had a full week with her right off the bat. It gave Tessa a chance to get acclimated to "her people." Still, the first time I had to go off and leave her with them, she freaked my kids out. I just had to make a quick trip to the store to pick something up. I was gone, maybe, 20 minutes, but she sat at the front door and, according to my kids, howled and moaned the whole time I was gone. She was so happy to see me when I got back that I believe them. The dog did have to learn that it's not going to be abandoned, and, I'm sure, that's worse for a shelter dog that has already been abandoned and had all sorts of strange people dealing with it for months. I can't really imagine the kind of panic the dog must have been going through when I went off without her.

She has learned that I'm coming back, and I can leave the house, now, without having to worry about her crying and howling the whole time I'm gone. But that first week was rough. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without her whimpering at the door the entire time I was in there. It was kind of like having an infant again. Just a furry, mobile one.

The other thing with being the alpha is that her attention tends to always shift to me. For instance, if one of the kids is playing with her and I walk by, she runs over to me to see if I will play with her instead. I have to be careful, because I want the kids to have a good relationship with the dog, so I don't want to pull her away from them. As I've said, though, she's smart, and she's learned that my daughter is, in many ways, her personal playmate. If anyone is playing with the dog, my daughter cannot keep herself out of it. She's the only other person in the house besides me that's willing to play rough with the dog, too. My younger son is her cuddle monster. If she wants loves, she goes to him. He's also good for catch, but not as good as she'd like for tug and wrestling, so that's my daughter. The oldest is really only good for the occasional pat on the head. He's a teenager; what can I say?

But to get to the point...
The other day I was coming out of the bathroom, and there she was on the floor in front of the door waiting for me (That's much more likely to happen during  the day when it's just me and the dog here at home). It occurred to me that people are just like that. Sitting and waiting. All the time. For something. For someone. For anything, really. We make our lives dependent on some other alpha.

Sometimes, that alpha is a person. We wrap ourselves up and become dependent on them for, well, everything. We don't have to make decisions that way, and we don't have to be responsible that way, and, let's face it, life's just a lot easier if you leave things to someone else to take care of. Honestly, I think most people live their lives like this.

Sometimes, it's a job. That's slightly better than when it's a person, but not by much.

Sometimes, it's... well, we don't know what it is. We're just waiting for it, and we don't know what it is. Maybe, that's really the lack of an alpha. A person that wants or needs one, some one or some thing to give him direction, so he just drifts along waiting for it to happen.

And authors suffer from this problem as much as anyone, maybe more. We make our writing dependent on "inspiration." That was the specific thought that struck me when I saw my dog waiting for me outside of the bathroom. That I was her muse, and she was waiting for me to lay some inspiration on her. I do have to say that it makes the whole being a writer thing a lot easier. When you can blame your lack of productivity on a lack of inspiration. "Hey, it's not my fault. I'm waiting for inspiration."

Now, I'm not knocking inspiration. It's great to write when you're feeling inspired. I am knocking sitting around and waiting for inspiration to happen, though. And I've lost count of the number of blogs I've seen with the author complaining about not being able to write because she (and I'm saying "she" because I haven't seen this on any of the blogs of male authors that I follow (I don't know why that is, but I'd like to know)) "hasn't been inspired lately." Look, no responsibility!

Here's what I've found interesting. When I'm home working during the day, the dog lays around most of the time waiting for some attention. Waiting for her inspiration to strike, so to speak. When she's just laying around, I tend to not notice her. Meaning, I'm busy writing, and I leave her to lay there. I do have other things to do besides play tug with her all day, after all. However, sometimes, she'll get up, go get her ball, and start tossing it around. It's very cute, and, guess what, I notice her. When she decides to stop laying there waiting for me and to take some initiative, it draws my attention, and, usually, I'll go over and play with her for a bit. Even when I'm busy. Because I just can't help it.

That's how inspiration works. It doesn't come to us when we're just waiting. Why would it? It would have to come over and slap us around to get our attention. Inspiration doesn't want to do that. Inspiration wants to see us working on something. When we are, it says "ah-ha!" and wants to get involved and comes over to play with us and, pretty soon, we're typing away with inspiration sitting on our shoulders egging us on. And, you know, if inspiration doesn't come along, we often come out with good stuff anyway, because we're capable of writing some pretty cool stuff all on our own. But none of that happens when we're just waiting for it.

Put yourself in inspiration's shoes. Who are you going to pick: the guy just laying there or the guy trying to make something happen?

To approach it more objectively, though, most of the time, it really takes writing to be able to write. What? I was having a conversation with someone recently, and he was saying how he'd really like to write someday. He's someone that just discovered I've written a book and was all excited to know a "real" author. Long conversation ensued. I've actually had several of these conversations with people at this point, people that think that one day, some day, they'd like to write. But they're waiting for something. And they don't really know what it is they're waiting for. Except that what it is that they're waiting for is for someone else to come in and show they how to do it or what to do or... whatever. They're waiting for that nudge to get them going.

That thing, that whatever it is, is different for each person, but it's always something that comes from inside that person. That moment when they figure out that they have to quit waiting. And, as I said, it's not just writing, it's everything. It's life. So, quit waiting for life to happen to you and make it happen. Get up and do something. Write something. Be something. Take the ball in your mouth and start tossing it around. It's cute, just ask my dog; someone will notice and want to join in.

This is not the dog you are looking for...

About a month ago, we got a dog. This is very significant. Which is not to say that it shouldn't be significant, but it is especially significant for us, because being able to get a dog factored heavily into the reason that we moved. We had dogs way back before my younger two kids are really able to remember them, but we weren't able to bring them to live with us when we had to move to the apartment. My daughter was only about six months old at the time, and my younger son was almost two. He has one memory of our old black lab that he clings to. A memory of the dog in the backyard going to the bathroom. I suppose that's what a not-yet-two-year-old would focus on. heh

The apartment didn't allow dogs. Of any kind. Not that that stopped people. It was very frustrating. Especially to my younger son. "Why can't we have a dog?" "They're not allowed." "But so-and-so has a dog." "Well, they're still not allowed. Just because they're breaking the rules doesn't make it okay."

The thing that made it really frustrating was that the apartment administration would never do anything about these other dogs. Not unless they actually caught the perp with the dog in the apartment. Of course, they couldn't just walk in unannounced. I imagine dog reports went something like this:
1st report:
>phone rings<
"Hello."
"We've had reports that you have a dog."
"No, we don't have a dog"
"Okay, well, make sure you don't. They're against the rules."
"Okay."

2nd report:
>phone rings<
"Hello."
"We've had another report that you have a dog."
"No, no dog here."
"Do you mind if we come check?"
"No, no problem. You can come check."
"Okay, we'll send someone down."
"Oh, you can't come check, right now. Come check tomorrow."
"Oh, okay. Someone will be by between 9am and 10am, then."
"Okay."
The next day. >knock on the door<
"Hello."
"We're here to check on the dog."
"There's no dog here."
"Can we look around?"
"Sure."
>admin looks around<
"Okay, I don't see a dog. There is a bowl of water on the floor, though. What's that for?"
"Oh, my kid likes to pretend he's a dog. He was drinking out of that before school this morning."
"Okay, then. Just make sure you don't get a dog. They're against the rules."
"Okay."

In our eight years of living at the apartment, I only know of one dog owner who actually got caught with a dog in their apartment. I only know of this, because it was the people that lived above us. They were stupid. No, really, they were. It was a group of female college students. Which meant their boyfriends, too. They would sit around on their balcony smoking pot, and the smoke would waft in through our patio door. It was upsetting to my kids. They were more than a little upset when I told them if they didn't stop doing it, I would call the police. Personally, I didn't care if they smoked, but they needed to do it somewhere where it didn't impact my kids.
Anyway... at some point, they got a dog. And not a small dog like most of the people in the complex would get. See, cats were allowed but not dogs (I say it's discrimination). Generally speaking, the people that would get dogs would get something the size of a cat. I suppose they felt like the dog was kind of disguised that way: "No, really, see how small it is? It's a cat." "But it barks." "Oh, it's a really smart cat. We taught it that." These girls, though, got a big dog. Some kind of lab mix. And he trampled all over our ceiling all the time.

But I'm not really a snitch, so I didn't report them.

But there came a time when one of the girls overflowed their toilet. I know she did, because it came through our ceiling. Disgusting, right? So I went up to find out what was going on, because you don't really want water coming through your ceiling, especially when it's someone else's toilet water. The girl was freaking out and had no idea what to do. This is part of my support for the stupid comment. How can you be in college and not know what to do about a clogged toilet. One clue: continuing to flush it isn't going to help. She called maintenance. This is also part of  my support for the stupid comment. The dog was in the apartment. Her boyfriend happened to arrive as I was talking to her, and she told him that she'd called maintenance. He wasn't so dumb. He freaked out and made a mad dash to get the dog out of the apartment. He was too late. Maintenance arrived just as he was trying to get the dog out the door. The dog did go out the door, and it never came back.

This post isn't really about any of that, but I find it amusing, so I thought I'd share.

The short of it is that my younger son, especially, desperately wanted a dog. It made us sad that he couldn't have one, and it made us more sad that he would get so upset about the other dogs around the complex that shouldn't have been there. It was a huge motivator for us to find a place where we could have a dog.
Ironically, when we put in our 30-day notice at the complex, they told me that they had finally caved about the dogs and would be allowing dogs under a certain weight limit (which I forget, but it seems was like 40lbs, which is pretty big) starting one week after we put our notice in.
heh

We moved.

Our search for a dog began.

Actually, our talk about getting a dog began. There was a lot of discussion about what kind of dog would be appropriate for the family. My wife didn't want another big dog. Our black lab had been great (really, he was great. He was one of the sweetest dogs I've ever known (and I've know a lot), and incredibly smart. Plus, he had a huge amount of tolerance for the abuse our oldest son heaped on him when the oldest son was young, so that went a long way), but she wanted a dog that would fit in her lap if she felt like she wanted a dog in her lap. I wanted something with short hair, because Corby (the lab) made enough hair to make brand new dogs out of on a regular basis. We also needed something playful but not hyper. We settled on a corgi.

I love corgis. They're about the happiest looking dogs I know of, are good with kids, and are just cute. So we started looking for one.
The humane society's website said they had a corgi available, so we planned to go take a look at it. You have to plan when you get a shelter dog, though, so this was to be strictly a "looking" trip. It was our first outing, after all, and I made it plain to the kids that we were not planning on coming home with a dog unless the corgi was just perfect or magic happened. We needed to spend some time looking around in order to make sure we got just the right dog.

I had one other stipulation: no chihuahuas. I can't stand the things. The bug eyes. The way they shiver and shake all the time. Nude rats. And one of my good friends from college and I had a working hypothesis for why they have bug eyes and are scared of everything. His dad was a doctor in Houston and was involved in a situation with a chihuahua removal in the emergency room once, and I'll just leave it at that. That's the origin of the hypothesis, though.

We got down to the shelter to discover that the "corgi" was actually a corgi/chihuahua mix, but I was willing to look at it, because it was half corgi (the website didn't list that it was half chihuahua (bait and switch, anyone?). And let me just say that about 85% of the dogs there were chihuahuas or chihuahua mixes, so things weren't looking good. We finally got to the room with the "corgi" to find that it was being held. This doesn't mean the dog was actually taken, but that someone was interested and in the middle of making a decision about the dog. It also means that no one else can look at that particular dog. >sigh<

I was ready to leave.

However, next to the "corgi" was an exceptionally cute little chihuahua mix. My kids adored her. I made them look at all the other dogs first, anyway. Remember, I wasn't getting a chihuahua. And there was the cutest little boxer puppy. 10 weeks old, floppy ears, sad eyes. Adorable! But he was a boxer, which was much bigger than we wanted. Not that I didn't spend a lot of time pining over him.

But!
Everything kept coming back to the little dog next to the "corgi."
[At this point, I would like to make it point to say that this little dog was a chihuahua mixed with a German Shepherd. Yes, we all pray that the mother was the Shepherd. The alternative is too painful to think about.]
My kids, all of my kids, had settled around her. It's pretty extraordinary when all of my kids agree on something, so I caved, and I let them take her out for an introduction. Just to look! I reminded them that we were NOT getting a chihuahua.

But she didn't look like a chihuahua. She looked like a tiny German Shepherd. But with floppy ears. Even I couldn't deny that she was cute. Really cute. I caved more because the dog was so cute rather than because of the whining of my kids.

The dog did the rest.

Dogs have a way of knowing who the alpha is. Or, at least, who is the person that will be making the decision. She put on quite an act and centered on me. The kids loved her. The trainer couldn't rein her back in, but she'd come to me. I was still trying to protest "no chihuahuas!" My wife said two things to me. Okay, well, she said more than two, but she said two things that really mattered: "Look at her," and "Remember, it doesn't have to be the "perfect" dog, just the dog that's perfect for us."

I caved.

We came home with a dog. And that dog was a chihuahua. Well, half chihuahua. Since then, I've decided that chihuahuas are the universal solvent of the dog world. Want a German Shepherd, but they're too big? Mix it with a chihuahua. Seriously. Go online and look at mixed chihuahua breeds. It's amazing.

And, because I know you want to know, here's Tessa:

She's an incredible dog. Everything we hoped for and more. Incredibly smart to boot. She knew nothing when we brought her home except, kind of, that she needed to go "out" to go potty. Which was nice, because I hate potty training. She's learned more in a month than any dog I've had before ever learned. Well, that's not precisely true, but it is pretty close. She knew her name by the second day, and I'm pretty sure that one of the dogs I've had over the years never learned her name. Needless to say, we're very happy.

Especially my son. It's like a dream come true for him. I caught him on the couch cuddling with her a few days after we got her saying, "I can't believe we have a dog," over and over to himself.

But, now, to the point, because, yes, there has to be a point.

I don't believe in "settling." And I didn't "settle" for this dog. There can be a fine line, though, between settling and being open to things you weren't looking for. I went into the whole dog thing with a particular idea in my head about what we were going to come out with on the other side. We had familial agreement on that idea (even if it was only grudging on the part of my daughter (she likes chihuahuas (for reasons I cannot fathom)). However, some of the specific parts of that plan were not as important as others. I tend to lock myself into ideas. Things need to be this way or that way, or they just don't work. My wife reminded me of what was important, "Look at her." So I opened my eyes and looked at the dog, and I looked at my kids, and I knew Tessa was the right dog for us. I knew it, and I was right.

She may not be the "perfect" dog. She's certainly not a corgi. But she's perfect for us. We couldn't have gotten a better dog.

Anyway, we all need people in our lives that help us to open our eyes and look. People who will help us to not stay trapped in our little boxes of ideas about how things "ought to be" or "should be." People who help us to look at the possibilities where we're not ready to see them. Even in our writing. Maybe, especially in our writing. I mean, my story was about a corgi, but I could have missed the even better one about this feisty little German Shepherd if I didn't have that voice to tell me "look at her."

A Blog of Thanks

Before I get into the turkey of this post, I want to point out that I have a new link on The House on the Corner sidebar blurb. Of course, that link just goes to my The House on the Corner tab, but that's okay. Once you're on that page, there is the ability to directly purchase a signed copy of The House on the Corner. At least, I'm assuming that ability is there. I haven't actually tested it, but PayPal says it should work, and I'm sort of trusting them on that. Since, you know, those things working are the way they make money. The Christmas shopping season "officially" begins this week, so if you have young readers you need a gift for, and you want to give them something somewhat unique, and you don't want it to be some cheap, disposable toy, there's still time to order a signed copy of The House on the Corner. Actually, if you have some not so young readers that need a somewhat unique gift, it still works.

Anyway... enough with the marketing. At least, I'm not trying to make you all come to work in my big, box retail store on Thursday evening, right?

Those of you in the US may have noticed that Thanksgiving is this week. Some of you may be doing that pre-starvation thing so that you can deal with the calorie overload heading your way. The average Thanksgiving dinner is over 3000 calories, after all, and most of us don't need more than about 1600-1800 calories a day, so it is a rather huge influx of energy that will probably just end up getting stored in human battery deposits.
Darn those things.

But I'm not here to talk about the food. After all, we have a substantially lower calorie dinner than most people since we leave the sugar out of nearly everything. Except the pecan pie. That's my one exception, and I love Thanksgiving for giving me a reason for that exception.

I am here to talk about thanks. Being thankful is probably something all of us could be more or do more. Yes, I'm thankful for all of the normal things: my family, the fact that my wife lets me write, getting to interact with the kids at my kids' school about my book, all of that stuff. My family is most thankful, this year, for the addition of our little doggie.
You'll hear more about her soon.

All of that aside, since this is my blog, I want to be thankful for some of my bloggy people. In general, I want to give out a thanks for my followers and, more specifically, my actual readers. You guys that stop in here a couple or few times a week and read what I have to say. Above and beyond that, I want to thank you guys that leave comments and interact with me. As I've said before, blogging is somewhat like being deep down in a cave talking to yourself. You hope people can hear you, but, often, it's kind of hard to tell. You guys that leave comments are the people that are yelling back at me letting me know that there really are people out there. It's a really nice thing to know.

Above and beyond that, I have a few fellow bloggers in specific I'd like to thank (in no particular order (okay, that's not true -- I'm going down the list (because it's easier :P ))):

A Beer for the Shower: for having an always entertaining, if irreverent, blog that makes me laugh. And for perspective talks with the Bryan half of that team and his upcoming appearance here at StrangePegs.

Alex J Cavanaugh: for being a secret ninja and the Pay It Forward blogfest. Also for coming up with the idea for the Insecure Writer's Support Group even if I haven't joined it. A bunch of other stuff, too, but I'd run out of room for anyone else if I kept going.

Amanda Leigh Cowley: for her Magic Eyes.

J @ Concrete Pieces of Soul: for having interesting things to say for writing my favorite flash fiction piece (you know, other than mine) during the platform building campaign.

Elizabeth Varadan: for sending me a copy of her book (which I will be reading soon -- it just came yesterday).

Rogue Mutt/Grumpy Bulldog @ Grumpy Bulldog's Blog: for being cranky so that I don't have to be. Really. He rants so I don't have to.

Bess @ It's the world, dear...: for sharing New York with us (and affirming my desire not to live there but making me want to visit) and being a great writer (if her blog is any indication).

Steph @ maybe genius: for words of advice that got me started on all of this blogging nonsense to begin with. Wait! Is that actually something I should be thanking her for? :P

Michael Offutt: for being himself. And for reviewing lots of books. I'm not sure if there's a better thing he could be doing to help out "indie" authors.

M. J. @ My Pet Blog: for having a generally entertaining blog. I read even if I can't comment there.

bru @ Pitch Slapped: for having courage...

Rachael Harrie @ Rach Writes...: for the whole Platform-building Campaign

Jennifer @ Serendipity's Library: for having a fun and quirky blog, for buying my book and sharing it with her son, and, then, reviewing it! For posting creepy stories about the creepy doll in her house. >shiver<

Alyssia @ Small World, Big Dreams: for always having something interesting to say and saying it well.

Sarah @ The Aspiring Sub-creator: for sharing her explorations of fantasy.

Rusty Webb @ The Blutonian Death Egg: for more than I can really list off, right now, but, most of all, for awesome cover art! My awesome cover art! (click my house tab and take a look) And for having the greatest blog name ever.

Michelle @ The Innocent Flower: for being gracious in disagreements.

Shannon @ The Warrior Muse: for doing the very first interview with me. And for reading my book before it was "ready" and giving valuable feedback. And for reviewing it on Amazon.

Cally Jackson: for having me in her Hot Seat

I hope I didn't miss anyone... I mean, like I said, I thank all of you that stop by and read and, especially, those of that comment, but I hope I didn't miss anyone that needs specific thanks about something. I can't think of anything else, but, then, I've been fighting off kids (out of school) and a dog all day (and yesterday), so it's no wonder I can't think of anything else. I can barely think of my name, at this point.

You guys, or, as we say in the south (where I'm not but used to be), "y'all," have a great Thanksgiving!