Inspirational Quote of the Week

Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t try to do things. You simply must do things.

~Ray Bradbury~

Thinking is SO overrated. I avoid it at all costs. Mom asks me “What were you thinking?” all the time. I try to tell her, “Nuthin'” but I’m not sure she understands. What is she thinking I’m thinking? She needs to stop thinking.

Captured under a walker?

Nuthin’…

Head caught in a shopping bag?

Nuthin’…

Squished under a chair?

Nuthin’…

Too close to the edge?

Nuthin’…

It’s really pretty simple, actually. Don’t think. Just do.

Mom is doing things these days, too. Just doing. Not thinking. She’s partway through a new story and partway through a new poem. And she submitted a couple of things last week, too. She found them in the computer, fixed them up all shiny and new and sent them on their way out into the world for people to judge. She will do the same when she gets to the end of her latest story and poem. First she will make sure there’s enough conflict and a surprise ending twist. Then off they go. Not thinking is fun.

Except when you head face first into the sticker bush by the lake….

Ouch. Not fun…

 

 

 

 

Finished

I was tortured last week. First Mom lured me into the bathroom.

Oooh. A trail of chicken! Yes, please.

Then she tricked me into the tub and gave me a bath!

There was splashing and shivering…

…water pouring, crazy amounts of soap suds, 5 entire minutes of standing still covered in sweet smelling conditioner…

…and 3 giant towels.

I tried numerous times to shake the bath off of me, but only succeeded in sharing a little of the bath with Mom. And the walls. And the floor. And the vanity. And the door.

One thing I know for sure is that it was my LAST. BATH. EVER. I could tell because the shampoo bottle is empty.

No more shampoo = No more baths

That’s what it means… Right…?

Mom finished her most recent story. She wrote it and wrote it, revised it like crazy, sent it to her critique group, and then revised it like crazy all over again. Now it’s finished. I’m pretty sure it’s her LAST. STORY. EVER.

That’s what it means… Right…?

Wait. What?

Aarrrgh. She’s starting a BRAND NEW story!

*gulp* Does that mean…..

Oh no!

 

Busy Working Hard

Mom and I have been working hard.

Mom is working hard on two new stories, as usual.

What’s so difficult about this?

She writes a little bit of each one each day. When she gets to the end of them, she will put them away for a while and then revise the heck out of them to make them tight with no extra words. She will make sure they open with action and end with a twist. She will try to show and not tell. She will move the characters from place to place and keep the action coming so they aren’t talking heads.

Then she will send her favorite one of them to her critique group friends to see what else she needs to work on.

I have been working hard too –  at the library…

…and at the veteran’s home.

I have dressed up, listened to stories, sat on laps,

and given kisses. If you don’t think that’s hard work, think again. Sometimes I can barely stay awake on the ride home.

Besides my therapy work, I have begged for coffee. And it paid off.

I begged for a pancake on my 10th birthday. And got one of my very own.

I even fought the dreaded soccer net. Again. And won (with some help from Mom).

It’s a good thing I am a ball of energy…

 

 

Surgery

I’m having surgery today. It’s nothing big, just a little wart sort of thing on my back. The vet said bing, bang, boom, she’ll give me a tranquilizer, take the bump off, and put in a staple.

Wait. What? *gulp*

I’m not sure whether there will be a cone involved, but we’ll see… We’ll ALL see. I have a feeling if I’m wearing a cone, the camera will be out in a nanosecond.

Sometimes Mom does surgery on her work. When she reads the story over for the 98th time, she notices something unsightly or unnecessary and bing, bang, boom, she cuts it and staples the story back together.

Last week, Mom was working on a story about a little girl named Pinky, when all of a sudden, she went insane and deleted the whole first page. Suddenly the story was better and started off with something way more important, on what was formerly the second page. No cone necessary – surgery done and the story was absolutely fine.

I’m planning to be absolutely fine and back in the swing of things (See what I did there?) by this afternoon, so think happy thoughts about me, cross your paws that I don’t have to wear a cone, and feel free to throw in a happy thought for Mom and her Pinky story, too. Thanks!

UPDATE: THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR LOVELY AND SUPPORTIVE COMMENTS. MY SURGERY WENT WELL. I WAS VERY WELL BEHAVED AND EXTREMELY BRAVE. I WAS HOME BY NOON AND ATE AND DRANK AND DIDN’T BOTHER MY STAPLES (TILL LATER). I DIDN’T NEED A CONE, BUT I’M WEARING A DRESS WHEN MOM CAN’T WATCH ME SO MY STAPLES ARE COVERED. I GOT A LOT OF COOKIES AND A NEW HEDGEHOG TOY TO AID IN MY HEALING.

 

Inspirational Quote of the Week

“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn’t use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like “What about lunch?”

― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

I like lunch. I don’t officially eat lunch, but Mom does. And once in a while she shares it with me. I’m not allowed to beg, but sometimes (every single day), that rule accidentally gets broken and Mom says the word, “No human food” just before she gives me a tiny taste.

I do not believe there is a huge difference between human food and dog food. Yummy and delicious is yummy and delicious, no matter what the container looks like.

Mom likes to use “short, easy words” just like Winnie the Pooh. And most of the time, that’s exactly what she uses when she writes stories AND when she talks to me. She says, “Sit” not “Ensconce yourself”

and “Down” not “Move towards a lower position”

and “Fetch” not “Pick up and deliver.” I understand these small words and they do the job well…. except when they don’t.

Fetch? Huh??

In stories, it’s not about the size of the word. It’s more about what the word really says and whether the word needs help from another word to say what it needs to say. This is especially true with verbs, which I think are something like burps. Better to say, “Trudge” than “Walk slowly with head down” and better to say, “Chomp” than “Eat quickly and noisily” and better to say, “Whisper” than “Speak softly in hushed tones.”

So in an effort to keep things short and precise, I would like to say, “Gimme some!”

Picking and Choosing

It’s important for writers to have ideas. Lots of ideas! Mom saves her ideas in her phone, so she never feels blank or blocked or blah or bummed.

She types in plot ideas, character ideas, names, settings, situations, and titles whenever they pop into her head. Some of them come to life easily, and Mom chooses them for her stories. Some of them get left behind and probably won’t get selected. …unless they start looking good tomorrow. Or the next day. Or next month….

At the pet store there are millions of  chew sticks, rawhide chips, and bones.

I look and sniff, but never choose any of them.

I’m so excited to see them and smell them that my tiny brain doesn’t even know what to do.

Mom chooses for me. She doesn’t choose the sticks, chips, or bones because apparently, I am too lazy to chew them. But after I get my nails trimmed, she picks a packge of treats for me.

Also a toy. And sometimes a dress

or a coat

or a sun hat.

Someday, I hope the sticks, chips, and bones will look good to Mom. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Or next month…..

Nancy

There’s been a lot of hiding around here lately.

A blog post about ME is hiding over at Peace, Love, and Whiskers. Pop over and check it out, if you haven’t already.

The other day, I saw this…

It’s an evil, runaway, red balloon. It’s hiding under the car, waiting to roll out and get me. Mom let me walk by really fast, because she knows that balloons are trying to kill me.

And look what’s back there! Two more balloons. White ones. I know what they have planned…

That’s close enough…

I have no plans to start liking balloons, but I want to thank my friend Little Binky for sending me this lovely award. I am not afraid of it.

Do you see what else is hiding? In the grass? A feather. It’s from the birds that sit in the trees and laugh at me.

All kinds of things are hiding in all kinds of places. When I try to hide, I always get caught. The other day, I brought my tiny yellow dog and hid on Mom’s bed with it. Somehow, she found out that I was in there.

I don’t know how she does it! She’s a regular Nancy Drew when it comes to figuring things out.

When she was little, Mom was probably Nancy Drew’s biggest fan. She read every one of the Nancy Drew Mysteries, and hung on every word.

Now that she’s a writer, she hardly ever writes mysteries. She wrote one once, and when it was finished, she said, “Ugh. This thing is so lame.” And “Where’s the suspense, the red herring, the foreshadowing!?” and “Seriously? You’re back on the bed again?”

Who? Me??

Mom might BE Nancy Drew, and LOVE Nancy Drew, but she has no plans to WRITE Nancy Drew.

 

 

Hidden

Spring is finally coming. Things that have been hidden under the snow are coming back. Look! It’s a coffee cup!

Mom’s new story was hidden under the snow in her brain. Every single day, when she started working on it, she gave it a new title, made a list of new characters, decided on a new theme, and gave them new goals to accomplish, new problems to solve, and different obstacles to overcome.

It’s a good thing spring is coming. Mom’s hidden story is coming back. It’s her third day working with the same title, the same theme, the same characters, and they have the same goals, problems, and obstacles as they had yesterday.

I think spring has sprung….

Look! It’s a banana!

I wonder if the black bananas taste better than the yellow ones….

And a ginger ale bottle.

And my beehive is back from under the snow!!

Hello, old friend…

Five Word Friday

Today’s five words are about being happy.

1. King of the Hill – I am happy when I am King of the Hill. Even though the hill is sometimes made of black plow-snow mixed with ice. And stones. And dirt.

2. Great Story Idea – Mom is happy when she gets a great story idea in her head. At first a new idea is all white and fluffy and has unlimited possibilities.

3. Beehive – I was happy when enough snow melted so I could see the broken piece of beehive that fell out of the tree a few months ago.

I TASTED it! Mom said the word, “Oh no you didn’t!” But oh yes, I did.

Is she watching me?

4. Brand New Story – Mom is happy when she sits down to start writing a brand new story about her brand new idea. Still white, still fluffy, and still filled with unlimited possibilities.

5. On top – I am happy walking on top of a foot of snow covered by a few inches of ice. As long as I stay on top, the snow can’t touch my belly. *shiver* But sometimes, I end up holding on for dear life  with my tiny chicken-feet so I don’t slide into the street.

26. Holding On –  After Mom works on her story for a while, she feels like she’s holding on for dear life with chicken-feet trying to get to the end and making sure the story isn’t a computer full of nonsense. She is happy when she finishes, though, and sometimes it’s nonsense and sometimes it’s not. But either way, it’s finished.

71. Cutting out nonsense – After the end of the story, Mom has to revise. That does not make her happy, but it has to be done. It helps cut out some of the nonsense and makes the story better. Just do it, Mom. Don’t look back.

I’m King of the …… *gulp*

 

Chasing

Sometimes, my food dish gets away from me.

It slides off my placemat and I slurp it across the kitchen.

Then it slips into the living room and tries to escape behind the rocking chair.

I keep my eye on it and chase it and keep eating without missing a beat.

Sometimes, Mom’s story ideas get away from her. She thinks she has an idea, and then she starts writing and suddenly the idea she thought she had escapes behind the rocking chair and a new idea takes over without missing a beat. A story about a funny looking creature sitting next to a regular little girl starts out silly and funny and light and crazy, and then the creature gets bullied! Wait! What?

That’s not silly or funny or light or crazy.

Mom wonders, “Do I keep writing this new story?” and “Do I backtrack and go back to my original idea?” and “Where are you going with that?”