Writing Prompt: Excelsior!

If you’ve seen Silver Linings Playbook then you’ll understand this reference: I feel like it has been a week of “Silver Developments.”  In the movie Bradley Cooper’s character, who suffers from bipolar disorder, has been released from a mental institution and is trying to improve himself with positive thinking. His mantra becomes “Excelsior!” and he attempts to see the silver linings in his daily life. When something good happens, he declares it a “Silver Development.”

I have had such a series of Silver Developments this week. Number One: Our mentor, Jon Katz, announced this week that the Hubbard Hall Writers Project, the group I’ve been a part of since last June, will be having a reception and reading of our work at Hubbard Hall in Cambridge, NY on May 31^st. This is an exciting opportunity for each of us to share our writing in a wonderful venue.

Number Two: I received a call from a fellow writer on Thursday. We used to work together at The Valley Business Journal and she now writes for our region’s primary newspaper, The Valley News. She is writing an article on memoir writing and wants to interview me for the piece. I think it will be fun being the one interviewed for a change and it is great exposure.

Number Three: After a lovely lunch with the Common-Thread-Give-A-Way members at Jon Katz and Maria Wulf’s new Bedlam Farm, I had a great talk with Jon helping to define some future goals for my writing and this blog. I have some brainstorming and hard work ahead, but am really thrilled with the possibilities. I share all this not to boast, but to celebrate. This blog has been the beginning of a new creative journey for me and I can’t wait to see where it takes me. Excelsior!

Writing Prompt: Write about a Silver Development in your life.

The Gods of Frolic

Dogs, I think, allow humans to be pups again. In other words, they provide us with an opportunity to play. Whether it’s jogging through the park or dressing our pets up and leading them down a red carpet, dogs let us rediscover our inner child.

Henry Ward Beecher said, “the dog is the god of frolic” and if so we are all worshippers at their scampering paws. This weekend, however, was supposed to be a working weekend for my pug, Alfie. I had decided to enter her in a match show in Waterbury, VT. I even took her to the vet today to have her nails clipped for the show. My friend, Joan, however, put a monkey wrench in the plan when she told me about another event at the same time – yes, a dog fashion show. Usually, a match would trump such fun as Alfie needs to continue her conformation training, but she is in season, a tad fat from winter and well, I don’t want to pass up the opportunity to have some fun. So, I think we are headed for the red carpet for some playtime. At least Waffles and I am. Poor Alfie, I think, will be staying at home. I hoped to bring her to the fashion show in her bloomers, which in addition to helping keep her tidy during her heat cycle, also protect her from over-eager males. Yet, after taking her out on the town today, I realized that Alfie is too worked up and in turn, exciting the boys too much to expose her to the general public. So Waffles will get her day in the sun and Alfie will be back to work at a dog show in the months ahead.

In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy myself and frolic with these four-legged gods.

Writing Prompt: Dismembered Ken

Dropping by someone’s house in the middle of the night just feels awkward, whatever the reason for being there. It’s as if you walked into a show already in progress. You are tired, they are tired. You’re probably both blurry-eyed and there is a Freaky Friday vibe to the whole thing. Such was the case when my Mom and I showed up at my uncle and grandmother’s home shortly before their bedtime last night. We had called ahead from the Interstate, which seemingly had, within minutes, gone from a clear highway to a sheet of ice. My tire had caught a patch and we slid across lanes before I managed to right us. Still, I seized my chance to get off the road, by that time traumatized, and decided to spend the night at my uncles. Since my grandmother moved there over a decade ago, we have visited often, but only for the day. When we arrived, my uncle and grandma greeted us in their pajamas and ushered us upstairs to a guest room, where they had laid out fresh bedding and towels as soon as we had called. Mom and I got into bed, turned off the lights and listened to the strange sounds of an unfamiliar house. After sharing a stress-relieving giggle fit worthy of a teenage sleepover, we fell asleep. In the morning, waking after my uncle had already left for work, we raided the bathroom cabinets for any beauty supplies to help us clean up and found the usual suspects: a half-used hotel shampoo and conditioner, a travel size bottle of lotion, a hairbrush and comb. We also discovered a hairdryer that didn’t work and in the last cabinet the scene above: a dismembered Ken doll, his legs and arms scattered willy nilly amidst the Glade, Frizz-Ease and GE Energy Smart light bulb. I called my mother over, a huge question mark apparent on my face.

“Um, what’s this?” I asked.

“I already saw,” my mother said, returning to her pillaging. Hmm, either my Mom knew and understood why her brother might have a dismembered Ken doll in his towel closet or she thought it better not to ask. I decided to follow her lead. We all know the night holds secrets that should never make it to the light of day and Miss Manners would in all likelihood recommend that you grant your relatives some slack when you invade their homes in the middle of the night. After all, we all know we hide skeletons in our closets. It’s just I always thought this was a metaphor.

Writing Prompt: What have you found hidden? Write about it. Or, share a quirk of one of your relatives. What does it say about him or her?

One and the Same?

I wish I had taken a picture. Yesterday, knowing that the snow was coming, I agreed to bring the pugs and meet my friend, Joan, Waffles’ breeder, at a Rochester café on the other side of the mountain. She had been housebound all weekend after badly burning her leg by spilling a scalding pan of food. We were supposed to meet to visit a friend and go to a movie, but because we couldn’t predict when the snow might fly, we decided a late afternoon dinner would be a safer plan.

When I arrived, Joan was sitting in her Tracker outside the café.  The sky was gray, the ground white, and Joan full of color. She spilled out of her car like a bag of rainbow skittles hitting the ground. She wore a salmon pink sweater that lit up the world around her. Almost neon in its radiance it was the color of spring and Easter not your typical fare for the eve of a late winter blizzard. Her eyes sparkled blue and her hair, which had grown substantially since I last saw her, was long and wavy. She had used pin curls to make it so. It flew wild around her face and although she is a senior (a lady never tells her age), she gushed her usual childlike glee when she saw Waffles and Alfie. They were equally enthusiastic to see her – wagging their tightly wound tails and shaking their butts as they jumped all over her and I tried to hold them back from hurting her wounded knee.

It was this scene I wish I had captured. This friend of mine, larger than life as if God had sprinkled that something special upon her that only people like Elvis and Marilyn Monroe receive -- a little bit of magic, so although her hair was untamed and her sweater too bright, she shone.

I had to laugh this morning as I stood  in front of the mirror. At first I didn’t think anything of it. I was supposed to go for a long overdo haircut this afternoon, but because of the snow, I cancelled it. Instead, there I was with my own unruly hairstyle, taming it with rollers that once unwound, created as lively a halo as Joan’s hair the day before.  My pugs scampered beneath my feet and I realized that as eccentric as my friend -- who lives in a big, sprawling house with 14 to 18 pugs at any one time -- often seems to me, she and I have a lot in common. Maybe I’m turning into a crazy pug lady after all or maybe, I share a wee bit of that in-your-face chutzpah and mirth, I see in my friend everyday and admire so much.

Author Interview: Dog-Ma: The Zen of Slobber

I am working on an art project tonight, but wanted to leave you with this author interview with Barbara Brunner Boswell, author of Dog-Ma: The Zen of Slobber. I reviewed Barbara's book last week and decided to ask her if we could do a Q & A about memoirs, writing and dog books. I started this trend a couple of weeks ago when I interviewed Barbara Techel, author of Through Frankie's Eyes, and hope to talk to other memoirists and authors of dog books in the future. I hope you enjoy reading Barbara's answers as much as I did.

Q: Barbara, I really enjoyed your book. I am wondering if you could let readers of this blog know what led you to write it?

My initial inspiration was the grief I suffered at the loss of our first dog, Kashi. I started writing the book in my head almost twenty years before putting pen to paper. I took a break from my work life when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I sold my business; worked on getting well and found myself ready to finally start writing my little story.

Dog-Ma was inspired by my love of dogs and the need to get all of the crazy stories we had been telling at cocktail parties for decades down on paper before senility sets in and I forget them.

Q: Why do you feel memoirs featuring dogs are so popular?

Anyone who loves dogs will relate to someone else’s dog stories. All dogs do crazy things and I think readers like to learn that they are not alone in that craziness.  Discovery that their own dogs may not be the nuttiest ones on earth is comforting. Anyone who has lost a furry companion to old age, disease or accidents can empathize with the grief others feel and perhaps gain some closure. And, who doesn’t love a funny dog tale?

Q: I teach memoir writing at a small community college and many of my students would like to write a book but are uncertain where to start? Can you give them any advice?

This one is a hard question to answer because memoirs are so personal. I suppose that to write a memoir you must be passionate about your life and the message you want the memoir to convey. Find the most important central message and use it as a starting point.

I was given a piece of advice early in my writing from a bestselling author. She said to write a poignant memoir; you must start in the middle and work outwards. For me, that made complete sense. If you start at the beginning, it may be hard to grab your reader’s attention. Define the message and then tell your story.

A publisher told me that a memoir should never be told in chronological order. Yea, I threw that piece of advice out the door!

Q: What led you to choose the publishing route that you did?

I am very impatient. I knew that if I queried and followed the traditional route my chances of publishing were slim. My father was suffering from congestive heart failure and I wanted to get my book in print before he passed away. He was my mentor, guide and inspired my love of books and dogs. He was so proud of Dog-Ma and enjoyed showing it off to all of his friends and neighbors. As it turns out, I published in August of 2012 and he passed away on New Year’s Eve 2012.

Dog-Ma may or may not get discovered by a big publishing house. It is currently on the desk of a New York literary agent, not in his slush pile, so good things may happen, yet. None of that really matters in the big picture. I made my dad proud and to me, that is all that counts.

Q: What has been the most rewarding aspect of writing this book?

There are so many things that have been rewarding. The five star reviews I receive are satisfying and the people I meet at book signings are so much fun and I love to hear their personal dog struggles. The most rewarding thing, though, has been the other authors I have met through this process have become dear friends. Authors are such a supportive group. The advice and direction I have gained from them has been phenomenal.

Q: What was the most challenging?

Getting over the fear of rejection and criticism was my greatest challenge. Being able to set those fears aside has allowed me to gain experience and knowledge that have greatly benefited the book.

Q:  Izzy is the last dog you mention getting in your book and when you left us, Izzy, a terrier was wreaking havoc and beating upon your much larger dog, Morgan. How is Izzy doing today?

Izzy continues to think she can beat up Morgan. Morgan just sighs and walks away. I am always hopeful that they will one day wake up and be best friends, but reality says I am delusional.

We had a photo shoot last week with Hannah Stonehouse Hudson for the cover of my next book. Izzy and Morgan were both such hams. I think they knew they had to “out-cute” each other to see who gets the cover. Sibling rivalry rules!

One last thing I would like to share on the blog. As I said earlier, my dad was so proud of my book. When I had to pack up his apartment after he passed away I had help from several strangers who worked for the charity where I was donating all of his possessions. Someone else packed up his huge collection of books. Two weeks after I returned home to Florida I received this message on my Facebook author fan page.

"Barbara, I am compelled to write to you.... as you will see... I was recently (last weekend) in Lancaster visiting family and friends and my sister in law took me for a fun afternoon of shopping at the thrift stores bargain hunting. I adore books and although I already had a full suitcase I found myself in buying a few. One of them was your Dog-Ma. I am a dog lover and couldn't resist your title. Finally this morning back here in Boca Raton Florida I opened the book to start reading, I noticed sticker on the front inside cover -a return address sticker presumably of the person who owned the book, I removed it... and then started reading. When I opened the book I saw it had been inscribed, "Dad, Love you! B" What? I thought, what was the name of on that mailing address sticker? Robert Boswell. I am now holding in my hand the book you gave to your father. I immediately went to find you on FB and I looked up and found on the web your father's recent obituary. I want to offer my deepest condolences. I also hope you don't mind me reaching out to you.... I feel a special connection to you. As a book and a dog lover..... wow. SO, I am reading the book now, with my Rottweiler, Shasta Pearl (2 years) old at my feet. I will cherish the book -for it's wisdom and stories of love and for it's special sentimental value- and if you are ever in Boca Raton...well... I just have to meet you."

The writer of this message and I have become Facebook friends, chat daily and are meeting in person for the first time in a few days. Things happen for a reason and I cannot wait to see how this one plays out.

Writing Prompt: Family

Conversing with family can sometimes seem like a fencing match – Attack – Parry – Cut – Thrust – as you duck barbs and sling a few yourself; all in an effort to maintain your dignity. Family, better than any enemy, knows how to wound. They are familiar with the soft sensitive spots, the hidden underbelly of self, so susceptible to harm. Sometimes you see the blade coming and sometimes you are blind to it, finding it masked behind humor or feigned concern. Like a Changement de Rythme, broken time, a sudden change in the tempo of their actions, you become fooled. You respond when you should have remained silent. You say nothing when a word would do; you drop your defenses and allow them an in – they draw blood quicker and with more venom than any opponent and just as quickly, they change face becoming your savior and shelter, your comrade on the battlefield. Suddenly they appear at your side, embracing you and dragging you out of harms way. You may feel their sting, but damn anyone else who tries to inflict injury! You can never tell on any day, which face they will wear and so often they wear both – your mightiest foe and greatest defender in one. You flee from family, but always return, forever bound by blood and home, and that most complex of emotions – Love.

Writing Prompt: Write about a family gathering. How did everyone act?

Writing Prompt: Everest

The problem with pretending to be superhuman is that eventually you have to admit that you’re not. Such was the case today. Like many people, I often suffer from a sense of inadequacy. I find myself teaching a class or photographing a subject for an assignment and rather than feeling like a consummate professional I imagine myself as a child playing dress up. Still, I grin and bear it in an attempt to keep my mask from slipping and anyone noticing how I really feel.

True, not the most authentic approach, but what’s that common expression – “fake it until you feel it” – I wholeheartedly embrace it. Yet, sometime honesty must prevail, so when my student asked to meet today and go for a walk, knowing her love of hiking and biking, I informed her at the start that as much as I would love to take a casual stroll with her and catch up, I lacked her stamina. “As long as you’re aware, we should be fine,” I said.

When I arrived at her house we spent a good hour chatting in front of the teeniest, quaintest stove in her new writing cottage, when I finally asked her if we were going to go for a walk. She said yes and the first several yards went fine – flat, smooth surface, easy chatter and then, I realized that was probably enough. Yup, just a few short yards and I realized that a winter of being indoors writing articles and blogging had left me sadly out of shape. Add to this a history of bone spurs, Achilles tendinitis and improper footwear and I was ready to head back to that nice little stove and warm my toes. No such luck, my student walked The Loop and The Loop we were set to do.

The Loop started with a climb up Mt. Everest. Lifting my head to stare at its peak, I realized I was on an expedition. We hiked in silence for a few paces and then I felt the need to chatter to try to disguise the fact that I was grossly out of breath. As you might guess, this didn’t work, but still we climbed on. Although the day was freezing, I could feel my bangs sticking to my forehead and my sweater getting damp with perspiration. We made it to the pinnacle, took a turn, and there was the Everest of Everests – another vertical climb. “The Loop’s three miles,” my student informed me. Do you know what it’s like to lose all hope? I can now answer that question in the affirmative.

I’m not sure how much of the three miles we had already done, but I could safely say that if I had tried to finish it I would not be coming back alive – I was already seeing stars. My student must have sensed something was wrong because she told me that we could turn back anytime I wanted and that’s when my inner superhuman kicked into gear. I was her teacher after all, should I really reveal my human frailty?

“Let’s make it to the top,” I said, pointing to the mirage in the distance. Fortunately, I could not tell how far away it actually was because my eyes and nose were running from the cold. Soon I could see the face of Death and feeling his warm, sweaty breath upon my cheeks, I attempted to take a deep breath – but found I had no lungs left – and squeaked out, “I think we had better turn around.”

Fortunately, we did, although my student continued to ask me questions all the way back despite my panting, high pitch responses (I was whistling like a tea pot trying to take in air.) Yet, I answered. Like a soldier on the battlefield I endeavored to show no weakness. I’m not sure where this tendency began, but it is a hard habit to break. Obviously, my student had not been oblivious to my struggle and still I pretended to be Wonder Woman.

I read a quotation attributed to Georgia O’Keefe on Facebook today. She said, “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do.”  I love this sentiment, and I realized that I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life, too, but sometimes I let this lead me to do things I never wanted to do or should do in the first place, all in an effort to keep my game face on.  It may be foolish, but it’s human and as humorous as this tale may be, it has an underlying moral, well, maybe two.

One, if you’re going to play the superhero at the very least you should have a cape, a mask, and a superpower and two, I really need to get in shape. I promised my student I’d be back for a walk this summer. Some people never learn.

Writing Prompt: When have you tried to be superhuman? Write about it.

Warning: Indelicate

This is a delicate matter and perhaps not something I should be blogging about at all. It is said among my dog loving friends that you can tell a true dog person by their willingness to discuss indelicate matters such as dog vomit and feces. This is something else all together. Yet, it has gotten to the point where I just need to share. I have told you all about Waffles penchant of knocking over trashcans, what I have not revealed is her motivation. Waffles is an addict and the source of her habit is her dependency on sanitary napkins and panty liners. New or used, she doesn’t care! She came to me with this foul addiction and although I have tried everything to break her of it, she still rises each morning and diligently knocks over each can like a string of dominoes in hopes of discovering a reward. If she cannot find her prize, she makes herself content with Kleenex, cotton swabs or dental floss, but this is not what she desires.

Granted, some dogs eat their own waste and roll in whatever disgusting thing they can find, so in the scheme of things, Waffles’ addiction may not be the worst there is, but it is still pretty bad. And, there is no Al-Anon or its equivalent to help family members cope, so I’ve been bearing this burden in silence. But now, with Alfie in season, our family secret has gotten to be too much. In order to keep from soiling the bedcovers, sofa and chairs, Alfie sports a colorful pair of panties, complete with neck strap, so it won’t slide off. You slip a panty liner inside and swap it as needed, just as any woman must during this time.

You can see the problem already can’t you? This is just too much temptation for Waffles – there it is, the object of her desire right inside Alfie’s pants. And, of course, the trashcans are filling up as well. It’s a virtual smorgasbord and my little addict is going crazy. We have already bungee corded the trash can in the kitchen to keep it from toppling, but that doesn’t prevent Waffles from standing on her tip toes and scratching away until she reaches something on top. The bathroom? Forget about it. I’m not sure when she does it, but every time I visit, there is already a trail of trash spread to the door and if you’re not quick, you’ll find her munching and licking away at her most coveted possession. I’m sorry if this tale disgusts you, it is not for the feint of heart, but my family unit may be in dire need of an intervention and at the very least this pug mama could use some support.

Night Off

The pugs and I are taking a night off from blogging -- kind of. I couldn't resist posting this sketch. We'll be back tomorrow with a written post, but right now we're off to catch some Zs.

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Alfie was originally given to me as a pet. When I saw her pedigree and realized that she was related to Tugboat Willy, a famous show dog, and attended a dog show where a number of handlers stopped me and suggested I show her, I decided to ask her breeder if I could give it a try. It required a new contract and some decisions on my part.

Conformation dogs are not spayed in order to pass on their outstanding qualities, but I was worried that by not spaying Alfie I could jeopardize her health. I had read that spaying a female before the age of two cuts down on her chances of mammary cancer. I also realized that if I was not going to spay her it would probably be good to have a litter. It turns out, however, that rather than coming into season twice a year, Alfie only comes into season once a year, so her opportunities are narrowed. Today, she began showing signs.

It also happened to be sunny this afternoon and much of the ice that had been coating the sidewalk had melted, making it easier to walk Alfie and Waffles, whose paws have not been tolerating the winter cold and road salts well. Both pugs were excited to be out and about, but I hadn’t given thought to the fact that Alfie might have other motivations in mind. We paused at every tree, fire hydrant and blade of grass for her to squat and pee and essentially leave her calling card for any handsome stud in the neighborhood – “I’m willing, ready and able,” she seemed to be saying and although there were no able-bodied males about, I have visions of a huge line standing outside the door in the morning.

I can’t breed Alfie this time around. Life is too hectic with my mother scheduled to have knee replacement surgery in May and having our first litter of puppies running about does not seem like the smartest idea, so unfortunately all Alfie’s advertising today will be in vain. She, however, seems quite happy. She and Waffles are curled up together on the sofa snoring away – deep, heavy snores that do not sound the least bit sexy or romantic.

Come next year she may have some courting to do, but for now my little lady will have to be content with daydreams and fantasies. She might be ready to find her soul mate or at the very least a one-night stand, but I know for certain that at this stage of the game, we’re sure not!