Hello, It’s me.
You know how it is when the longer you’re out of touch with someone, the more difficult it becomes to know where to begin?
I’d like to say that I’ve spent the past seven or eight months so immersed in editing my book that I haven’t had another word to write here, but that’s not completely true. I have continued to work with the awesome Christine Pride, and she asks me to do what I ask others to do but still need someone else to ask me to do: show don’t tell, write more scenes, more details, less summary. Each draft is closer, but the book still isn’t finished.
I’m craving writing that is more polished than a journal entry, not as demanding in scope or polish as a longer piece: just right.
Our dog pack expanded this summer with two more rescue dogs, Ruby–a Dogue de Bordeaux–and Jake–another American Bulldog according to his WisdomPanel–have joined Sadie, and our pack is complete. Sadie is still the queen of the house, and they’ve created a high energy household that sometimes descends (ascends?) into chaos.
Why are we living with 250+ pounds of dogs?
After Max died last year, I marveled at the quiet and cleanliness of our house. The part of me that tends toward obsession–with books stacked straight on otherwise clear coffee tables and floors that are never sandy–liked that clean quiet. But there’s more to life than clean and quiet, isn’t there? Dogs are life in all its body-ness, mess, and daily physicality. Dogs are an antidote to my persnicketyness and self-obsession.
Living with these creatures and committing myself to their care and feeding helps me to stay more grounded and present than I might on my own.