Bad dog, Danny
March 26, 2012 § 4 Comments
You know the black dog?
He is black as night. Especially in this snow storm where I first took his picture. Remember?
Here he is a few days ago, exploring a very wonderful tree.
Well, this Danny-boy has a sweet, affectionate disposition but a bad, bad happy of chewing. As a puppy he chewed the cords off my father’s power tools. And the legs of the porch furniture. And shoes, of course. And anything else he fancied.
He’s gotten much better, but one of his favorite things still seems to be chewing packages that get dropped on the front porch. Usually we try to leave a note or put in special instructions: Packages must go INSIDE! Or, Do not deliver package without a signature!
Guess what came at some hour of the day when we happened to be (or be focused) elsewhere?
My first shipment of my books.
Guess who chewed the box open and spilled books all over the (dewy, wet, morning lawn)? Guess who put teeth or claw marks in at least half of them?
That black dog.
Good thing it was only a shipment of ten copies. Good thing I’ve learned to find humor in unfortunate circumstances. Good thing for that dog, and good thing for me.
I scooped them up in a half-panic, with my mother’s help, and wiped them down. A few were still presentable. The others will be family copies, I suppose.
We’re still dog people around here. Don’t worry. But Danny’s position in the family was, that afternoon, somewhat up for review. Good thing for him he’s the friend of the little Shar Pei we’re all smitten with. It keeps him around despite his unruly antics. (His kindly brown eyes and affectionate pet-me nudges may also help.)
And, nevertheless, what a little satisfaction it is to see this pile. A little beat up. But mine.
A little novel excerpt
March 6, 2012 § Leave a comment
My book proof for Riding the Neighbors’ Horses is sitting on a shelf in my (temporary) bedroom. I’m sorry to say that in paging through it I found mistakes noticeable enough that I can’t overlook them, so we’re a few steps back in the editing/reviewing process. I’m hoping the book will be available in the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile, it is the funniest feeling to have a physical copy of this novel in my hands. I finished the first draft almost seven years ago. Followed up with lots of off-and-on revisions. Ignored it completely. Decided to do something about it. The book looks shiny and professional and it has my name on the front. Wheee!
For now, here is a small excerpt. Our narrator and protagonist, Susan Abbot, is about to get her first riding lesson from her neighbor, and new friend, Nan Whiting.
Horse’s hooves clopped against wood as Nan led a tall bay from its stall. “This is Bet,” she said. “The first time I rode her I was two, or probably even younger. Hold this a second.” Nan dropped a line of rope in my hand and darted around the corner before I could protest. I toyed with the end of the rope, following its white weave up to the halter of the horse. Bet stood near enough that I could feel the heat from her body and smell her scent—a blend of hay and wood, earth and sweat. She studied me with eyes so dark I couldn’t tell where the pupil ended and the iris began, and I wondered what I might read in those eyes if only I knew how.
Kinds of Honey 