Miss My Writing Bud

So it has come to my attention that I need to discuss a personal issue here. Generally I don't like to do that. I like to keep this forum for thoughts on writing and reading and try to keep the personal at arms length. But as savvy, long-time reader know, I do mix the fam in every now and then (see here and here). Still, I generally try and find a way to bring it back to writing and I'm sure I'll find a way to do that here as well. All that being said, Killian, my best friend for almost fifteen years, who has made his way into this blog a couple of times (see here), passed away on Wednesday morning.

There would be several novels that could be written from this experience. I've managed helping to put a dog to sleep, but this time. . . Killian's passing was unlike any of the others I've been a part of. Good and bad. From the unexpected and surprising warm hug on my doorstep from the vet as he left, one that I didn't know I needed but obviously he realized I did, to the complex and sometimes difficult dealings with close friends and family. There has to be a novel in there somewhere about how it's good to know who you got in your fox-hole.

Or there is the "Marley and Me" style novel that recounts the life of a great fellow like Killian. One that brings up his wonky, over-the-line disgusting bad deeds, to his warm-hearted and gentle great ones. Mostly I'm sure in a James Herriot kind of way I would bring up how he would thump heavily at my side as I typed away on my novels, always seeming to search me out like a latent, somewhat running-behind-schedule shadow. Or perhaps how he grunted and groaned with satisfaction as a writer's toe reached down to give his ear a scratch every now and then.

But I think the most startling novel would be the one regarding the reaction to his death of those who were closest to him. How the almost nine year old in the house, who I had to tell to set a good example, couldn't contain himself from rushing inside to see if Killian was still home, and let just a few tears slip when he finally realized the bad news, but who bucked himself up and matured what seemed like decades right before my eyse. How the five year old wailed with grief for over an hour, tragically and completely beside himself in his sadness when he heard the news that the companion who had been by his side his entire life would no longer be around for long walks or to help him go to sleep at night. And how the four year old, still not quite sure what was going on, retreated into his shell to wait out the difficulty he saw his big-brother hero going through.

Somewhere amid all of this is a novel just waiting to be set free. But for me, I'll just miss having the fellow around when I'm writing.

Apparently I Can't Live Without a Boat (or a Dog)

I remember when Killian passed away (see HERE), I decided not to be a dog owner anymore. My wife isn't a big fan of dogs, and I didn't think I could find anyone to match the loyalty, fun, and love that Killian had for me. 

It took about 6 months before I told my wife, to get on board cause I'm getting a dog. She did, and we found Sadie. She is wonderful too. 

Apparently, like dogs, my life isn't filled up without a boat. First, it was a sailboat for me and the boys. A laser. Boy was it fun, but we quickly outgrew it and I donated it to the Boy Scouts Sea Base in Galveston. I just imagine that hundreds of boys are getting their sailing merit badge with it now. 

Then I had the two-person kayak. That has now been donated to my Aunt's bayhouse. It will have more fun there. I took it out on the bay the last time I was there. Super fun!

Now, I'm gonna buy a larger sailboat! Just like dogs, I have to have a boat in my life and my friend happens to have one ready for me to buy! It's much larger than I probably need, but we have a lot of cash we can't find a place for and I'm sure,  . . . just like with Sadie . . . the wife will come around!

The Power of the Writing Habit

There is a lot of great articles both on this blog (see here), and on other blogs (specifically here and here) that discuss ways to overcome writer's block.

This springs to mind because this blog's primary "field correspondent" Kristi Jones, is off at a writer's retreat and is kicking ass at knocking out her word count (see @authorkristi on Twitter for a play-by-play).

But I wanted to discuss habits.

 I read a book once called The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg (see here and here). It was a great book, and invariably, like most non-fiction books I try to read, I failed to complete it. In the book,  Duhigg tells many many stories about how habit is more important in lifestyle than any other one thing. Not only that but breaking the habit that leads to poor choices is more important than stopping the poor choice cold turkey.

One of the more memorable stories was about an older gentleman who suffered a severe brain injury. He was left without the ability to function normally in life. He always had to have a nurse or care-taker after the injury occurred. He many have even been a university professor prior to the injury (I suppose a re-read is in order). Nevertheless, the old guy would go for walks every afternoon. He couldn't get out of bed by himself, or brush his teeth, or make coffee, or any of the daily ins and outs of regular life. But he would go out the door and walk around the block every day without fail.

It was a habit he had before the injury and it was one that he kept afterward. If he was stopped while on his walk and asked about why he had decided to go on a walk, he wouldn't even be able to tell you. As I recall he didn't even realize that he was on a walk. It was just something that he did cause it was habit. I have a dog that does the same thing. I will start Killian on a walk and he’ll just go on and walk around the block by himself and eventually find himself at our backdoor waiting to be let in. It’s autopilot.

Bully for Kristi for kicking ass at the writer’s retreat. And could this could be sour grapes if only cause I would love the chance to take off for a writer’s retreat (gotta love those “professional” writers), but I think my writing has more to do with habit than anything else.

I get into the habit of writing and that’s what keeps me writing. The more I write the more I think about my novel and the more I want to write. If I wake up on weekends and write, then I keep waking up on weekends to write. If I write at night then I keep writing at night. Whenever something gets in the way of that habit, be in baseball games for the kiddo, or an interesting show at night, then BOOM the chain is broken and the habit is lost. For me it’s that quick. I have to go back out there and re-establish the habit if I want it back.

It’s the quick fall off of the habit that is my Achilles heel. I don’t think I’m an addictive type of person. I smoked for a while as a kid, then I came home from Europe and I stopped. Just stopped. I dipped tobacco in the Army. When I got out of the Army I stopped dipping. I wanted to lose weight so I stopped eating meat and cheese and milk and eggs. I want to lose weight so I stop drinking. Stopping things is just that easy to me. I just stop.

I wish that I had a more addictive personality where I couldn't get away from my writing, even to watch a nine year old pitch for the first time in a baseball game. I have a novel that is two thirds the way done right now just waiting for me to get back into the habit of writing. Can you just imagine how terrific it would be to be like that walk around the block fella or Killian and just BOOM find yourself sitting in front of your computer knocking out your novel and not even realize your doing it. 

Still, I’m jealous of the writer’s retreat . . . that’s a habit I could get used to.

Bad Year Means Good Writing?

I was talking to my mom the other day about this past year and how rotten it has been. I went over some of this in my blog post the other day about my father's death (here). But my father's sudden passing is only one of the many things that 2015 brought and I'm happy to see in the rear view mirror.

Back in May my best friend, Killian died. It went about as well as those things can. I wrote about it (here). It was if not a defining moment, then a moment in my life I'll remember forever. He was a good old dog and a great family friend.

In June I laid off my entire department. My department here at work went from a department of five to a department of one. Over and above the increased work load, it was a tough week to suffer through if only because it was hard to say goodbye to so many people who I had come to depend on and trust. It was purely business, but still, that was a tough week with a lot of tough calls.

In July my grandmother, Muzzie, died. I've mentioned Muzzie several times in this blog, (see here) but I don't know if I ever mentioned that one of the last few times I saw her, in the nursing home, she was sitting up in bed reading my book, Toe the Line (here). She told me that she was loving it. She intonated that it was the first time she had read it when I knew that it was actually the fourth or fifth time. But isn't that what I as an author should want? Shouldn't I want my readers to feel like my writing is new and fresh each time they read it.

In September our foster son Anthony left. It was the second time he had been with our family and it just wasn't working out. So we had to have him leave. Stunningly hard. I'm sure it will come up in my future writing.

Now this with the Pops.

There were more things going on, the detritus of life, the odds and ends of writing and living, some big, some huge, some just the details. But what's the point of all this 2015 reflection? Pity? Hardly! I remember when I first started writing I read that great artists must suffer in life and for their heart. I remember writing about it though I can't find it now. I thought it was silly and for the most part still do. But boy does 2015 show me that a bit of suffer adds a ton to the options of what to write about it.

I wrote it up there about Anthony. "I'm sure it will come in up in my future writing." Muzzie will too. My father's death as well. It is not just subject matter it is also experience and adds depth.

Though as much as I thank 2015 for the help in my writing (hopefully), I'm looking forward to 2016 just cause 2015 sucked so much.

A New Hope

You'll forgive the plagiarism of the title, but I have found new hope for my afternoons.

When I first began this process, when I first started to walk down to the mailbox each afternoon, 90 pound dog, Killian and 30 pound son, Price in toe, I couldn't find much reason to be hopeful. I'm sure we looked like some sort of outlandish parade, or worse yet a wake, marching to a maibox that provided no hope. If anything the mailbox provided a sense of closure, nothing more. I figured that if an agent liked my work they probably would forgo the SASE, and contact me via email. More direct, quicker, etc. That's what I would do if I were in their shoes.

But this latest pseudo acceptance has shown me that I was in error. This was the first SASE with an acceptance. So the mailbox doesn't just complete the circle and let me know that I have been rejected and by who. Instead it has become a new source of hope. The parade is a bit more lively as it makes its way to the mailbox each evening.

The Worst Part About eMail Subminssions

With a snail mail query there is only one time that I get my expectations up, then have them dashed. That instance is when I walk with Killian (dog) and Price (son) to the mailbox.