Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Something I just figured out

I've sometimes wondered why I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Which I am.  Like, when Jennifer Napier-Pearce called me into her office last winter, I assumed she was going to fire me.  I put on my best, stoic "I-assume-you're-going-to-fire-me" face, made a plan to eat myself into a coma afterward, and then carry on the way one does after a) being fired and b) eating too much.

Turns out she wanted me to be an advice columnist.

This morning as I was walking my damn dog Tinkerbell around Liberty Park, I had an ah-ha moment.  The reason I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop?  It's because I had a father who on more than one occasion cheerfully said, "There are only two types of coaches in America:  the ones that have been fired.  And the ones who are about to be fired."

There it is.  The answer.

I haven't been writing because I've been afraid I would linger too much on my dad's death and what things look like from here now.  I've been afraid it would look like a play for sympathy or something. But.  Whatever.  I want to write about where I am these days--just like I've done for the past thirty years.  So I hope you'll indulge me.

Monday, May 22, 2017

Dog the First

Fair Warning:  I can't imagine the next series of posts are going to be very interesting to anyone, because I am going to do some remembering about Dogs I Have Owned in chronological order.  This is just an exercise to get me up and writing again, so feel free to check out.

OK.  First Dog.  She was a boxer named Priney, which my parents had owned for a couple of years before I was born.  But when we met, it was love at first sight for both of us.  There isn't a picture of me from my young childhood without that dog standing at my side or lying on my feet.

TRQ used to put us out in the yard together first thing in the morning because you were allowed to do that in the 1950's.  We spent our days together, which did lead to some species confusion for both of us.  She thought she was a human.  I thought I was a dog, which is why I put her bones in my mouth and ran up and down the lawn one day until TRQ made me stop.  She was a good mother that way.

Here's what I remember about her.  The dog.  Not TRQ.

--Soulful eyes
--Slick fawn coat that was warm to the touch because of sun on her skin
--Her eating all the Easter eggs at my Birthday party (sorry, kids!) before we had a chance to do our Easter egg hunt

I always say when I cross over, I hope she's one of the first to greet m on the other side.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

This blog

I've been toying with the idea of shutting down this blog again.  Since my dad died I haven't felt like writing, although I am actually writing a lot for the Trib now.

I've been especially low the last few weeks.  The more time passes the more ways you discover how to miss a person.  But this morning on a walk with the dogs I had this (obvious) epiphany:  you keep the person you loved with you by doing some of the things that person did.  Write notes of encouragement.  Tell funny stories.  Play cards.  Plant flowers in the spring.

OK, Blog.  I'll keep trying.




Friday, March 31, 2017

The Advice Column

As some of you know, I am now the advice columnist for the Salt Lake Tribune.  My tagline is "Like Doctor Laura!  Only Nicer!  Like Dear Abby!  Only Not Dead!"

The response has been interesting and wide-ranging.  Sometimes people think I'm smart.  Sometimes people think I'm an idiot.  I just had an email from a reader who had as his topic heading "Lousy Answers!"  Then he proceeded to tell me why those answers were so terrible with relish.

Which is fine.

I don't actually get my feelings hurt very often on the advice column front because I understand that people are going to have really different opinions based on their own experiences.  But what I loved was this guy's P.S.  After basically ripping my column apart, he apologized in his P.S. for the email's font, which is sort of like apologizing to someone because the knife you just stuck in him hadn't been polished the night before.




Friday, March 24, 2017

A little advice for writers

Last night I had an awesome time at the Sweet Branch Library as The Author in the House.  Chris Chambers and his crew had lights and candles and tea and crumpets and, as my friend Gretta said, it's like I was attending my own wedding again.

Speaking of Gretta, I'm posting these suggestions I gave for all of us writers to keep us focused.

1.  You will never have enough time to write, so don't put off writing the thing you want to write.  It never gets easier.

2.  Negotiate on a daily basis when, where, and how much you'll write.  When I'm struggling, I write to a word limit.  500 words is doable for me.

3.  Remember that slow but steady will get you to the finish line--just like it got the tortoise there before the hare.  If you write 500 words a day, 5 days a week, you'll have a book-length manuscript by the end of the year.

4.  You don't have to start at the beginning.  Start wherever your energy takes you--even if it's in the middle or the ending.  You can fill in the necessary details (such as a beginning, for example) later on.

5.  In other words, give yourself permission as Anne LaMott suggests, to write a shitty first draft.

6.  Stop writing before you write yourself out during any given period.  That way you'll have an easier time getting started the next time you sit down.

7.  Try writing the old-fashioned way sometimes--with paper and pencil.  Martine Levitt suggests that when you write by hand, you slow down the process just enough to make better word choices.

8.  Read like a writer.  When you find yourself marveling at something an author has done, ask yourself how she/he did that.

9.  But don't forget to read like a reader.  Sometimes writers become so aware of craft that they stop reading for fun.  READ FOR FUN, YOU GUYS!

10. Remember that if you write, then you're a writer.  You're a real writer.  Too many people think that you're only a real writer if you've been published.  And too many people think that getting published is the only reason for writing.  Write because you want to.  Because you need to.  Because writing helps you make sense of your life and the world around you.  And while you're at it, create a writer's life for yourself.  Do a reading!  Join a writers' group!  Go on writers' retreats with writer friends!  No matter where you are on your writing journey, you can do any of these things.  Just remember to write.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

That moment when you thought you were coping . . .

. . . but then you realize you weren't?

Here's the thing I tell myself about myself:  I'm unflappable.  It's not that I'm super easygoing.  I internalize a lot.  But on the outside, it takes a lot to ruffle the feathers.  I'm stoic.  Like the British.  Only with better teeth.

Anyway, the dogs now believe anytime I pick up my keys that I am taking them to the dog park.  They sprint to the door and wait so we can go to the dog park and catch flying objects in our mouths together.  They're all PARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARK!

Most of the time I can disabuse them of the notion that the four of us are going on a date, but you know how dogs and people are--they believe what they wanna believe.  So even though I say NO PARK FOR YOU, they do their damnedest to shoot out the door like bottle rockets--the kind my boys used to set off, which made some people on 2nd Avenue call the police, etc.

Sons=Good times.

But whatever.  Meanwhile, the dogs raced out this morning when I was a) on my way to work and b) already late for work and c) had an open can of Dr Pepper in my hand.  I called them but of course they ignored me and ran around in the street for awhile, trying their best to get hit by Subarus, which is the car of choice here in the Aves.

So I lost it.

I started swearing on the front porch and otherwise losing it for all the world to see, and I was so noisy, that Ken Cannon, who had previously been almost naked because he was getting ready to shower, pulled his clothes back on so he could come outside and assist.

We corralled the dogs.  I stomped off.  And even though I was late, I went to Backer's to buy a hot cross bun.  And as I bit into it while furiously driving to work, I thought to myself, "My coper is broken."  This is what Karin will sometimes say about our six year-old granddaughter who can fall apart easily some days.  Her coper is broken.

My coper is broken, you guys.



Tuesday, March 14, 2017

What I do for fun now

Hello, Blog!  I see that I've ignored you for far too long now.  Let's try to correct that, shall we?

Let me start by telling you what I do for fun now.  As you know, I'm a columnist for the Salt Lake Tribune, which entitles me to receive all manner of unsolicited email.  Right now I am particularly annoyed by those sent to me from the Center for Education Reform in Washington, D.C. because their idea of reform is vouchers.  Bleh.  Also charter schools.  Also bleh.  What's so great about a system using tax dollars that doesn't have to be accountable to taxpayers IMHO?

Anyway.  I've taken to writing back snarky little emails about Betsy DeVos who favors guns in schools so we can shoot bears, etc.

They never answer me.  So today I sent a series of emails daring them to answer me.  Double-daring them.  Double dog-daring them.

It's been excellent fun.

I'll let you know if I hear anything back.