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Canine Colloquies

3/3/2013

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Dear Author-dude, Dog here.  I read your previous article on "Whither the Physical".   Not bad.  However, allow me to take time out from managing the local goose population up at the park for a minute to respond.

First of all, some never have had the dusty fond memories you talk about.  A vinyl LP?  What in the world do you speak of?  Are those the things in the back room you never take out anymore but which we can't get rid of?

Second, I will 'second' your comment on new books.  I love pulling down your copies of books and opening them before you do.  Some are great reads.  Others are better as chew toys.  By the way, the youngest dog is clever enough to chew on the part of the book facing away from you on the shelf, so you won't see the damage when she puts the book back.   Sometimes we don't give her enough credit.

Third, an adult observation here that I noticed while up  watching some late night television.  Does an e-cigarette count as something physical?  I was thinking we could put it in a category of 'false physical'.  It certainly isn't the same as smoking a cigar with your friend on the back deck after a long day at work, you on your computer, me with the local flora and fauna.   And then, I hate to bring it up, but love: is that physical anymore?  Seems to me all this computer stuff for, um, love...well, enough said there.  Us dogs, we could never properly check out someone new without using our nose you know.  And give me a good stranger's leg to hump in the living room so that I can embarrass you, I'll take that anyday over the computer stuff.

Lastly, it's this whole thing of how people do things now.  Look, I go out a lot, as far as you let me within the jail that is the fenced-in yard, that is.  I get exercise and I see the sun within your attempt at a miniature nature preserve, minus the nature.  My nose is to the ground learning about the world, nonetheless.  Learning about what that sneak squirrel is up to, or if padfoot rabbit's been out and about in the yard.  You humans...all the world's at your fingertips, sure, catalogued for you nicely in an amage.  So you stay inside.  Not only do you lose out on cataloging things differently from first-hand experience, but you get issues with eye strain, back pains, and lack of exercise.  You ought to be taking me out on walks more often to discover the world first-hand, so you can get gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe, or I can eat the gum you don't step on, as if anyone is outside enough to spit gum out on the sidewalk anymore.   Now THERE'S a lost physical pleasure.  The point is, you can catalog that in better writing from real-world experience.  I'll be happy to lend my witty tongue to the process.

Just a dog's take on things physical versus things made of bits and bytes.  You should have brought this up for the book, you know.   Dog signing off for now.  Work calls.
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Dog Wants Skates

1/20/2013

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"You want skates?"  I repeated Dog's request back to him, not sure I had heard him right.  I would have cleaned out my ears for effect, but I had gloves on.
Dog, his dark brown miniature Dachshund frame shivering a bit in the cold, blew out cigar smoke as cool as a, well, cat, as we balanced ourselves on the deck.  It was covered in a sheet of ice due to last night's rain which froze as everyone slept.  "Sure do.  I want a pair of skates.  You can see why after finally coming out here and seeing what I have to put up with to just go to the bathroom.  See?  This deck is like a skating rink.  I need skates to traverse from the house to the ramp and stairs."
Shaking my head, "But how would you actually get down the ramp to the yard, then?"
Dog smiled, his teeth reflecting a garish orange glow from the ember at the end of his cigar.  "That would be the fun part.  With skates, I'd just slide down that ramp, land in the snow at the bottom.  You could take videos and post them on the internet."
I laughed. 
"What's so funny?"  Dog seemed a bit put off by my laughter.
"Sorry, I'm not mocking you, but the sight of you sliding down a ramp, cigar clenched in your teeth, on ice skates, with your long ears flying behind you...well, that WOULD be quite the sight! Even better if we found some goggles for you to wear."
Dog blew more cigar smoke out. "So you agree?  You'll get skates for me?"
Placing my cigar in my mouth, I put my hand out.  Dog grinned, the winter light sparkling in his dark eyes, and he spat in hisshook my hand.  "Remember, I need four skates."  We had a deal.

Read more adventures of Dog, the philosopher of life and daring swashbuckler, in Cigars with Dog - Conversations and Tall Tails.
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On Being a Almost-Writer

1/12/2012

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_ Since I am not a published author (in the real sense, in the sense that gets you in bookstores autographing an honest for-real physical paper page with something like “To Joey, Great to hear about your mole that looks like Mary singing the Magnificat, - Steve”), I never get asked where I get my ideas. Well, besides my Mom. Sometimes I think that is not in the sense of “That was a really stellar idea!” as in more of, “I raised you, I know what you read as a kid growing up and where you got grass stains on your pants, but for Pete's sake I don't know where you get that fool stuff you write about. I can't show that to the ladies down at Bingo!”

I guess it is good that I don't get asked where I get my ideas, because I would have to admit that sometimes I get my ideas from my dog, as we sit on the porch and share a cheap cigar and a Brandy Old Fashioned while watching daylight disappear. (With this, I give away my heritage a bit, as most Brandy Old Fashioned drinkers are from Wisconsin. Alas, I no longer reside in the motherland.) The rest of the time I get my ideas from going through life, or deriving an idea from some other work. (For example, my Conversations with Dog series is obviously modeled on Boston Legal, where the two main characters discuss the events of the episode on the balcony at the end of the show. I know, that wasn't the biggest mystery to figure out if you've read even half of one of those stories.)

Nonetheless, I am an Almost-Writer. Recently promoted from a Not-Writer. I have “published” things on Scribd, for free. I have put some things on my own website. And...well, that's it. However, I haven't always written. Oh sure, in school I loved writing, scribbled things on loose leaf paper...even typed some and sent them to magazines in college. I had ideas about being the next great novelist, an angry young writer, perhaps. The guy with a pen and an eye for that quirk of life that delight the reader. However, in a quirk, I started not-writing at age 22, after college.

At first I stopped writing because I was newly married and newly employed. So I thought it would be a grand idea to focus there. You know, there was someone new to pay attention to, someone that if I didn't pay enough attention to would give me back the wrong attention. Plus, that job thing was new and a bit time-consuming and seemed the ticket to a fun life with a few goodies. Then, before you know it, I had little Rumpelstiltskins running around the house, being all demanding with diapers filled to the brim and all that goes with that. (It seems, now, looking back, that they went from birth to running in minutes, although my wife, who swears she took the brunt of the late night feedings, swears it took a millennial.) And one thing led to another, one year led to another...and although I wrote the occasional short piece, a once-in-a-while poem when my muse absolutely demanded and threatened never to come back if I didn't write this one down, late at night....I was, when I woke up, a not-writer.

I had all the excuses, some of which I so perfected and wound into my life that I still use them today. You could say I am a professional at the use of some of these, and creative in applying them. Anyhow, to list them in no particular order, I found I:was too tired from work.
  • was too tired from work
  • wanted to give the kids some attention.
  • didn't stop watching TV soon enough that night.
  • was caught up reading a real novel.
  • was caught up in politics.
  • didn't stop watching TV soon enough that night.
  • had a dog rope toy in my hand, slobber still dripping off of it as the dog had just dropped it there.
  • could more easily look at the clouds in the sky than at a blank piece of paper or a blank computer screen.
  • was going somewhere in a week and needed to get other stuff done (which oddly turned into watching TV late into the evening). (The observant reader, trained in spotting themes, might spot one of those by now.)
  • was interrupted by a phone call.
In short, momentum and motivation were infrequent friends in my quest as a not-writer. And when I actually would start to write, by page 80, say, I would throw up my hands (my dog would imitate this movement, because he knew it meant a trip to the yard to get fresh air), and say, “That's stupid! This would never happen. No one will believe it.” Then I would stop writing. In reality, the only person not believing the story was the not-writer writing it.

Which brings us to today. Or tonight, actually. I've lately written a lot more. Won a couple contests, received some nice feedback and encouragement. Even made some writing friends. But when it gets to putting that actual first book together...yeah. Yeah...but the good news is I think I am an almost-writer now. In honor of that promotion, I am going to give myself the rest of the night off and watch some TV. No sense pushing our luck with this.

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    Author

    I have been writing for a long time...but recently became serious about it due to Scribd, where I have over 1,200 followers and over 170,000 readings of over 100 pieces.  Links to some of those on the relevant pages on this site.

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