Pulling the Pieces Together

For long time blog readers, you might recall that waaaay back in September of '07, I mentioned there would be some career changes in the air for '08. The biggest change is that I have drastically, as in almost completely, cut back on my project (read: paid) writing and am instead spending the first half of this year focusing on creative writing.

Or rather, I'm trying to. I'm amazed how quickly each day flies by and how little work it seems I've accomplished. My struggle is making life fit around my writing versus the other way around. This week, I am losing the battle.

Instead of sitting down to write, my mind is buzzing with a list of chores. These include: preparing material for a workshop this Saturday, writing and practicing a Toastmasters speech, following up with our dental insurance to see where the heck our claim money is, calling our auto insurance carrier to see if they'll match the better rate we were were quoted by a competitor, clean the house, buy stamps, pull together a tri-board display I said I'd do (stupid, stupid, stupid) for my Toastmasters group, write a brief proposal to someone who wants me co-author a book, research details for said proposal, exercise, yoga, volunteer at the animal shelter, wash my car, etc., etc.

Certainly nothing mind boggling or outside the ordinary there. But I'm finding that I'm focusing on getting all of the above done FIRST and then I'll write.  Only I'm not feeling the least bit creative or inspired after being on hold with dental claims for 30 minutes, or after spending 4 hours with caged animals in a shelter.

So my priority is to fit the rest of life around my writing time. Which probably means I need to start saying "no" more often then not. No, I can't give a speech that week, no, I will not teach a workshop, no, I can't meet for lunch or coffee. Writing time first, in the morning and early afternoon hours when I'm at my best. All the rest can wait to be dealt with in the late afternoon. I need to get back to my "no checking e-mail and no taking phone calls" before noon stance, as well.

So I'm going to ignore the list I just typed here, pour myself a cup of coffee (decaf) and go sit in my messy downstairs bedroom writing space and spend the morning writing. The rest of the world will just have to wait to be dealt with until later today. I'm sure it will still be there when I emerge.

Where Do You Write?

Where do you do your writing? It's a question most writers ask of one another. We're all hoping to hear the magic answer that will improve our own writing and make our dreams of fame and wealth come true. You laugh, but I guarantee if Stephen King said he never wrote anywhere but in the bathtub, legions of wanna-be published writers would figure, what the hell, pour in some Mr. Bubble and give it a shot.

As for me, I'm experimenting with writing spaces. I've all but given up trying to do creative writing at my desk. I can brainstorm there, and I can edit, but when I sit there I think "work" and all creative juices fling themselves out the window to go splat on the ground below.

For the moment, I'm cozily ensconced in our downstairs bedroom. I've set up a card table in the corner, although most mornings I prop myself up with a pillow and stretch out on the bed, laptop on my thighs. The idea with the card table was to "test" the space. If I liked it, then we'd look into prettying it up into an office.

The thing is, the space is working so well, I'm afraid to fool with it. I think I feel free to write here because the space is not fixed up. The futon is folded against the wall, waiting to find a home. Plastic bins of magazines I collect for my workshops are shoved in a corner. A folding chair is pulled up to the laminate card table and stacks of projects are piled unceremoniously on the floor. I brought a CD player in and it sits on the floor next to the rocking chair, CD's stacked next to it.

In short, the room is far away from the normal sticky tab order of my daily life. And I'm worried if I bring in a "real" desk and shelving, the space will just turn into another "office" where I can't work. So while it looks crummy, I'm lovin' the "things just stay where they fall" lifestyle.

Reinforcing my instinct to not fool with the room is this story, shared by a friend in my writer's group. He and his wife used to live in a small apartment. He wrote most of his first novel late at night, in a tiny room with a desk shoved in the corner. Then they moved to a new, larger home. He has a good sized office, but found he wasn't writing a word. So last week we recreated his old office. He painted the room the same dingy color of the old space, brought back his old desk,  old chair, and shoved them both in a corner. Said he's been writing up a storm ever since.

Space writing mojo... honor it.

Parvo Outbreak

There was a parvo epidemic at the shelter this weekend and 61 dogs had to be put down. Sixty-one. One person who adopted two puppies over the weekend brought them both back when one puppy showed signs of the disease. They were both put down. I can't imagine how the shelter coordinator is feeling. Poor woman. What a horrible, horrible day.

Three thoughts:

1. If people would vaccinate their animals, this wouldn't happen.
2. If the shelter received money to vaccinate animals upon arrival--as most shelters do--this wouldn't happen.
3. If people would have their animals spayed or neutered and stop using backyard breeders there wouldn't be as many animals in shelters, and there would be a less likelihood of this happening.

The shelter closed on Monday/Tuesday for a mass cleaning. I wonder how many dogs will be there on Friday.

Rockingham County Animal Shelter Stories

There are good people in this world. I have met them.

Last week, the Rockingham County Animal Shelter put out a plea to area residents. The Shelter was overflowing with dogs and many healthy animals were going to have to be put down. The overcrowding resulted in part from an elderly man who died and the 10 dogs at his home were brought in, plus there are 2 mother dogs there, one with a litter of 7 and one with a litter of 8. Two different TV stations covered the overcrowding s did the Greensboro News & Record. And God bless them, people responded.

Friday was a madhouse.  Forget cleaning cages. The first two hours were spent just trying to keep track of people who came in the door.  I can't cover everything that happened, but here are a few of my favorite stories:

Story 1 - You Pick

A couple in their early 60's arrived. They said they saw the TV report and lived on a farm with 4 dogs but decided they could make room for another. "We just have to help," said the woman. "Wonderful," I said. "The dogs are in here," and I started walking for the door.

The woman shook her head. "Oh no. We can't look at the dogs.  It would break our hearts. " Her husband nodded his agreement. "Why don't you just pick out a dog you think would be good for us?"

Oh my God. That's like picking out a child for someone to adopt. I think my panic must have shown on my face because the man finally agreed to go into the kennel with me. We found a beautiful, hyper puppy they loved, but it was part Rotweiller and their landlord didn't allow Rotts or Pit Bulls. So we pulled out a Lab puppy mix, but the poor thing was petrified. It ran and hid in the corner and no amount of treats or petting or coaxing could pull him out. All that was visible for 40 minutes was his little backside.

"Do you want me to pull some other puppies out?" I finally asked.

"Oh no," they said. "We'll take this little guy. He just needs some love. We like dogs that might be a challenge to place."

If it was within my power, I would crown these two wonderful people royalty.

Story 2:- Donation

A woman came in and handed me an envelope with a check donation. She apologized profusely for not being able to take a dog, but her family already had 3 dogs and 2 cats. "I'm so sorry," she kept repeating, near tears. I assured her the money was needed and she was doing a wonderful thing. "I'll come back and volunteer," she said. "I want to help." I hope she does come back. Volunteers are always welcome.

Story 3:  Tough Guy

Right after we opened, a rough-looking young guy walked in. Maybe 22 years old, he had scratches and bruises on his face, knuckle rings, baggy jeans, crew cut, and just looked... rough. I asked how we could help him and he mumbled something about seeing his dogs. I had no idea what he was talking about but we were swamped, so I just waved him toward the room where we keep the dogs. A few minutes later, I followed him in there. He didn't hear me enter (not surprising, given all the barking).  He was standing in the very last cage with a dog that had been labelled "aggressive." The dog was as tall as he was and was standing up, paws resting on the man's shoulders. The man was hugging the dog and their foreheads were bowed in and pressed together. The man was sobbing.

I'm tearing up even typing this. I had no idea of the situation, but seeing this man hug his dog and cry and the dog hugging him back as though comforting him, their foreheads touching... I will never forget that image.

I slipped out of the room and the man followed a short while later. His eyes were still wet. I motioned him outside, away from everyone. I didn't quite follow the story he told me. Something about his mom lost her job and they'd had to move and a few other things, the upshot being, his two dogs were taken. "And they got them labelled aggressive but they're real sweet with us," said the man. "Good with the kids and house and stuff. Ain't never been mean." 

He looked into the distance and his eyes filled again with tears. "I only got money to get one out." He turned to me in desperation.  "You think she'd hold on to my other dog until I get money together for him?" I have never seen such pain in a person's eyes.

It was all I could do not to go running for my wallet. I told the man I thought there was a good chance they would hold a dog they knew someone was coming for, but he'd have to speak to the shelter supervisor.

I lost the young man in the chaos of the rest of the day, but later I saw the shelter manager walk into the cage where he'd been hugging the dog, and inject a syringe into the dog's leg. The man then carried the dog out. Was it a sedative? Is his other dog being held? I wasn't able to find out before I left.

But working Friday at the shelter reinforced my belief that people are good and they want to help. People who hadn't planned on dogs decided in the space of a 30-second TV spot to open their home to an animal. I love the bond animals create. It's a cause around which I truly believe the vast majority of us can unite. Most people have had a pet or a positive experience with an animal. No one likes to look at a hopeful furry face with gentle eyes and think of it having to be killed not because it's sick, but because there's "no more room." A love of animals brings people of every race, background, religion, and education level together. It was amazing seeing all these people mix at the shelter. And they were all there simply because they loved animals. They wanted to help and do the right thing.

Friday was a good day.