An Occasional Story

Please bear with me because some of you know bits of this story and experienced it first hand.

After my Irish Wolfhound/dog soul mate, Strider, died of bone cancer, my son talked me into letting him adopt a puppy. He had to do a lot of talking. On top of all the emotional aspects, this pup was barely seven weeks old and a mix of pit bull, lab, spitz, and I’m sure a bit of ketchup brand thrown in.

The animal shelter insisted on spaying her before we could take her home. It didn’t matter that I promised we’d do it  and I can understand as I’m sure they’ve heard that line before. But I was concerned about hormonal imbalance, the higher risk of cancer she would be exposed to, etc. She was spayed at seven weeks anyway, and we brought her home.

I told her she was weird looking (she still is). I told her she would never be loved as much as Strider (maybe she is). I told her she had beady eyes (she does, but okay, they’re cute beady eyes) and I told her she was useless (she’s a great guard dog and has protected my son more than once). I’ll admit it here; she’s wormed her way into my affections, probably by using some nefarious dog spell.

One way she accomplished this was by getting stuck on a huge boulder on the granite face of an area rock climbers habituate. It was dark, cold, and pouring rain, and since her exact location wasn’t known, it was determined to be too dangerous to find her.

Picture this. Me, sitting on a wet log along side a steep, narrow, hiking trail. Moss covered trees hang over me, a friend’s dog is shivering, soaked and plastered against my side. It’s almost dark. Every so often my friend’s dog would bark. And there would come back this faint, echoing answer from this dog I didn’t want and told myself I didn’t even like. We called off the search knowing she was out there alone except for bears and cougars and coyotes…

The next morning as soon as it was light lots of people showed up to help. Some had climbing gear, some hiked, and she was found still sitting on the boulder waiting. They said she was smart to know we were coming for her. I said she was too stupid to self-rescue and Strider would have known what to do.

Okay, so a few years have passed. This weekend I was scratching her tummy (she has a way of forcing a person to do her will) and found a lump under one of her tiny, undeveloped nipples. It’s about the size of the ball of my thumb. It doesn’t seem to hurt her when it’s touched, but it clearly doesn’t belong there.

The part of me that swears I don’t like her is saying wait a week or so and see what happens. But somehow, over the years, that part of me seems to be shrinking. Now there’s a bigger part shouting to rush her to the vet even though it’s at night and there would be emergency fees.

I really need to figure out how she works these mind control tricks.

See? Beady eyes working their spells.

See? Beady eyes working their spells.

Strider and friends

Strider and friends

Those Dang Apples and Oranges

Someone recently posted a photo of a man holding a sign comparing President Obama to terrorists. There was a lot of drama around the post and my response, but in a nutshell, I was annoyed by the failed analogy.

What is an analogy? A comparison between two things, on the basis of their shared structure, to explain or clarify. Or, a partial similarity, where there is a foundation of similarity between two things that are dissimilar.

In other words, you have two things. They are not the same, but at their foundation you can find something that is similar. As in the old saying about not being able to compare apples and oranges. Well, I suppose you could argue that at their most basic they are both fruit.  We’ll keep it simple here, though, and not get into rhetoric (reasoning or explaining from parallel cases), simile (an expressed analogy) or metaphor (an implied analogy).

So, with that in mind, it annoys me when people use, or try to use, an analogy incorrectly. I have to admit it annoys me because I do it wrong so many times. Just reading the definitions above is confusing, let alone trying to write analogies successfully.

Sometimes an analogy doesn’t work because the punctuation or completeness of a sentence fails. Or I misread it. One of my favorites was (thankfully) not written by me. ‘The cat jumped high, like an elephant.’ What appealed to me was the image of an elephant jumping as high and graceful as a cat. And then I pictured a cat jumping as high as the elephant was tall. Suffice to say the analogy didn’t work for me because it raised too many questions. Plus I still am not sure it was even an analogy.

But back to the original post. People have very strong political opinions, especially these days. I am not commenting in favor of one party or another, or taking a stand on anything political here. I am taking a writing stand however. I found the photo so stupid. How can you compare the president to a terrorist? What is the foundation of similarity? I’m sure there will be someone who will come up with a basis of similarity and tell me I’m wrong, but I’m going to continue on my merry way here.

The impact of that photo was lost because the analogy just didn’t work.

If you’re going to use an analogy, make sure you understand what it means, why it works, and why it doesn’t; whether you’re writing a novel, a poem, or making a political sign.

And I still want to see an elephant jump.

To Edit

Next week we will leave the rain, the forest, and the mountains for holidays with family in the high open plains of northeastern Montana. As far north and east as you can get and still be in the state. The days will be longer because there is nothing to block the light, compared to here at this time of year, when the sun is too weak to lift itself up from behind the ridge. And it will be very, very cold; already below zero.

I will be spending time with family, enjoying the holidays of course, and enjoying the break from chores and responsibilities at home. But even more than that, I am going to have lots of writing time because I seem to be the odd one in the family, who gets up before noon.

The first, very rough, draft to The Memory Keeper‘s sequel was finished several weeks ago. It has been left to its own devices while I started on a new project. As most know, that gestation time is important in order to allow time to distance yourself from the words. It allows you to be more objective when you finally return to the page. Every time something is finished, I wonder as I set it aside, how long it will have to sit. Some will tell you to leave it a few weeks, some a few months.

As with most things to do with writing, it depends on the writer. I know, for me, it’s time to start the first edit when I find myself starting to wonder about the story again. When it first gets put away, I won’t think about it at all. Relief will be the overriding emotion. Relief that it’s finally finished. But eventually I find myself wondering if I remembered to do something, or if a character remembered to say something. Sometimes I even wonder what I wrote.

If I’ve reached the point that I can’t remember the story, that to me is the starting edit bell.

And it’s perfect timing since I have this vacation approaching. And so as I pack this coming week, I’ll be packing the three-ring binder with all the printed pages, the highlighters, the blank paper for all the revisions, and the red pen. The story may be worse than I think, or better than I think. But either way it’s going to be fun.

Home for the holidays