Why I can never be a great writer...

...

I'm not one of those people.

I'm really not.

I take responsibility for my own actions. I never try and pass the buck.

BUT...

I think I'm going to have to pass the buck here...

To our weiner dog Oskar.

Early, early Friday morning I got up to write.

I tiptoed down the hall in the dark house.

I gently closed my office door. And put a chair in front of it because to latch it you have to close it really hard.

And I opened my word files to continue writing my great American novel.

...

ARRRGGGHHHH!!!!

OK, I cannot tell a lie.

Let me rephrase that a bit.

...I opened my word files to START writing my great American novel and...

click

click

click

I heard the distinctive sound of weiner dog toenails clicking on the hardwood floor in the hallway.

click

click

click


Thud. Thud. Thud.

I heard the distinctive sound of a weiner dog head trying to open the office door.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Heat butt.

Silence.

Ahhhh...

I begin.

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He begins head-butting the door again. To no avail.

I start again.

"It was a dark and stormy night and Bob felt the full fury..."

Thud. Thud. THUD!

Whine, whine, whine.

I got up from my desk chair in a huff and stubbed my toe on the wooden chair I had shoved in front of the door.

I yanked the door open. There he lay, on the floor, outside of my door, looking dejected and starved.

"It is 1:20 am," I told him firmly, "It is not time to eat."

And I closed the door and put the chair back.

Whimper, whimper, whine, whine, THUD!

"Oh for crying out loud," I say in a mean voice. I go to the kitchen and give him a half a scoop of dog food. And then I see his water bowl is empty. And the dishwasher needs unloaded.

Finally, I am back at my desk. Door firmly closed.

click

click

click

Thud, thud, THUD!

I stomp to the door and open it. There he is. Pathetically lying there looking ... ummm.... pathetic.

So I let him come in.

And he jumps up in the leather chair that sits in the little bay window and settles down with a big weiner dog sigh.

And I go back to my novel.

"It was a dark and stormy night and Bob felt the full fury of the storm as it lashed his..."

lick, lick, lick.

lick, lick, lick.

"Oskar! Stop licking!" I say, "I'm trying to write here. Just stop licking. Now!"

"It was a dark and stormy night and Bob felt the full fury of the storm as it lashed his wind swept dark hair and lick, lick, lick..."

Arrrrgggh.

"Oskar! Stop! Licking! Now!"

lick, lick, lick.

So I decide it is time to go back to bed.

See?

See what I mean?

It's totally Oskar's fault that I can't become a great writer.

Seriously. I wonder what would have happened if Shakespeare had a weiner dog?


You can click on the picture to read this literary masterpiece more clearly.

Sigh.

Even farther off on my tangent...

Last month I started doing this little writing thing...500 words according to a monthly "theme". Becky Povich mentioned it to me (Thank you Becky!) and I checked it out...

There are no rules about what to write...just a set of words as guidelines...for April the "theme" is "What is the difference between lying and pretending?".

So last week I closed my office door, opened Dr. Wicked's Write or Die onto my computer screen, set the timer for 20 minutes, 500 words and this is what came out.

I was surprised.

Not my usual writing style. Not my usual tangent. And definitely a work of fiction!

And not even sure if it fits under the guidelines, but it is what was in my head and Susan Bono, the lady that has the site said it was different but OK.

So I thought I'd share it with you anyway.

REAL OR IMAGINED.

I had just poured myself a glass of water when the doorbell rang.

I hesitated for a moment. Ready for an early night dressed in my shabby, old red flannel nightgown, I didn’t feel appropriately attired to chat with a neighbor or turn a hopeful-eyed missionary away.

I peeked outside through the small window in the living room and saw the flashing red and blue lights of something ominous in my driveway.

I answered the door to find two baby-faced police officers. How can boys of twelve get into law enforcement anyway?

I feel old and haggard and tired and confused standing there with my icy glass of water chilling my fingers.

I am detached as I watch their mouths open and hear words come out.

And the chill from my glass seeps through every pore of my body when I hear their words.

And their words seep through every particle of my sanity and in slow motion the glass falls from my hands and shatters on the hard concrete of my front porch.

I stumbled back with a startled cry.

And the red and blue lights flash festively on the diamond-bright shards of broken glass at my feet.

I am puzzled.

This must be a dream.

But it is so vivid. So vivid and so clear.

But, yes, it is a dream.

I toss and turn through the night unable to fall into a numbing slumber.

My mind is jumbled with words and thoughts and the flash of imagined red and blue lights eerily permeate the frost that has seemed to settle over my brain.

I awake panicked, trapped by the folds of my shabby, old red flannel nightgown.

My mouth is dry.

I splash cold water on my face to erase the cobwebs.

And I sigh.

It is going to be a long day. I will be gentle with myself today.

At my age a sleepless night can be as devastating as a disease.

I walk slowly up the hallway to put the coffee on.

I gulp thirstily from a glass of icy water. Its cold benediction feels like a memory and I turn away from the sink and go to get the morning newspaper.

My front door opens to a glorious late Spring morning.

The grass stretches away green and lovely.

The sky is that shade of pure, beautiful blue seen only on a newly-hatched Spring morning.

The air smells like a promise.

I take a deep breath and the scent of green and calm enters my body.

All is calm. All is bright.

I step through the doorway and give a sudden yelp of pain.

I lean against the doorframe and lift my foot.

A bright drop of red blood gleams on my toe.

I am puzzled for a moment and then I see the broken shards of glass scattered and gleaming like diamonds in the early morning sunshine.

Strange, huh? I like it in a totally different way.

You might want to try this. Click here to go to the site, Tiny Lights!

The theme for May is "How do you make your intentions clear?"

I had been talking to Mr. Jenny about doing a weekly writing theme meme...with 100 words but I'm not sure if anyone would like to try it. It would be quick to read...and you are all so creative. Let me know your thoughts on this?

And since I'm being all serious and intellectual here I guess I can't really say sigh.

But guess what?

I'm going to anyway!

Because I can't be serious for more than two days in a row...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure there isn't any broken glass on my front porch.

...

...

Sigh...