You should have received a different kind of email from me this morning. If you did not it’s because the site is verifying the emails on my list to ensure that they’re legit, and not some AI Nigerian hoping to procreate in our computers.
Feel free to let me know here whether you got it, but in any case, fear not, all the rough places will soon be plain.
I interrupt today’s novel-writing to bring you an important message. I am about to move my blog to Substack. You will still be receiving my daily emails, but they will look a little bit different. All of the technology will be much more user-friendly. Making comments will be easier, and maybe, once I’m out of this intense phase of writing, we will find more opportunities to interact.
If you want to download the app, you can do that, but you won’t have to.
My emails will still be free.
If you don’t receive anything from me tomorrow, please check your junk folder. Look for the Gratuitous Dog Photo.
See you on Substack!
You know those word scramble videos, where the words or letters float randomly around the screen until they finally alight and settle in their right order, like birds landing on a wire? Or the place in a puzzle where, after struggling to get any sense of the solution, suddenly in a flash it’s all perfectly clear, and you pop the answers into their spaces, one-two-three?
Well, that’s where I am in the book right now.
I see the pieces of the plot line, and the specific scenes, and they are floating around in my head, not quite finding their right order, but all there, ready to settle into their proper places. This whirling phenomenon is familiar, it is the beginning of the race to the end; the last first step before the book truly takes shape, when I can begin trimming, fitting, cutting, and polishing.
It takes so much effort and fits and starts to get to this place, but it is the good part: the part where rather than struggling to find the line, all I have to do is snatch it up out of the air and lay in its perfectly prepared spot.
Long writing days ahead, but the solution to the puzzle is whirling like those birds
We’re in the home stretch.
Have you pre-ordered?
After a full day of work, I dragged myself out of my writer’s hole around 9:30 this morning to eat something and breathe some fresh air. Auggie was already racing, and even Eli oozed out the kitchen door for a little walk and some time with his green ball.
On our walk we discovered an enormous tree deep in the woods that had been completely uprooted and lay like a fallen giant. In the process it had taken a few neighboring trees down with it. Some of the daffodils are six inches high and others are popping up everywhere amid the hostas—which are also poking up. The blossoms on one of our big sugar maples have already opened—a record— two tiny blue scilla are blooming at the bottom of the hill where the turkeys gather, and a cluster of snowdrops are thriving among last year’s leaves.
Here in the midwest we’d usually call this False Spring just before Third Winter, but even though we have Lake Michigan to keep us fairly cool for a while longer, I don’t think Actual Spring is far off. At least I hope it isn’t because a heavy snowfall on our blossoming maple tree could bring it down.
It was a short winter for us, but at least we got some snow along the way.
I have two full days with nothing on my calendar, and a substantial but unfinished manuscript, which means it’s time to read through the new book on paper. Every once in a while I need to step back from writing and read what I have so far as an actual book. That way I can see the plot line and get a sense of how the story flows. There’s always a lot of literal cutting and pasting, which I often prefer to do the old fashioned way. One dog nose, phone call, or other interruption and it’s too easy for computer cuts to disappear into the ether.
So, while I attend to my work, I thought it might be a good time to remind you that you can catch up on my series by purchasing the first four novels now, or, should you prefer, pick up a little children’s book, My Dog Pete (available exclusively at the link) to add to someone’s Easter basket. It’s on Kindle, too.
You don’t have to buy my novels or essays from the guys in Seattle. Let’s face it: civilization needs local bookstores, and if we want them, we need to patronize them. Some of my favorite bookstores include Honest Dog Books, Books & Company, Boswell Book Company, and Politics and Prose. You can also order at Barnes & Noble, Target, or WalMart.
Or maybe you can find the time to follow me on Goodreads—where my numbers are pathetically few—or to leave a nice review wherever you buy books.
And, of course, you can also pre-order the one I’m working on now—the fifth in the series— if you haven’t already. You have, right?
If you have a favorite bookstore, leave a link in your comments, so others can find it.
Thank you!
It was very windy yesterday, and normally I am conscious of the dangers of being among trees in those conditions. But it was sunny and warm, and I was restless from writing, and Auggie was restless from being himself, so we were outside when a big tree came crashing down before our eyes, very close to where we had just been.
It was far enough away that we were not in any danger, but close enough that the wood dust flew into our eyes. We went indoors to find the bedroom doors blown open, and small branches on the floor. Eli, who had refused to come outside, was hiding. After that we waited for sunset, when the wind tends to die down, to go out again.
Life is precarious, so this dog photo isn’t really gratuitous at all. Eli insisted on resting his head on Auggie’s flank. After some pointed stares and couple of noises that were more groans than growls, Auggie permitted it. For a little while.
We have another big dead tree close to the house I had planned to ignore for a while. I guess I’d better call Johanna, our tree climbing, chainsaw-wielding arborist.
I have been thinking a lot about grief lately. It is the only real constant in life, and yet we have to learn to roll with its waves and find the joys that intermingle with it, or else we will simply be immersed.
This morning I discovered by accident that a friend who lives some distance away lost her husband more than a year ago. She never told me, but then, we had lost touch during COVID, and the last time I saw her was when Eli was still a puppy, four years ago. She must have thought I would see the news somehow, but I no longer subscribe to the local paper, and have lost touch with the community, so when I stumbled upon his obituary this morning I was stunned.
There’s nothing I can do to make up for having let her down during this terrible time, and I hope she will forgive me. But please take a lesson from me: don’t let old friendships languish. COVID put us all in a weird rut of isolation. Call someone you’ve been out of touch with. You may never know how much it matters.
Reach out.
Look for joy.
Spoiler alert: Auggie gave us another scare this week, but instead of the worst possible news, it turns out he is experiencing the aches and pains of a middle-aged athlete.
You know how difficult it can be when you’re waiting for someone’s medical diagnosis. You flip restlessly through a book, if you have one, you play games on your phone, if you do that sort of thing, or you ruminate madly about worst case/best case scenarios. It’s important to find something to do.
As I waited for the surgeon’s diagnosis, there was an odd little stand with a drawer in the exam room. I had been in this room at the hospital before, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had never looked in this drawer. Part of it, maybe, was just knowing it was none of my business. But then it occurred to me that maybe it had something meant to be helpful: a pack of tissues, a roll of lifesavers, hand sanitizer, Gideon’s Bible…so I opened it. It was disappointingly, boringly empty.
I had come equipped to wait, so of course I had paper and pen, and I was very much in need of a distraction. So for some reason it occurred to me to do this. Too bad I didn’t have a packet of candy or something to add. I wonder how long it will take someone to find it—someone else who’s worried, bored, and needs distraction.
Auggie was a good boy, but he’s learned to be nervous about these places. Luckily, happily, joyfully, all was well, and we went home together, armed with a little bottle of pain pills. We played ball when we got there.
J.F. Riordan 