Beaufort Books

Thinking makes it so

/ J. F. Riordan / 19 Comments

Who’s your audience? It’s a question asked of writers all the time. Agents want to know. Publishers want to know. Even book club readers want to know. Most writers know how to gauge our answers to meet our business needs. Of course, to be published, a book needs to meet customer demand. But, to be honest, most of the time that’s only a guess based on what has sold before, and demand can also be created by marketing teams and media campaigns.

So, while I am delighted to have my books published, I don’t think about any of that when I’m writing. I really only write for an audience of one: me.


I write the kinds of books I want to read, and to be honest, while I do read for information, I mostly read for comfort and companionship. When I had high-pressure, stressful day jobs, I didn’t want to come home to read high-pressure, stressful books. I taught in the inner city. I didn’t want to read about suffering, murder, crime, drug use, and lost opportunities. I lived with that every day. When I moved into an executive position, I still spent a great deal of time thinking about human misery and how to help alleviate it. Again, I was often in the inner city, visiting schools, homeless shelters, prisons, half-way houses, and addiction centers. I also had many uplifting experiences in the fine arts world, to be sure. But what hung with me was always the human traumas that went on before my eyes every day.

I don’t think I’m alone in that. Many people have intense, exhausting, high stress jobs. And some of them find catharsis in reading about intense things, perhaps because at the end of a well-written book, there can be a release of the built-up strains.

But that’s not for me. I want to go to a world where there is a group of characters who feel like friends I can hang out with. I want to look deeply at the small miracles of daily life. I want to feel enmeshed and revived by the creativity and joy of an ordinary day. And so, both in the novels I write, and in my books of essays, I linger on the hope, the joy, the beautiful and all the ways in which frustrations, unkindness, and misery can be diminished—although never eliminated—by the way we focus our attention.

And so, when I’m writing, my incentive is the pleasure I take in joining the worlds I’ve created. I write (mostly) about characters I want to be with, who live in a world I enjoy being in. Maybe that’s selfish. I don’t know.

But honestly, I don’t know any other way to write; I don’t think I could write a horror story if I had to. “Write what you know” is the old adage, and I really don’t think there’s any better advice. Luckily, based on my readers’ comments, the kinds of books I like are also liked by other people. And that’s a pretty good system, I think.

So now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to go hang out with some old friends.

Cheers.

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Turkey in the Sky Addendum

Many of you couldn’t find the turkey in the photos yesterday. That’s because I don’t have a good zoom lens. But here’s the best I can do.

Today’s Gratuitous Dog Photo

He’s snoring.

Ears Up!

/ J. F. Riordan / 37 Comments

There’s a moment in the life of every German Shepherd puppy when, somewhere around five to eight months old, their ears are permanently up. Until then, they have adorable floppy ears, and for weeks, as they grow, there’s a one-day-up/next-day-down process which is both fun and suspenseful. For some individual dogs, the ears never fully stand. I don’t know if it’s genetics, nutrition, or a lack of ambition. Some owners obsess about whether their dog’s ears will stand straight, but it doesn’t matter to the dog, and it shouldn’t matter to anyone who loves him.

Auggie, two days short of eight weeks old.

German Shepherd ears are not merely for hearing. They are deeply sensitive instruments of expression and state of mind. If he is showing pride, joy, or dominance, his ears are straight up on the top of his head, slightly rotating to take in data like a space radio telescope. If he is running fast, or swimming, his ears lay flat for aerodynamic advantage. If he is submissive or doubtful, the ears slide down the back of the head. The ears slide back and flatten completely in extreme situations, particularly if he is demonstrating love. A mama GSD will flatten her ears when her puppies approach, perhaps to show she is receptive to their feeding. We call these “love ears,” and we see this daily with our own guys when they want a scratch or a kiss. A fearful German Shepherd will also flatten his ears, and, like any dog, his tail will drop.

Moses, who was the only musical member of my pack, also laid his ears back and stomped his front feet while singing. He loved to sing.

In my experience, no German Shepherd likes his ears touched. Unless you have a deep personal relationship with him, don’t even try. If you belong to a German Shepherd, he may enjoy being touched on his ears, but only when they are flat, or, with my dogs, if they know you are protecting them from a biting insect. German Shepherds will do almost anything to please those they love. But, unless there is life-threatening cold, do not ask them to wear a hat, a hood, or a costume that covers their ears. They will mope and become so depressed you will want to rip your heart right out.

Auggie is a particularly energetic and proud German Shepherd, and has always kept his ears ramrod straight unless in situations as noted above, but also when he plays his favorite charging game. Then, he will wait for my signal to speed toward me at top speed, ears sharply flattened. When he reaches me, growling in mock fury, his eyes sparkle and his ears pop up, straight and tall.

But when he came home from his nearly month-long stay at the veterinary hospital this fall, something had changed. He was cheerful, energetic, and delighted to be home. We had to drug him to keep him from running, and refuse to play his favorite games. “Not now, baby” is a phrase he understands, and he was hearing it an awful lot.

But he was not his usual self in two key respects: his left ear sagged slightly down the side of his head, and his lip on the same side had a droopy spot that caused him to drool continually. I spoke with the vet. Could he have had a minor stroke? Nerve damage? Was his lip just stretched out from having a breathing tube for so long? He didn’t know; it was possible. I felt sad, and slightly confounded by Auggie’s newfound capacity to spread NASA-grade sticky saliva on walls and ceiling (seriously), but I was so grateful that he was alive and home and doing well, that I didn’t care too much. Still, it nagged at me: a signal that he would never be the same.

He’s been home for more than two months now, and he continues to thrive. He is always hungry, and has consequently gained nine pounds. He is still slim, so that’s okay. It’s good, even, because it means he is thriving. Come spring I imagine—unlike me—the weight will fall away. But the ear and lip continued to droop. Until this week. I noticed first that I wasn’t constantly needing to wipe his lip with a paper towel. Then, my husband noticed his ears—perfectly straight and perfectly normal, even when playing Charge.

Had he been he depressed? Was it the crazy regimen of nine different drugs? Had his body been using the calcium to restore something more important, just as when GSD puppy ears flop while they’re teething? I will probably never know.

But Auggie’s back to his old self, and that’s all that matters.

Some Apposite Dog Photos

Auggie’s three month ears.
Pete, Moses, and four-month-old Auggie.

Moses and four-month-old Auggie. Note that his ears are already full-size, even though the rest of him is not. This is the bunny rabbit stage.

Moses showing his love ears. You needn’t be fearful approaching a German Shepherd whose ears are low.

Moses uses his ears to express his displeasure at being doused with tomato paste (it works!) to mitigate his encounter with an unhappy skunk. He’d gotten sprayed full in the face, and bitten, too. Pete laughs in the background.

Moses and Auggie, February 2019. The only time I made them wear hoods was during a polar vortex. It was -25F, and I feared their ears would freeze. You can see their opinion of my decision. The photo made international news.

Auggie at five months. Shown here with his brothers, Moses, and Pete. Ears up!
Featured

My brother’s keeper

/ J. F. Riordan / 36 Comments

We’re in the teeth of winter now. The actual temperature is -5F but the wind chill is -15F to -25F, which means the wind sweeps away your body heat at a rapid clip, and flesh freezes in mere minutes. In this bitter cold both animals and humans are suffering. Although we got our power back, not everyone did, and outside in this dangerous weather, there are people working hard to protect the rest of us, restoring power and operating community shelters.

I’m watching the turkeys this morning from my warm, comfortable vantage point on top of the hill, looking down into the woods. We have a flock1 of nineteen this year, somewhat smaller than usual, but always fascinating.

After the deer had finished their morning graze, the turkeys came down from their roosts and spread themselves among the three spots where we have put out seed. As I watched, I saw my one-footed friend—who has been with us for several years now—sit down by himself in the snow, fifteen feet removed from the rest of the flock as they fed. He knew he could not compete with the rough and tumble of the flock’s drive for food. My heart broke for him, because even though the others do seem to look out for him generally, the nature of turkeys seems querulous and wholly intent on individual survival. I told myself he would be able to eat when the rest had finished, but wished I could go out to give him his own little stash. He looked cold and lonely.

As I watched, one of the other turkeys broke off from the flock and walked over to him, nudging him gently. He got up, and together they walked to the pile of seeds, and, shielded by his friend, the injured turkey joined the others and began to feed. For the remainder of breakfast time, the limpy guy ate with all the others.

If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.

The turkeys are still here, and have been joined by squirrels, junkos, and chickadees. I know from long observation that today, instead of marching off on their usual trek, the turkeys will stay close by, puffing up their down coats, and sitting on logs somewhere out of the wind, preferably under bushes or brush piles. And they will all have eaten enough to fuel their bodies against the cold.

So, who wants to discuss how animals don’t practice altruism?

  1. For domestic turkeys the correct term for a group is rafter. I have been informed, however, that wild turkeys are in flocks. Don’t ask me. ↩︎

White out

/ J. F. Riordan / 25 Comments

There’s a thing called hubris, and even before the Sin of Pride it was punished by the gods. Remember my blithe dismissal of problems with the power grid? Well, it is healthy and well-maintained, but when your neighbor’s pine tree falls on it, there’s not much you can do.

We were out for our evening stroll with the dogs last night, and as we were brushing snow off lilac branches by the road, we heard a crack, and one of the 40 foot pine trees across the road just snapped off at the top and crashed to the ground.

We gathered the dogs and went inside.

I texted her to let her know, and while she and our other neighbor were outside to check it out, they found that the second neighbor had also lost a big pine and a Crabtree. And what was that bright light overhead?

Arcing power lines are no joke. So the fire department came, and after dealing with the emergency got stuck in first neighbor’s driveway.

We knew it would be moments before our power went out. I had time to fill a bathtub for flushing, plug in phones, gather flashlights, and turn on the gas fireplaces. About five minutes.

This morning it’s still dark. But we are warm, and the trusty vintage stove will make coffee for us and our neighbors as soon as there’s a bit more light to rummage in the cupboard for the French press coffee pot. Maybe those frozen croissants will be nice, too.

Meanwhile, we have an individual line that goes from the main source to our house, and although it’s dead now, it has many branches hanging on it. So even when the power comes on, the power will go right back out. I’m on hold with the power company as I write.

Meanwhile, we have lots and lots of beautiful snow, and warm, happy dogs. But the power company people are working outside in the dark to get us up and running again. Feeling lucky.

Happy weekend!

It’s a Blizzard

/ J. F. Riordan / 29 Comments

Or close enough.

We woke to steadily falling snow. The wind is whistling through the eaves like the sound effects in a particularly corny old movie, and the predicted snow totals have risen to a minimum of nine inches. We already have at least six, and it’s supposed to snow all day.

The dogs are in the kitchen, lying on their tummies to better savor their breakfasts of turkey bacon and eggs. There is a fire here, and fresh tulips on the mantel. My cup of coffee steams nearby.

People are stranded on the local highways, and I am betting the blowing snow makes the rural roads impassable. Semis are unable to make their way up minor slopes on the freeways. I hope they will all be merely inconvenienced.

I had planned to run out this morning on a minor errand, but that seems unnecessary. I cancelled the electrician, thinking that standing on a ladder working on light posts seemed unpromising in this weather. He seemed to agree.

Very soon I will need to bestir myself to accompany the dogs on a morning walk. Eli will not go without me, but I don’t mind. I have boots and a good parka, and sufficient inner child to find it fun.

I may have to spread the 160 pounds of bird seed I bought yesterday a bit sooner than planned. I saw the deer chewing on brush yesterday, and things will be harder now. Another child’s adventure.

The local weather guy says we may or may not meet the specific criteria for a blizzard, but why quibble?

Seems like a perfect day to stay home and design new cocktails for Roger.
If you know, you know.

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Pertinent (as opposed to gratuitous) Dog Photos