How to Tell if Your Book is Neato

Well, hey there!  I feel like I’ve been away forever, which is so funny to me.   I’m still in awe of The Experiment.

Let’s see…what have I been up to?  The biggest news is that Kim and I have a fully laid-out version of our book, Dog Photography For Dummies.  Apparently, when our editor, Vicki, told us last month that it was our last chance to make edits, it was only half true.  This month was our last LAST chance.  And I actually believe her.  We were only allowed to make edits that were absolutely necessary (like when we called a Mastiff a Great Dane, after switching a photo but not the description, for example).  It all looks really good, if I do say so myself.  All of us did a bang-up job on it.  Super duper, team!  It’s a pretty neato book, and here’s how I know: despite having spent 7 months with these words and nearly another 5 in the process before that (we’re coming up on the year anniversary of when Wiley contacted us), as I went through our pages, I:

1. Immediately flipped to all the photos first to see how everyone looked–before I even started reading.  Who cares about the words anyway?  Bohhhhh-ring.  It has pictures!  It’s the coolest canine yearbook ever.  I just hope we can get a lot of pawtographs–I’m pretty sure you don’t need opposable thumbs to sign “K.I.T.” or “LYLAS!”
   
2. Literally laughed out loud once I actually started reading.  I had forgotten how amazingly clever and quick-witted we are.  Oh, we are so hilarious.  And by “hilarious,” I mean “I think we might’ve been drunk when we wrote a few parts.”  To get the full effect, I read some aloud to Kim.  Indeed.  Yep.  We are definitely funny.  Or drunk.
   
   *(does anyone know why WP is cutting off this panel?  I gave up fighting with it after 20 minutes)

3. Didn’t mark it up with edits–and I was looking for them.  There’s an epidemic spreading across this country, people, and it’s called “I don’t care about know spelling I never learnt grammar either LOL but I still get job’s .  People take there life’s too seriosly.”  Really?  I can overlook most of the daily assaults on the English language in casual settings like Facebook and parties (cuz let’s face it–English DOES kind of ask for it with its impossible rules and sassy mouth), but seeing it in PRINT is just tragic.  It happens all the time…and it never gets easier; I’m always totally shocked and angry.  And then I light the book on fire and throw it across the room.  I really hope I don’t have to set my own book alight.

So after reading our book in all of its official layout glory with the proper font, colors, and photos and figures in the right places (and mechanical errors silenced), I was pretty stoked.  And then I got nervous.

“What if this doesn’t sell?”

All along, I’ve hedged my bets, which I think is perfectly realistic.  While my dad is already planning visits to his famous author daughter’s Malibu estate, I’m measuring my income in Ramen noodles and fending off the nightmare that this little blip on the radar won’t even make it to the radar.

Did you know Amazon lists over 8 million books?  8 million.   According to some remedial Googling I just did, getting below 10,000 in the ranking (we’re at #400,000 something at the moment) is considered successful.  One of the things we’ll be asking our fans to do is help us achieve that by providing positive reviews on our Amazon listing.  Of course, we want honesty.  You don’t blatantly lie…but don’t worry too much about that; I don’t think you’ll have to.

All I can say is the book is done, and I’m proud of it.  Not only because it’s well-written (at least, I hope it is), but because we managed to create something we think will really help others.  Whether it’s an individual dog guardian, a slew of rescue volunteers, or an aspiring entrepreneur reading through our pages, I really believe this book has the power to add something positive to their lives (as well as their dogs’).  Throughout the book, we do our best to tie it into what matters–the love, celebration, and welfare of dogs.  And in the end, that’s worth way more than an Amazon ranking.

Well, I Didn’t Blow Myself Up

Well…I made it!

I have officially written and blogged for 7 days in a row.

That might not seem like much to you, but this is a major achievement for me.

I think about where I was a week ago…actually, I’ll back farther–like, a month.

I was smack in the middle of a slump.  We had finished our book except for the final edits, a big freelance account was coming to a close, and I just wasn’t sure what I was going to do.  I also had not one iota of desire to write.  And it was paralyzing.

It seemed all I did during my “previous” life was spend hours I didn’t have writing emails that didn’t need to be written…the kind full of narrative and exposition and you know…writing.  Just because I wanted to.  Just because I felt it.  And I’d find inspiration in my daily doings–sitting back in the middle of management meetings to watch my colleagues collaborate with so much heart and smarts or driving home from work in the moody but huggy fog–and I’d just have to write.

I left my life behind because in my soul, I just felt like I was a writer.

And immediately, things took off.  I was rockin and rollin right outta the gate, and I was feeling pretty dang pleased with myself.  And then somewhere around mid-June, it just started fizzling out a little and no matter what I did to try to fan that little flamelette, nothing was catching.  For a few weeks, I was worried, but okay.  After a month of it, I was consciously starting to ignore the depression that was tap-tap-tapping at my window.

I managed to push out the Freelance Hustle at the end of June, and then that was it.  I went into a dark hole of not having anything to write about or say and not knowing why.  And then I started doubting everything and trying to make myself as small as possible on the universal radar.  I even dissed Coacherly the Great because of a scheduling snafu that I couldn’t recover from.  We had arranged a session after a couple of tries, but a vet appointment for one of the tiny snarling beasts ran long on the day we were finally supposed to talk, and I felt so ashamed of not being able to keep a simple appointment, that I just disappeared.  When I’m that low, I can’t bear to face anyone, even after tiny hiccups that aren’t my fault.  I just can’t bring myself to lay my failure at anyone’s feet.

Luckily, Coacherly the Great is a talented and encouraging man.  He didn’t let me get away.  He used his powers of email to blast through my feeble wall, and caught me at a good time.

I was in a weeklong Grantsmanship Center training to learn how to write grants, and it had raised my mood significantly.  Going to class every day for 5 days was just what I needed.  I got to be around other people (something that’s distinctly missing from home-based offices, for better or worse), got to use my brain and collaborate and try new things and feel productive and like I could really do something with this new skill.  I felt alive again!  So when I got Andrew’s email, I responded and knew I would keep the appointment he invited me to try again for.  And well, you all know what happened during that.

The biggest thing that stuck with me from that session is the theory he had around why I wasn’t writing.  Or, why I wasn’t feeling like I had anything to write about, after I had totally changed my life to make room for it.

He said that sometimes, our internal saboteurs are crafty mothers, and they have a real way of messing us when we’re trying to just git er dun, you know?  It’s like the universe is testing us to see if we REALLY want what we say we do.  It’s just a big chess game, is all it is.  Like, I took the leap to leave my job and my immediate reward of a book contract kept me busy for 9 months (check), but I haven’t written much of my own stuff (brought my queen out too early).  So now that I have the time, the tricky, doubting devils inside have made me believe I have nothing to say (dang–took my queen).  Just to eff with me.  Just to see how badly I want this.  Well, I wanted it (still have my rook–didn’t see it there, didya?).

So I embarked on that Experiment.  And now that I’m at the end of it, here are my conclusions:

 

• I can’t believe how fast it went
• I will miss doing this every day–I don’t want this to end
• I feel like I know a lot more about who I am as a writer
• I actually believe that I am a writer–it’s not just an affirmation written across the dry erase board in my office

And most of all, my hypothesis was proven.  I thought 7 days would be long enough to create enough momentum to form a habit.  And it totally did.  And that–more than anything else that happened this week–is what means the most.  Because it means that even though I didn’t feel like I did at the time, I actually had faith in myself.  I couldn’t see it or feel it, but I actually was willing to believe I could write for 7 days.  And then I did.  This week was the vision I’ve had of myself–excusing myself to my office on a schedule to write, feeling articulate, having people to write to, staying up late, getting up early…riding the wave.

I’m so tired…but so, so happy.  I managed to shake the cobwebs out and create some energy here (but not now. Now, I have to sleep), and I’m so grateful and excited.

The only question now is, what’s next?

I had a request today to keep blogging every day.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep that pace up, but I will definitely be doing it a lot more now.  It feels like a lifestyle now as opposed to something on a to do list.  And I love it.  So who knows what’s next?  Anything’s possible–so long as I continue to LEAP.

Checkmate.

How about you guys?  Any of you fight with yourself?  How do you beat your saboteurs?  I hope you will share your stories of success or trade ideas here.  We’re all in this together.

 

 

 

 

 

Freshly Obsessed–er, PRESSED

Yesterday started out unremarkably, except that I woke up feeling better than I had in awhile, (dumb summer colds).  I flashed a peace sign to the heavens in gratitude.   Word.  I had a major deadline for a possible gig, and I had set aside the whole day to work on it.  Having a clear head and nose would help immensely.  This was a great omen, I decided, as I performed my morning ritual of weeding through my email and Facebook happenings that posted overnight.  Then I put the coffee on and wrangled the little dogs for our daily morning walk.  Pretty standard.

We came back from our trot having had no incidents, which was another delightful treat.  A pack of three Chihuahua mixes might not SOUND like any trouble, but let me tell ya–they will cut you.  Rather–they want you to think they will cut you.  This equates to them barking at anything that dares move into our path, hurling themselves wildly into the air until the leashes remind them that they’re attached, and pretty much making a fool of me twice daily.  I’m usually good and grumpy by the time I arrive home, dragging the tiny snarling beasts behind me.  I can only be angry at myself, really.  And that just makes it worse.

That did not happen yesterday.  We had a deliciously (and most unusually) quiet walk.  It was peaceful and grey under the marine layer.  We meandered at a lovely pace and got back before we saw another soul.  It was delightfully well-adjusted and normal.  I finished up the morning routine by doling out breakfast all around (including to our Pittie, who has her own walks with Kim) while Kim left for work.  I cleaned up the bowls and then flipped open my laptop again to get the day started.

The tab holding my inbox showed 35 unread messages.

“What?”  I failed to compute.  I had just emptied it twenty minutes before.  Must be a weird Gmail glitch.  Google’s up to something again, I assumed.  But when I actually opened the window, it was no Gmail glitch .  Those were real emails in my mailbox.  And more than that, every single email was from WordPress.

I scrolled up and down, scanning the subject lines and wondering what the heck was going on.   Strangers.  All of them.  And they were all liking or subscribing or commenting.  Why?  What was it?  Was this a very elaborate prank of some sort?  Did WordPress screw something up in the programming and these people really wanted to subscribe to the “Cats in Drag Who Knit” blog?  And then it hit me.  So help me, it blindsided me like a freight train full of discount shoppers bound for Thanksgiving eve at the mall.

I had heard about this fabled moment.  I’d read on others’ blogs about how, on the day they became Freshly Pressed, they found out because they were inundated with new readers and comments.  So many they couldn’t keep up.

Was this happening to me?

How was this possible?

But what other explanation was there?

I literally watched my inbox go up by the second, and by then, I was shaking and clicking madly at my Mac to find the WordPress homepage.  I was so out of sorts that I suddenly couldn’t figure out how to get to Freshly Pressed or sign out so I could find the homepage.  I’m always signed into my dashboard, and for the life of me, I could not find my way off of it.

“COME ON, COME ON!  FRESHLY PRESSED, WHERE ARE YOU??  <CLICK>  NO, I DON’T WANT TO GET SUPPORT!  <CLICK CLICK>  ACK!  NO, I DON’T WANT TO DO A NEW POST!  PLEASE, I JUST NEED TO GET TO FRESHLY PRESSED BUT I CAN’T GET OFF MY DASHBOARD!”

My fingers weren’t working (probably because my brain was crawling out of my head as it tried to comprehend what I thought might possibly but probably wasn’t true).   <CLICK CLICK…CLACK THACK SLAM CLAM>

“PLEASE WORK, PLEEEAASSSE!!”

I was sure I was going to pass out before I got an answer to this mystery that seemed hell bent on not revealing itself quite yet.

And then, suddenly, everything got quiet…and if I had been in a movie, that would’ve been the part where the camera went in for a tight shot right on the screen, cuz THERE IT WAS.  Right hand column, in the middle.  The only cartoon on the page.  Oh wow.  Wow, wow, wow.

Phone.

“Where’s my phone?!”  I ran around the house like a crazy person trying to find it and when I finally did (right next me on the chair–of course!), I dialed Kim with trembling hands.

She answered like she always does: “Hey”

I think I said something like, “I’MFRESHLYONBLOGWORDPRESS!  FRONT PAGE!  FRESHLY PRESSED!

Kim had no idea what the heck I was trying to say, but my addled brain somehow managed to navigate her to the WordPress site nonetheless.  Once she was there, we tried figuring out how this had happened, but I was totally useless, so I hung up, took a screenshot and did what any self-respecting blogger would do: I hit Facebook up for a little shameless celebration.

Then I called Sir Coachalot, my mommy, and a handful of other advocates and supporters.  I never got any better at my opening lines; I pretty much verbally assaulted every single one of them with a combination of broken English and pig Latin (sorry guys).  Between sentences, I’d cast my wild eyes upon the skyrocketing emails –50, 100, 120–and hit counts (I got up and over 1,000 around 10:30 am) and wonder how much more of it she could take!  Meanwhile, my dogs kept it all in perspective.  As I was losing my mind over how cool this all was, there they were, snoring away on the couch.  Yep, just another day.  And this is why I love them.

Once I was done with calls, I set to work trying to meet my deadline.  You know, the one that existed before all of this craziness?  The one I had to hit?  The one that presented a great opportunity, the one I had blocked out all day for, the one that was almost done, but that I just needed a solid final 5 or 6 hours on?  Yeah, that one.

It was pretty clear pretty quickly that I was going to have to fight against myself all day to pull it together.  I had to push a little meeting with my pal about doggie training off…and even though that created a little more mental and time space, it wasn’t going to be enough.  I couldn’t stop looking at my inbox, dashboard, and Facebook page.  I’d just sit there in front of my laptop with adrenaline buzzing through my veins, eyes bugging out of my head, leg shaking with a mutated form of RLS, clicking refresh and jumping between windows.  It was insane.  I still hadn’t had a chance to actually have that coffee I made, thank God, or I’d’ve really been in trouble.

Although my compromise was that I’d read the comments via my email notifications only, but would not respond (instead of going onto my blog, where I was sure to be lost forever), it was still impossible to focus with my Gmail window open.  Every time the inbox number would go up, I’d have to click on it.  I’d just have to.

I literally closed everything down once around 11:30 to try to finish out my project, only to open it all back up 5 seconds later.  I felt like I was simultaneously operating outside of myself and from way too far inside it.  I began panicking.  I imagined what I would say to the project editor: “Oh, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass on this awesome opportunity because I am no longer in control of my motor skills and my soul is possessed by Freshly Pressed.”  Awesome.  No–not awesome.  Horrible.

It was a constant battle between wanting to read and respond to comments and buckling down and just getting my project done (this is where those chippers have a distinct advantage).  Finally, at 1:30, I had no choice.  On Facebook, I declared myself “going offline,” and did.  Okay, maybe I cheated once…okay, fine…twice.  But it was just for a second.  Get off my back, okay?  I don’t have a problem!

Finally, at 5:30, I was done with business and man, was I exhausted!  I felt like I had just sprinted into a brick wall, and wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the rest of the night.  I logged back in to an inbox that had grown to over 300.  I knew I wanted to respond to every comment before bedtime…plus, I still had a blog-mitment to keep.  And I wanted to call my sister back, who had called sometime in the 4:30 range: “HELLO? “

“Hey Sarah!  Congratu-“

“HIONADEADLINECANTALKRIGHTNOWCANICALLYOUBACK <click>.”

Kim came home, presented me with a new succulent as a prize for my special day (“look at it whenever you need to feel Freshly Pressed”), and I realized I was STARVING.  I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and the adrenaline was still pumping.  I was wired and needed to chill.  I ate something, talked to my sister, and had a shower.  By then, it was about 9:00 pm and I was ready to knock out a blog entry (which I did in record time–30 minutes) and then…after a whole day of waiting…I got to sit with all of the amazing comments YOU wrote.

It was really overwhelming to read them.

I started this blog for one reason (well, besides making fun of myself, that is)–to help others.  I have no idea what I’m doing here, but if anyone can learn something, get inspired, or just forget their worries for a moment because of something I write (or draw) here, then huzzah!  I’m not just taking up space after all.

I laughed whenever I saw you guys laugh and smiled when I saw all the knowing nods…I felt happy and lucky and still in shock as I stayed up until almost 1 responding to everyone.

From the time it went up yesterday to the time the baton was passed around 9 am today (24 hours), I had gotten 5,957 hits and gained 90 subscribers.  My hits took the expected hit when the guard changed–since then, I’ve gotten just 167 hits and 5 more subscribers.  I say “just,” but really, that’s still amazing for me.  Before being FP’d, I had 30 subscribers total and my average hit count on a publishing day was 60-70, so the numbers I saw today are great!

I’m not delusional.  I may be a compulsive refresher, but I’m not delusional.  I know the drill.  This was a special treat.  I got one day to float around in a creamy, dreamy haze of validation.  Tomorrow will show my real hand.  I’m sure I’ll dip back into my lower registers, and that’s just fine with me.  And while we’re on the subject of keeping it real, I’ll also let you know that:

• I have gotten a total of zero job offers from that post
• I am still hustling–in fact, I had an interview with a freelancing agency today
• No one’s throwing book or movie deals at me

I’m still wondering where my next moola’s going to come from (not sure about the weather in your area, but I don’t see a forecast for raining money here in SoCal), still walking my dogs everyday, and still surfing the net more than I should be.  I’m still just trying to find my way.  By all accounts, everything has returned to the way it was and yesterday was nothing more than a big ol’ thumbs up from the universe.  And you know what?  That’s plenty for this hustler, baby.

Day 5 or “How About I Reward You With a Freshly Pressed?”

**Disclaimer: this post is having an identity crisis.  I’ve changed its name twice now.  I can’t decide which I like better.  The alternate is “Day 5, Otherwise Known as Day AWESOME!”  I apologize for any confusion or discomfort this may cause.**

Gosh, where do I even start?  It’s almost 9 pm here in Santa Monica, and I’m trying to eek this out before the clock strikes twelve.  It is, after all, Day 5 of The Experiment, no matter what other plans Freshly Pressed has.

I’d really like to take you through every minute of today–every crazy, whirlwind, dreamy moment–and give you pictures to boot.  But, I gotta level with ya–I don’t have time for that right now if I’m to continue meeting my goal of a blog a day.  I’ll make you a deal, though–if you promise to come back, I’ll run the whole thing down for you tomorrow, complete with illustrations.  Deal?

For now, I’m still in awe.  I’ve been going full steam ahead since about 9 am, when my inbox first heralded the arrival of something special.  Not only did I suddenly find myself smack in the middle of sudden blogstardom, but I had a mean deadline to meet today.  The last thing I needed was another reason to obsess over my blog.  Before you start throwing things (like Malibu bottles) at my daft head, I’M NOT COMPLAINING!  Ha, not even close.  I just mean that it was an insane day–of the best kind–so I apologize for the timestamp on this bad boy.  I also must offer my olive branch for not yet responding to any of the amazingly supportive and generous comments I’ve gotten today.   I’ve wanted to–believe me, it took every ounce of my willpower to totally log off this afternoon so I could have any hope of scoring a couple of gigs I’m up for later in the week–but I haven’t been able to.  I guess it’s a good thing my self-control won the arm wrestling match of its life against my ego.  It usually doesn’t.  But what can I say?  Ol’ SC is a clutch player, I tell you.  CLUTCH.

But I digress.

My point is that before I sleep tonight, I will lovingly tend to all of the wondrous greetings and cheers you’ve been kind enough to leave behind for me.  I am so excited to meet all of you and I am beyond humbled and grateful that you clicked, you read, and you “get it”!  I know you can relate when I say I just never know if what I see in my own brain quite translates to the page–er, screen.  It’s tremendously gratifying to see all of the “me toos!” amongst you.

And as for the rest of you–you know, the ones who believed I had something worth saying before WordPress did–I write for you.  I’ve always written for you.  And that won’t change.  It’s nice that a few other someones who don’t share my DNA or FB wall think I’m worth it, too.  But I know you Early Believers will be around long after my hit count slinks back down the alley from whence it came.

Thanks for making my Freshly Pressed day amazing

More than anything, I’m left reeling in amazement at what happens as I continue to leap.  Not tiptoe, or scurry…not shuffle or crawl…but LEAP!  Like, with everything.  I started this blog back in October when I took the very first leap as a way to document whether a net would truly appear or not.  You might remember how I got a book contract a mere four months after I left my ten-year career (and believe me, I toiled over that decision for months…even a year or more).  If you weren’t with us back then, take a peek here.  That was the start of this whole thing.

Since then, I’ve been trying to make my way in this freelance/writing/I-hope-I hit-the-jackpot-but-if-not-at-least-can-I-make-enough-to-eat forest.

The last few months have been tough.  Luckily, Bark’s been kickin, so I’ve been living off of that pretty much.  But the writing’s been non-existent and the slump has been an evil, evil bastard…so when I accepted that challenge Coach McGoates put before me less than a week ago to blog EVERY SINGLE DAY, I felt like I had finally made the turn.  I just didn’t know how big of a turn it would be in 5 short days.  Let me repeat.  Last Friday, I agreed to go from blogging once a month (or less, if I wasn’t inspired) to blogging every day for a week, just to get myself writing.  Just to see what would happen.  Well something happened, alright.  The universe just high-fived me and bought me a round of Miami Vices, all at once.  Anyone want one?

Please, take one.  Join me in raising a glass to LEAPING.  To being caught in a freaking black hole and being willing to fight to stick a hand out.  To being presented with and recognizing an opportunity to grow–and to taking it.  To knowing that creating the life I want is not always going to be easy or inspiration-filled.  Sometimes, it takes good ol’ fashioned my-quads-are-burning-can-we-stop-now-WORK.  Sometimes, I have to look that mean ol’ bastard apathy in the face.  And then slap the smile right off it.

You know, Mr. Coach always likes to ask me how I measure success, how I want to celebrate things, or reward myself for achievements.  Going into this challenge, I told him (like I always do), the process itself would be the reward.  And I meant it.  I felt like if I could make it through a whole week of blogging daily, I would have discovered it was possible and I would have created enough momentum for it to maybe stick around a little.  And if nothing else, it would be a big F YOU to the monster of slumpville lurking in the shadows.  Of course, I pointed out, I’d use the hit counts and comments on my blog to keep me going when the times got tough.  And I reminded him that obviously, the dream of any blogger is to get discovered–for the right person at the right time to stumble across the right blog–and that I was no different.  He proclaimed, “I fully believe the right person at the right time will see you.”  And I said, “I hope you’re right.  But either way, I’m going to do this.  It doesn’t matter what the outcome is.  I’m just going to commit, and I’m going to leap.  It’s worked for me so far.”

Little did I know, Freshly Pressed was even within the realm of possibility.  Mind you, the post they picked up was an old one.  But I fully believe my sudden increase in posting and traffic had a big hand in this.

So thank you, universe, for catching me as I continue to hurl myself off cliffs in the darkest of night, time and time again.  And thank you, kind readers, for being there with flashlights…just in case.

xo

A Shy Dog’s Moment

One of the things I love most about our private photo sessions (aside from working with sick or elderly pets) is working with shy or fearful animals.  It’s pretty challenging, but it’s so completely worth it.  We had a shoot like that yesterday with Oliver.

Oliver’s mom took advantage of our 4-0-Fido deal in the Wall Street Journal and booked a session for her beloved rescue pooch.  She warned us that he was “very timid around strangers,” but assured us that since we were females, we’d probably be okay (“all strange men terrify him,” she wrote in her email).

I let her know that we have experience with timid pups and that we specialize in working with them.  It might seem like I overstated it a tad (I mean, at what point can you really declare yourself a “specialist” in something, anyway?), but given that what I really wanted to say was, “oh, poor baby.  Don’t worry.  I know he’s probably been through so much and his heart has been hurt and I will take care of it.  I love him already and I will soothe him without even touching him and I’ll let him sniff my soul from afar,” I think my response was actually quite tempered.

When we arrived, we saw a medium-sized shepherd/hound boy peeking at us through the back gate.  A gate, we would discover, did not even belong to him.  Apparently, Oliver has endeared himself to all of the neighbors and goes on visits regularly.  His mom fetched him from the yard next door and brought him into her courtyard for the session.

The intro was without bark or growl, but he definitely was unsure.  His tail tucked itself up between his quivering haunches.  He ducked right under the patio table and eyed us from the corner. As is our practice with all timid clients, we extended our “getting to know you period” and spent the first fifteen minutes alternating between chatting with his mom and throwing treats to him from afar, enticing him to come closer, a la E.T.  We let him get used to our smells and voices (though we spoke softly and specifically kept conversation directed at him to a minimum).  He loved the treats and it didn’t take too long before he gently (SO gently!) began to take them out of our hands.  But then he’d run back over to his bed or under the patio table to eat them.  And if we made any movements at all, we’d have to start all over again.  During this period, we didn’t make eye contact with him.  We just let him feel secure and unchallenged so he could nibble freely, trusting that we would not hurt him.  I kept my palm open and low for him to access and never reached to pet him.

Once we felt like we had built up a solid enough reputation with Oliver, it was time to break out the camera for him to get used to before Kim started photographing.  The movement of getting it out scared him into hiding again, but the camera itself didn’t seem to faze him, as long as I kept dispensing the treats.  I coaxed him out from under the table and by this time, he was able to stand in front us for extended periods of time without running away (I think he was starting to realize it was a much more efficient approach to getting as many treats as possible).  Since he could now hold a stance within inches of us and the camera, it was time to see if he would allow his gaze to follow the treat–no matter where it was.

I gave him a few more treats in my open palm and started using my voice to praise him, which he appeared cool with.  Then I picked a treat up and held it between my thumb and finger for him to take.  He did it without hesitation.  So I took another and raised it up.  He followed it.  I raised it higher.  He stayed with it.  I placed it right next to my eye, and that was the moment we saw each other.  I rewarded his bravery and quick progress with the treat and we did it again. And again.  And after a few more practice “watches,” Kim started clicking.  I could tell he wanted to dart.  That camera was fine when it was just sitting in Kim’s hands, but now that the huge lens was dangling in the air and pointed right at him, it was a different story.  And I saw his hind legs shuffle.  But you know what?  He didn’t move.  He looked at me.  And the treats.  And he was ready to work.

And boy, was he ever!  I discovered he knew how to sit and he’d stand and follow that treat with his eyes like it was his job.  He was focused and found his rhythm and didn’t lose it, even during the “costume” changes.  His moment had arrived!

Throughout our hour together–as so many timid (and non-timid) pets do–Oliver found a side of himself he may not known existed and totally immersed himself in it.  Although it happens all the time during our sessions, that moment never stops being magical to me.  It’s like the universe suddenly shifts. Sometimes it takes fifteen seconds and sometimes it takes fifteen minutes, but whenever that moment comes, it’s worth waiting for.  In that moment, the animal make the decision to stop teetering on the fence and commit with all four feet to this fantastic game that involves treats raining down from the sky with every click.  And more than that, they make the decision to connect. And I guess when it comes down to it, that’s what I’m here for.  I’m here to believe that moment will come.  I’m here to usher it in and bear witness to it.  And to celebrate its arrival like the tremendous accomplishment it is.

Yesterday, I wrote about the Early Believers–the people, organizations, contests, and achievements that saw something in us before we did…the people who–because they believed in us–somehow directly had a hand in leading us to where we are now.  I guess, in a way, I try to serve in that role for all of the animals we photograph.  I’m here to try to help them feel safe enough to share the beauty their families (current or future) see so Kim can capture it forever.

His mom adopted Oliver from a rescue called Thumping Tails that had pulled him out of the East Valley Animal Shelter here in Los Angeles about six years years ago.  One can only guess at the horrors he’s had to endure in his life, but there he was, standing in front of us, sitting on command, and–I kid you not–striking poses on his Beverly Hills lawn. Despite his trembling backside, he pressed on.  He trusted us–in less than an hour.  No matter how many times I see it, it always, ALWAYS nearly reduces me to tears.  Animals’ capacity for forgiveness, trust, and love is way beyond my human comprehension.

As part of our pre-shoot correspondence, we always ask our clients if they have any sort of vision for specific shots.  Oliver’s mom wrote to us, simply–and powerfully–“I only have 2 photos…both taken by male photographers…in both, he has a terrified look in his eyes.  My only goal for the photo session is to have a photo of him looking relaxed and happy.”  We haven’t finished post-processing yet, so I can’t actually show you the proof right now, but I promise when we are done, I will post a photo or two for you to see (or join our Facebook page to see them sooner).  Kim got some photos that will break your heart with joy.   Despite whatever old ghosts continue to haunt him (and shame on whoever put them there), Oliver overcame them.  He’s a beautiful, sweet boy whose mom will now have images to match.

I love that I get to spend time with him and all of the others who just need a little time, patience, and belief shared with them…and I love that we can give the humans behind the animals photographs that are REAL.  Oliver’s mom saved him.  And continues to every day, and I feel so lucky that we can provide her a keepsake that actually looks like her precious boy.  They both deserve it.  And then some.

Oliver shines in his moment!

Visit Bark Pet Photography’s Facebook album for more photos of Oliver’s special day.

*Please adopt, don’t shop!  Our country’s shelters and rescues are FULL of wonderful pets.  Let me know if you need assistance finding one who is perfect for your family.*

The Early Believers

Day 3 of The Experiment is putting up a fight.

I’ve been sitting here for an hour, unable to put words together in a way that makes sense.  I’ve started about ten different times, but nothing has really stuck, so I’ve just been staring out the window at the grey Santa Monica afternoon, waiting for inspiration to strike.

As I let my mind wander, I started remembering the very first thing I ever wrote that was recognized publicly–a charming little ditty called My Paper Route, a sweet poem about my daily commitment to delivering the news in our small town of Dixon, IL.  Ha–I can’t believe I forgot about that!

Every year in grade school, our teachers required us to write something for submission to the annual Young Authors Conference. I can’t remember all of the details now, but in either 5th or 6th grade, I won.  I don’t know if it was just on the school level or beyond that, but I do remember the announcement over the school PA.  And I remember going to some school gym somewhere to read my poem and hear other kids’ works and meet real-life adult authors!

So that led me to–where else–Google to start figuring out if there is a Young Authors archive, and if so, who holds the key and is my work of art in there? *Note to anyone born after 1985: back in those days, we hand wrote our entries, so it’s not like I have it saved anywhere–though that does remind me that among the perks of being named a Young Author was receiving a typed copy of our work!  I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a scanned copy of a mimeograph of mine.

I haven’t found any answers yet, but I did find an email address of an unsuspecting soul who seems to have coordinated the volunteers for the 2011 conference.  I know she’s not the right person, but she probably knows who is.  I’m going on a hunt.  I’ll keep you posted.  In the meantime, it makes me grateful for efforts such as the Young Authors Conference that recognize and nurture early talent (even though it took me twenty-some years to get it).

What about you?  What early contests did you participate in or awards and encouragement did you receive that impact you today?

A tip o’ the quill to those teachers, coaches, and believers-in-the-future out there.

I’m Going to New York…on 9/11

Well, I have some news to share.

I’ve been invited to New York to participate as a guest speaker in the Working Dog Recognition Ceremony to honor the dogs who gave their skills, talents, and–in some cases–lives to the efforts of 9/11.

Ten years ago, I was a member of a now-defunct AmeriCorps program called the National Rapid Response Corps (NRRC).   We were placed with American Red Cross Service Centers across the country and our main duties included teaching First Aid, CPR, and disaster preparedness techniques to people, as well as responding to the human needs that come about as a result of disasters.

About a month into our program, 9/11 happened.  We were fresh out of training.  I think we were in the middle of a local fire response operation or something, but other than that, we had no in-the-field experience.  Nonetheless, we were all deployed in different waves to respond to a disaster of a magnitude that was impossible to grasp at the time.  It was probably best that way.

My deployment call came right around the end of September/beginning of October, and it was literally while my fellow Chicagoan and new LA roomie, Deidre, was driving out here (I had arrived in LA before her since my program started in August and she needed a bit more time to finish things up in IL before embarking).  I was excited that I was going to be of service to people in a time of great need, but I was also pretty freaked out that I had not only just left the only place I had known for 22 years, but that I wouldn’t even get to see the only semblance of home I had before taking off for NYC.

Nonetheless, I joined my corps on a red eye and landed in a world for which none of us were prepared.  How could we have been?  It was a world of never-ending lines, miles of “missing” posters that desperately hoped for the best, and inconsolable emptiness.  Most of us were assigned to Pier 94, which had been set up as the Family Assistance Center.  All of the social service agencies were on site to provide case management, referrals, and direct aid to those who had lost jobs, loved ones, and their own sanity.  For six weeks, my corps and I were case managers pulling twelve-plus-hour shifts for the people whose livelihood was crushed under the wreckage of the World Trade Center.

I could write pages and pages about what that experience was like at the time and how it’s stayed with me over the past decade…but that’s for another time.  The purpose of this post is to tell you that though the work I did there was not as difficult as it could have been, it was still very tough.  I was not assigned to Ground Zero, like so many were.  But it was difficult for me, even still.  It was very hard to be amongst that tremendous loss, be the one who was supposed to have all of the answers and remedies, but to feel like no matter what I could do help, it was not enough.  Even though I had lost nothing, I was struggling to help those who had.  And if not for the work of the dogs, I would not have been able to pull it together.  Therapy Dogs International (TDI), among others, were onsite every day with their dogs…and every day, they saved people–including me.  Their steady presence…their silent guarding of our hearts…the nobility of each of them…it was my (and many others’) salvation.

I appreciated their incredible work so much that when my assignment was up, I had to do something to show my gratitude before I left to come back to LA.  I couldn’t think of anything that I could do or give to all of them, except to scrawl out a little poem on a piece of scratch paper.  It was a simple thing; just a little something from my heart so that the dogs and handlers would know that what they did made a difference.

This is Wusel, and he was my biggest savior of all

Apparently, it hit a nerve because TDI’s CEO, Ursula Kempe, ended up getting in touch with me afterwards to invite me to read it at a luncheon in New Jersey that summer to honor the dogs, some guy published it in his book, and it’s made the rounds all over the Internet.  It’s not flashy or complex; it’s just a page of gratitude.  It’s just genuine.  And I guess that’s why people like it.

So now, fast-forward ten years.  I get an email and then a call from Ursula, and it all comes flooding back.  The sadness.  The comfort.  The tragedy.  The community.  We talk and email back and forth.  And then, she invites me to not only write something for TDI’s 9/11 tenth anniversary commemorative newsletter*, but she invites me to read my poem at their ceremony.

I am honored and humbled that she wants to include me and my poem, and though I still feel like it’s just this rinky-dink little rhyme, I am so, so grateful that I have been able to–in some small way–pay back the gifts the dogs and their handlers gave me so long ago.  That was my only hope for it.  It is for them.

So…off I will go to New York.  I am nervous to fly on that weekend, but it’s the least I can do to honor the 9/11 dogs.  Most of them are now gone, but their legacy remains.  Even though I don’t feel like I deserve to be taking up space and time on such an important stage, I will do it.  For Wusel and all of the dogs.

*the newsletter is not yet published, but I will post it when it is.  In the meantime, consider supporting your local TDI chapter with donations or a poem of your own!

An Experiment in Terror

Okay, so I just got off the phone with my fabulous coach, Andrew.  He’s been coaching me on all sorts of stuff; not just my writing, although today, that’s what we talked about.  He had asked me what I wanted to work on during our session today, and I told him I really wanted to build up some momentum around my writing because I just don’t really feel like I’ve been doing any lately.  I told him I wanted to get into a rhythm and practice…you know, like all good writers do.

“And what would that look like to you–‘getting into a rhythm and practicing’?” he asked in his coachly way.

“Oh, I dunno…like, writing every day…about…whatever.  I wouldn’t care if it was even just five minutes, but I want to make it a goal to write every day so I can get into the habit and just shake the cobwebs out.  I mean, I just don’t feel like writing is a big enough part of my life.”

“Mmhmmm, mhhhmmm.”

(he’s very supportive and always actively listens).

“Well, you have a blog, right?”

I didn’t see it coming.  I should have.  I don’t know why I didn’t.  I was probably too busy trying to come up with things to write about for 5 whole days in a row, so when he said, “what if you posted a blog entry every day next week,” I was literally shocked–it was as if he had slapped me across the face.  If he were sitting in front of me, I would’ve punched him in the gut in response.  But (lucky for him) this was a phone consult, so instead, he heard silence.  And then,

“Well, that’s truly terrifying.  But also, it’s a little invigorating and exciting.”

I meant the first part–obvi.  The second part was mostly true, but in the same way an Ironman might be “invigorating and exciting.”

Usually, my posts take me two or more days to write, so cranking out one a day would be an achievement in and of itself, I told Mr. Coachy Coach.  Whenever I write one, I’m very focused on making sure my posts have something of value in them, are funny and smart, and stay true to my “brand…” all while not overburdening people’s inboxes.

In order to keep a one-a-day pace, I’d have to let go of all of it.  I’d have to risk posting petty, clichéd entries.  I’d have to risk getting boo’d offstage, looking like a fool, and radio silence from my “audience.”  I’d have to stop thinking about writing and just write.

The more we talked, the more terrified I became.

“That’s how you know this is something important!” Andrew assured me.

So we talked through it a little more and finally, I gave him my word that I’d accept this little challenge of his and see what happens.  After all, the worst thing that could happen is that someone scrawls hate messages all over the comments section (so what, I’ll delete them or beat them at their own game with my witty and cutting retort)…and then starts an Internet-wide campaign about how horrible of a writer I am (Facebook isn’t THAT big)…and then next ….oh, you know, like I’ll never have a hope of making it.  Meh.  No big deal.

So here it goes.  My experiment in terror.  I apologize in advance for whatever comes of this.  If you have to unsubscribe, I’ll understand (my goal is to have at least one remaining subscriber by the end of this).

It’s just a little exercise.  It’s been too long since I’ve leapt, so I figure I’m overdue anyway.  I’m getting a little soft around the middle.  With any luck, by this time next week, my keyboard will have a killer six-pack and you won’t think I totally suck.