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.*

Tags: 405, animal rescue, believing in someone, building confidence in a dog, carmageddon, dog photography for dummies, dog treats, fearful dogs, pet photography, postaweek2011, scared dogs, shelter dogs, shy dogs, tail between legs, timid dogs, tips for taking photos of your pet, wall street journal front page, worth the time

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.

Tags: author, believing in your students, coaches, early inspiration, education that works, paper route, postaweek2011, recognizing greatness, recognizing talent, ripple effect, risk taking, student contests, teachers, teaching writing, writer, writing

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!

Tags: 9/11, 9/11 recovery, 9/11 ten year anniversary, accepting a challenge, americorps, americorps alums, creativity, flying on 9/11, Hudson River, Liberty Park, postaweek2011, reading a poem aloud, remembering 9/11, scared to fly, search and rescue dog, thank you, therapy dogs, writer, writing, writing experiment

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.

Tags: author, building momentum, challenge, creativity, dream, follow your dream, fresh start, Ironman training, leap, life coach, postaweek2011, risk taking, six-pack abs, working from home, writer, writing

Do the Freelance Hustle!

*This post was named Freshly Pressed on August 16, 2011*

One of my friends asked me on Sunday night, “so what do you have planned for the week?”  Good question.  Since the book is wrapping up and I have no other projects at the moment (a clear break in my 3 -tiered system protocol), I’m currently doing the Freelance Hustle.  It’s really easy to learn. Here, I’ll teach you:

1. Become cognizant of the fact that you don’t have anything in the hopper and you only have two more advance checks coming.  Plan to search for jobs in between Facebooking if you can fit it in.  Feel good about your goal-setting and carry on about your day.

2.  Avoid eye contact (and all interaction) with your bank account–if you ignore it, you can’t tell how small it is.

3. Blog.  After all, you’re just 3 forwards away from being discovered and scouring the Internet for freelance gigs will be irrelevant, anyway.

4. Allow your ever-diligent conscience to remind you that you’re about to be poor in about 2.5 seconds if you don’t start finding projects that pay right now, missy, and your blog isn’t one of them.  And then jack that conscience upside the head with a bottle of Malibu.  Yeah, that’s what 1.75 liters of pure coconut rum feels like, son. You like that?

5. Check your bank account while you’re on the island and resolve to do something about it the next day…and mean it.  But you better tell someone of your plans–just in case you need some firm, yet loving support.  Lindsay Lohan has a sober companion; you can at least have an “I’m a fan of four walls and a bed” companion.  You’ve just worked too hard not to.  Don’t undo all the progress.

6.  In the morning, brew up a pot (whatever that means to you), spend hours on craigslist, flexjobs, morningcoffee, HARO, facebook (strictly business), crowdspring and whatever other rabbit hole you can find to explore for leads.  Pour your heart and soul into crafting customized cover letters and resumes that reduce grown men to tears and make grownups out of babies.  I know you want to, but do NOT skip this part.  Always customize–unless, of course, you don’t really care whether you get the job.  In that case, just use your boilerplate for everything.  Oh, and you might as well include a photo of your dog taking a giant dump, too.

7. With a great flourish (and many rounds of editing behind you), submit them.  Grab that bottle of Malibu (it probably rolled under the couch after that incident with your conscience) and take a swig.  You’ve earned it.

8. Keep your laptop or phone fired up and with you 24 hours a day.  Keep refreshing your inbox.  Also, check your Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn accounts rabidly, because maybe they will contact you there.  As you wait, re-read your brilliant submissions over your sensible meals of PB&J, picturing the manic joy that will unfurl from the hiring manger when she reads your amazing prose, moments before she shows up at your house with bags of money.

9.  Nothing yet?  No response in 48 hours means they’re busy.  No response in 96 means they’re selective.  No response in 168 hours means you might think you just did a whole lotta work for a whole lotta nuthin, brother.  But don’t be sad.  They simply aren’t ready for your genius…but you’ll find someone who is.

10. And the most important step of all: don’t let this little stumble make you fall.  Recover and just keep dancing.  The key to the Freelance Hustle is to keep moving–no matter what happens.  Keep looking and keep trying.  And be open to new kinds of projects.  Keep easin’ on down the road, because sooner or later, the right audience is going to come along, love your performance, and want to bring you into their company…but you gotta keep hustlin’.  And on that note, it’s time for me to dance on outta here.

Tags: author, barefoot, blogging when you should be working, budget management, cartoons, comic strips, cover letter, creativity, dog poo, don't let Linday Lohan come, freelance, Fruity drinks, getting hired, goal-setting, how to find a job, how to write a good resume, Malibu, postaweek2011, resume, Snoopy, working from home, writer, writing

There’s Something I Have to Tell You

I’m just gonna put this out there:

I have no idea what I’m doing.  No, seriously.

There!  I said it…

What a load off!

Maybe I should say it again:

<Ahem> I have no idea what I’m doing….oooo!  Yes, that feels even better…maybe I should shout it, and indicate that by using caps lock:

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING!!!!  YES!  IT’S TRUE!

Niiiiccce….I’ve got goosebumps.

Now all I need are the hyenas from Lion King, and it’ll be an all-out tingle-fest.

Look…I’ve survived the past nine months of chasing this little dream here.  At times, I’ve more than survived.  I’ve actually enjoyed it and even found some bits of success here and there.  But I have no idea what I’m doing, where I’m going, or what I’ll do when I’m there (course, that’s assuming I recognize it when I arrive).

We all know my big declaration was that I want to be a writer, but I need to admit something to you all that I’ve been carrying around for way too long:

I haven’t the faintest clue what that means.

YES!  Another truth grenade, thrown right atcha.  Man, that feels good!  I should’ve done this MONTHS ago!  AHAHAHAHAHA!  It’s been weighing me down and keeping me up nights as I wait for the ambition police to come crashing through my windows at 2 am to unearth me from a dog pile (in my paranoid nightmare, I assume the dead weight of a 70-pound pit bull is nothing to them, since they are the ambition police after all, and they spend, like, 7 days a week in the gym–duh), wrestle me out of my quilt, and haul me into a holding cell designed for impostors and good intentions (you can tell where you are because of the freshly paved path just outside).

I guess I’m just not really sure what sort of achievements or jobs or contracts or deals one must possess in order to claim the title of “writer.”  I’m not sure how many days in a row I have to wear the same clothes and a hat because my creative process can’t be bothered to take a shower in order to earn the right to write.  And I’m not clear on how many gallons of coffee I have to drink whilst holed up in the corner of a café or diner or wherever I’m supposed to go to pound out brilliance.  I don’t know when I need to start carrying a notebook around with me or what exactly I should jot down in it…but I’m sure I probably need to do that before I can be considered decent and proper.  And I think I have to find some readings to attend. And I bet I have to belong to a group of my challenging-yet-supportive peers that meets every Wednesday in a big old house with a fireplace, hardwood floors, and a massive grey cat.  And I’m certain I have to start calling it “my craft.”

Well, I've been wearing the same jacket, hat, and chihuahua for two days. That must mean something.

So…I’m not sure when that will all happen, or if it will happen, or if I want it to happen.   Weird, huh?  I just don’t know.  The thing is, I love to write…so at least on some level, I feel mostly honest when I answer the question of “so…what do you do?” with “I write.”  That part I can handle.  What happens next–not so much.

The trouble starts with the inevitable follow-up question: “oh really?  So what do you write?”  That’s where the wheel comes off the cart.  It’s well-meant…probably full of kindness and interest, but my insecurity takes it as a major affront and desperately tries to redirect the spotlight.

“Well…you know…words. “

That’s how I’d like to answer that question.  But instead, I usually respond by prattling on about my latest jobs, sprinkle some unintelligible hums that show how ponderous I am throughout and finish strong with a mention of the book–ah, my anchor.

But really–I just write.  I don’t have a genre, I’m not working on a novel, and I don’t have a portfolio.  I write whatever I feel like writing or whatever earns me some rent money (speaking of…I’m currently available for anything you might need written or edited or turned into a screenplay of nothing but movie quotes).  I’ll write a resume, I’ll write website copy, I’ll write an article about how your grandma’s apple pie is like a Boeing 747.   I’ll blather on for pages about the camping trip I just took with you, compose a song about your dogs, or take over your company’s Facebook page and fill it with nothing but pithy and engaging status updates.

I just write…which is what a writer is in the simplest terms possible, I suppose.  But still, I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it up before I’m carted off.

And also–what’s my anchor going to be when this book is done?  I need another one–and fast.  I have a bunch of ideas…but that just brings up a whole new set of problems:

When do ideas shift from being a pile of amorphous clicks on a keyboard to an actual book?  At what point do I get to answer the “what are you working on now” gem with, “ah–brilliant of you to ask…I’m currently working on a wonderful memoir wherein I tell the life story of my late cousin through vignettes of my time spent in the woods of Michigan ” instead of “well, I’ve been scratching some things down on scrap paper from time to time and reminiscing about my childhood camping trips but really–I have no clue if these things will even fit together to form a sentence, let alone a book so really–I’m not working on anything except developing a taste for ketchup sandwiches ”?

I don’t really know.  I don’t even kind of  know.  But if you do…or you feel like trying to figure it out with me…or you want to hire me to create a loving yet humorous tribute to beer for your local Oktoberfest…or you just want to put me out of my misery, hit me up.  But please–email or text only.  I’ll need to flash that evidence to get out of the holding cell.

Tags: author, clueless, dream, Facebook status updates, follow your dream, freelance, leap, making it up as i go along, postaweek2011, will write for food, working from home, writer, writing

I’m a Procrastinator and That’s Okay.

I’m coming off a 6-day caffeine-fueled, sleep-deprived writing push.  Some people might’ve thrown up in their mouths a little while reading that.  Just thinking about the desperate race against the clock…the jittery chills…the simultaneous belief that sleep and a sudden burst of literary genius are just around the corner is not everyone’s idea of a rewarding experience.  I, however, happen to love it.

It’s always been that way.  No matter how my parents tried to instill in me proper study habits, Sunday night would inevitably arrive, and while the rest of the family watched TV or battled it out over Bubble Bobble and Burger Time tournaments, there I’d be at the kitchen table, books and papers spread out like tarot cards, telling of my future of procrastination.

The same habits followed me to college–I was notorious for churning off a full research paper in two days: the first would be spent scouring my sources.  The second was anywhere from an eight to twelve hour marathon in the computer lab (back in the days when we had to share computers).  I always had intentions of starting earlier–I’d go to the library a week or two before the assignment was due, sit in a big comfy chair next to all the real students, thinking maybe I could catch whatever gene they had to make them study, and then promptly decide I had more important things to do, like protest sweatshops and shave my head.

My hair’s longer these days, but I’m still playing the last-minute game.  Except now, I don’t fight it anymore.  Procrastination gets a bad rap.  It’s the scarlet letter of academia–somewhere along the line, someone decided the true mark of a good student and therefore an eventually good and successful adult is the ability to spend as many hours over as many days as possible completing a project.  Really?  How many hiring managers do you know whose first order of business is to find a candidate who takes 3 weeks to work on that TPS report?

Ok, ok…I’m being a little one-dimensional.  I’m not hating on those of you who prefer to chip away at things; my point is that it’s exactly that–a preference.  Starting and finishing a project in the same day–cranking stuff out in an 8 hour stretch–has never seemed quite as celebrated as I think it should be.  We procrastinators do just as much work as you chippers do, you know–and sometimes, even more (and in less time).

But now, I am secure in my procrastination.  I have come to realize that it doesn’t matter if you work on something over the course of 3 weeks or 3 days, as long as you hit your deadline.  The tricky part comes when I have to work with someone else who is a chipper, like Kim.

Poor Kim.  She’s definitely in the camp of believing my M.O. is defective, but she’s been a good sport about it.  When we first started our book, the excitement carried us through our first mini-deadlines to our first quarter deadline.  Even after that, we still managed to mostly maintain our chapter a week pace.  But this quarter nearly killed her, I think.

How a chipper copes with a procrastinator

While Kim’s been dutifully plucking away at the keyboard for the past couple of weeks, my writing didn’t begin in earnest until a little less than a week ago, which is mostly okay because we’ve come up with a good system where we divide up equally the chapters for each quarter.  She writes hers, I write mine, and then we swap so we can edit and fill in the blanks on each other’s.  That’s where it got hairy for her–since you know, she has a day job and all.

So today, after our marathon, I was able to sleep in later than she was, and since then have spent the day stumbling around the house in a caffeine withdrawal haze–doing brainless things like cleaning (though I’ll admit that I needed a bit of a pick me up to do this blog).  I’ve been able to revel in my exhaustion and accomplishment and feel like a writer.  She, on the other hand, had to pull it together after a couple of really late nights and go into work.

I do feel badly about that.

But on the other hand, I feel really happy for myself.  This is the life I wanted–a few days…weeks…of crazy, round-the-clock hours for the rest of the month off.

We’re moving into the final quarter and it’s going to be even tougher.  Not only do we have more chapters due, but we have all the extra stuff–the intro, bios, and acknowledgements–to complete.  And did I mention I’m volunteering for AIDS/LifeCycle 10 right before our deadline of June 13?  Um yeah…about that. I’ll lose valuable procrastination time, so I better hurry up and start waiting now.

Actually, my deadline is June 2, since I leave on the 3rd.  I have no choice but to just keep going.  The good news for Kim is that even if I’m still up at 3 am on Friday June 3, furiously hunched over my laptop and playing it like Schroeder, I’ll still beat our editor’s deadline by 11 days.  Not really sure how I feel about that.  It might ruin my reputation.

I’m a little sad that we’re nearing the end, but super excited that there will soon be tangible proof that leaping does pay off…and more importantly, that chippers and procrastinators can live and work together (as long as there’s a hearty supply of coffee, 5 Hour Energys, and wine).

Buy lots and lots of these!

If you’d like to help us out, be regarded as our favorite, learn all of our trade secrets, hold my dream in your hand (that’s what she said), get all of your holiday shopping done at once, or see if your pooch made it onto any of the 320 pages of brilliance we’ve created, vist any and all of the major online sellers–the links are below.  

You can pre-order and “like” our book.  Both actions will help us greatly.  Thank you so much for your ongoing support–the countdown to November 8 is ON!

Amazon

Barnes&Noble

Borders

I Will Not Remember You

On April 21, 2011, we lost my beloved cousin, Katie Thomas–at 31 years old.  Today was her service.  The following is what I wrote for her and shared with our loved ones at her memorial.  Many who were present asked for a copy, and since Katie was the person who got me to start this blog in the first place, it only makes sense to put it here.  Thank you all for joining in to make today a celebration of her life.

I will not remember you in piles of scattered photos on the floor or screen.

I will not remember you in the quiet of the night when everyone else has gone to bed.

I will not remember you.

I don’t need to

Because you’re still here.

I can’t exactly see you in the shape I’m used to…

But you’re here.

I don’t need to remember open roads, campfires, or summer and fall birthday parties…I don’t need to recall how we used to borrow each other’s toys every time we got together–we scored something way better than what we had at home but even more than that, we had insurance that there’d be a next time…I don’t need to remember slip n slides, haunted houses, hiding our shoes, or beach days.  I don’t have to recall sleepovers where you always had to sleep in the middle to be fair (well–fair to Rachel and me.  I’m pretty sure you got the raw end of the deal when you’d wake up the next morning halfway swallowed up by the “crack of doom” created when we pushed our twin beds together…unless, of course, we were at YOUR house.  Then we got the run of the whole master bedroom, complete with huge bed).  I won’t remember eating those bismarks right before you puked, or that summer we spent researching our family history–hauling 30 pounds of books on our backs as we rode Huffys to and from the library every day for a week.

I don’t have to remember our mutual love for books, dogs, trees, and water.  I will not remember crumpled up Ranger Ricks, Discovery toys, or exploring with you.  I will not remember Jimmy Buffett or a piano in a sunroom.  I will not remember ferrets or Ouija boards or crayon-drawn maps giving our refrigerator raid away.  I will not remember hours of our voices recorded on cassette tapes.  I will not remember saggy tights under Christmas dresses or saggy 2-day-old jeans on top of dirty car seats down the California coast. I will not remember coming to your house with Rachel–waffles and walking and talking.

I will not remember that you and Rachel were the first two family members to see my house in Santa Monica.  I don’t need to remember hammocks and comic books and building our own fires.  And I won’t remember garbage bags down the hill, crossing the creek for the first time, or fern bowls.  I won’t remember jars of bog water, magical Elvin worlds that we were convinced waited just beyond thorny arches, if we only could scootch our human bodies under them.  I won’t remember the pages of emails and chat logs that declare our shared dream to ditch our jobs and become writers.  I won’t remember that you had a story to tell. I will not remember your unwritten book or knowing that you’ll still write it–somehow.

I won’t remember that you took up residence in my soul, ushered me along in my childhood, and came back to me when we were old enough to finally do what we wanted.  I won’t remember how–even though I have a sister, and you also do, that I always felt so lucky; that I really had gotten two.  And I don’t need to remember that I’m better because I knew you.  31 years you spent here on earth…and I got to experience pretty much all of them.

But…

I will not remember you.

I will not have to remember you…

Because you are still here.

We still have a lot of moments left to live together, Katie.  You’ll be the setting sun, lighting up that open road in all its fiery glory, showing me the way to the next stop on our road trip.  You’ll be the pop in our fire that sends a confetti toss of sparks high into the stars above our campsite.  At every birthday party, your unseen but deeply felt presence will be your present, and when our favorite new gadgets go missing, we’ll know you’ve just borrowed them–because you like them, but more because it’s your insurance.

You’ll be the one who kicks the rocks out from under Wyatt, Parker, and Olivia’s slip n slides, the perfectly timed jump to scare the crap out of the next unsuspecting haunted house visitor, and the comforter that falls just over our shoes when we don’t want to leave yet.  You’ll be the blue sky that comes out after an iffy-looking morning so we can all go to the beach and you’ll be the frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches we all pass around…and your grand finale will be that sunscreen-sunshine-melted popsicle sweetness that will permeate the car ride home.

When our casual family nights of games and merriment come to a satisfying and exhausting end, you’ll be the pillows that our heads somehow find before hitting the floor…but I promise, you don’t have to sleep in the middle anymore.  During the rare nights I get thirsty at 2 am, you’ll be the Brita pitcher in the fridge that we remembered to fill after dinner…and the random jelly donut that suddenly sounds good.  No offense–but I might think twice about eating it.   As our family history now plays out over email, texts, and Facebook, it will be your page that we all keep looking at.

You’ll be that feeling of possibility and excitement that comes right before I start a new book, the big sighs our dogs let out when it’s been a truly good day, that feeling of being delightfully insignificant when standing next to a really gigantic tree, and the peaceful surrender that’s brought in by the tide.  When Wyatt, Parker, and Olivia start reading Ranger Rick, you’ll be the pages that teach them to love nature like you do, and the ones they rip out and hang on their walls and stare at when they should be sleeping or doing their homework.  And when the time has come for them to start having their own adventures, you’ll be the one coaxing fuzzy caterpillars and pink newts out of their homes to be found by excited little boys and girls.  You’ll be the harmony we all manage to find when we sing along with the Jolly Mon, put on our Fins, and eat our Cheeseburgers in Paradise.  And when I get my sunroom in my dream house (that I came to want because of yours, by the way), you’ll be the sunshined air, warm and thick enough for me to eat.  And if I decide to get a ferret and keep his cage in there, it’ll only be because you whispered the mischievous thought into my ear during a routine trip to Petco.

While I haven’t been brave enough to try out the Ouija yet, I know that when I do, the letters “K” and “T” will come up without me even having to cheat.  When we go to look for our old tapes, home movies, and photos and discover something’s missing, you’ll be the one who slides it out from under the couch on a Tuesday afternoon around 3:45.   When us cousins keep visiting one another through the years, you’ll be the silent passenger, buckling our seat belts, keeping cell phones out of the driver’s hands, changing reds to greens and making sure we get the good waitress who’ll give us free dessert.  You’ll be the sole ladybug in the middle of a field and the waterfall we hike to.  You’ll be the shiny cover on my first book and the word play within the pages.

And you’ll be muddy footprints, skinned knees, wet hair, knock-knock jokes, pillow fights, concerts, backyard bbqs, water balloon fights, porch swings, fireworks, river banks, camp-camp-camping, and all of the road as of yet undiscovered by those who are following us and getting to know what a cousin really is.  You are alive in your legacy and in our family and I will not remember you.  I will know you.  And because I know you, I love you.

Memorial gifts in Katie’s name honoring her love of animals can be made to

Molly’s Mutts and Meows

Tags: adventures, afterlife, animal rescue, beach, camping, childhood memories, coping with death, cousin, death of a young person, donations in lieu of flowers, dying, family, funeral, grief, importance of family, life after death, memorial, memorial donations, memorializing a loved one, memories, postaweek2011, reincarnation

Life in the Heart Lane

I try to use this blog as a way to help others who are trying to follow their dreams.  I hope to provide some sort of roadmap (even if it’s only a sketch) so you can go out and pursue the career, endeavors, and life you want!  I try to document what I’m doing and what’s working (and what’s not) in my business and writing.

But a big part of living this life of a freelancer/entrepreneur for me is being available to spend time on the things I love…but that don’t make me any money.  A big part of this life is all about being available to appease my true heart and spirit for charity and service work…and, as you probably know by now, it’s all about the animals!

This weekend, something special happened.  But before I get to that, I have to back up to where it began.

Back in January, my friend and fellow animal rescuer, Sarah Grooters, made it her goal to raise enough money to buy beds for every kennel at the South L.A. Animal Shelter.  That’s 144 beds.  And they aren’t just any beds.  They are elevated, aluminum-framed, vinyl shelter-approved beds.  You see, the reason most shelters don’t provide fabric beds, blankets, or even towels to their animals is because those items are difficult to manage.  The beds get peed on (and worse), the dogs can tear them up and ingest them, and the shelter would need a whole team dedicated just to washing these items and maintaining them.  Sarah worked with shelter staff and volunteers to choose a bed that would work.

And she set her goal.

Kim sits on the board of Lu Parker Project with Sarah.  LPP, along with Shifting Gears Cycling Four Paws, Colors in Bloom, and Bark, of course, took up the challenge.  We decided to use Valentine’s Day as a launching pad and created the Have a Heart, Donate a Bed Campaign.  Thanks to Beth Brown’s procurement of donated flowers, we were able to give people a free bouquet and card for their $65 donation to the campaign.  And more importantly, we were able to buy one bed for the shelter in their name.

Sarah didn’t have any idea this would work as well as it did.  She thought it would take months to reach her goal.

Well, it didn’t take months.  By February 14, we had raised over $14,000–enough to upgrade to the aluminum-framed, large size beds for every kennel.

This weekend, we got to assemble and place them in the shelter…but that’s not the really good part.

The really good part just came a second ago.  Two of the tireless, amazingly committed, young shelter volunteers–Yesenia and Jamie–just let me know that some of the dogs have been sleeping on the beds ALL DAY.  And some of them are even SNORING.

This makes my heart sing.  Some of them can finally rest…after days, weeks, or months (or maybe their whole lives) of not being able to.  It’s an incredible gift to have been able to give–a gift of relief and of comfort.  It’s a tremendous thought to ponder that maybe these dogs will be able to relax, at least for a little while.  That maybe they will be able to take a break from their constant barking, pacing, and gnawing at the bars in anxiety.  That maybe–just maybe–they can climb up off the cold, wet floor and fall into a sleep so deep their bodies and minds might steal not only a moment to refresh and rebuild themselves, but also to dream.  Maybe they’ll be able to run through fields and play fetch with little kids, and hog the bed in some really rich person’s house.

This cute little one got right on his new bed and wouldn't leave!

I know this isn’t the end all to total shelter overhaul.  But it’s a step.  And we’re going to keep at it until we DO overhaul it.

And I feel so happy and grateful that I have the time to give to this.

You don’t have to quit your job to be able to help the animals–believe me, they’ll gratefully use even just an hour of your spare time–but it’s a great, important perk to this lifestyle.

They say when you go into business for yourself, you work as much as or more than you do when you work for someone else.  I have found that to be totally true.  Now that I’m in business for myself, I spend a lot of time in the fast lane, busting my butt to do all the work I can get.  But I also have found that I am more willing to give up my billable hours and slide into the other lane (I can’t call it the “slow lane,” cuz anyone who does animal rescue KNOWS that’s not true, so I’ll call it my “heart lane”) to serve my animal friends, even though it comes at a higher financial price.

So when you set out on your path–your glorious, unseen but need-to-be-traveled path–remember to pave it wide so you can take your heart along.

To see more photos of the bed project, click here.

Tags: animal rescue, animal shelters, charity, community service, creativity, dog beds, dream, follow your dream, freelance, philanthropy, postaweek2011, risk taking, shelter dogs, South Los Angeles, volunteering, working from home

Let’s Leap for Patrick

By now, many of you have probably heard about Patrick, the Pit Bull who was starved and thrown down a garbage chute in New Jersey.  He was rescued on March 16 when a maintenance worker saw a trash bag move and opened it.  It was Patrick, hours away from death (by vets’ estimates, 6-12 hours, to be exact).

He was immediately taken into emergency veterinary care where it wasn’t certain if he’d make it through the night.  But when everyone woke up on March 17–St. Patrick’s Day–they found he had survived.  And so he was christened: Patrick.

Patrick is healing!

Since that day, Patrick’s received around the clock care and he’s improving every day. Not only that, but he’s garnered the love and support of tens of thousands of people all over the world.  They keep sending in donations, get well cards and gifts, and they keep coming in droves to his Facebook page to wish him well.

And occasionally, they wish his abuser not well.

I can’t say that I blame them.

Now that they’ve publicly identified the alleged perpetrator (along with her woefully inadequate expected sentence), emotions have cranked up even higher.  Animal advocates everywhere want the head of the woman who did this to him.

Again, I can’t say that I blame them.

But instead of staying there–in that place of blame, witch-hunting, and total outrage–a woman named Rachel Wolf has stepped up and literally moved it.  Rachel had the insight, quick-thought (and action), and experience to start another Facebook page–this time, a Cause page.  A page called Patrick’s Law.

Rachel has made a call to all of us out here who are outraged to respond with positive action. Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could actually pass a law that would be stronger, mean more, and come with more severe punishment for those who abuse animals, Rachel has asked us?  Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could make a huge, real difference?  Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could get off Facebook and into the streets, city halls, state senates, and capitol buildings to make sure Patrick’s legacy is more than a scrolling status update?

Thousands are answering her with a resounding YES.

I am among them.

Rachel’s not a lawyer or a lobbyist.  She’s not a government official or professional organizer (that I can tell, anyway).

The only difference between her and all the rest of us is that she just did it.  I’m sure there are hundreds of reasons why she shouldn’t have.  Or couldn’t have.  I’m not sure how long those ponderings were in the picture, if at all.  One thing is for sure, though: she leapt into the unknown for Patrick and all of the animals who need this.  For something (and someone) she believes in.  She doesn’t know how, only that she must.  The only difference between her and the rest of us is that she moved.  And now the rest of us are.

Rachel happens to be local to L.A., so she’s looking for people in the area to meet in person for strategy building and planning.  If you’re not in L.A., don’t fret: this girl has a national mission of a chapter in every state, fighting to pass Patrick’s Law—as of yet unwritten legislation that has the potential to change the lives of animals everywhere—so you can contact her to get on the list of movers and shakers in YOUR state to make this happen.

If you’d like to get involved with this grassroots, ground-breaking, and crazy important effort, join up.  All you have to do is move:

The Patrick Miracle Page

Patrick’s Law Page

http://www.patrickslaw.com

*Note: she literally JUST bought this URL today, so it’s not set up yet.  The main organizing and communicating is taking place on the Patrick’s Law Facebook page*

Tags: animal cruelty laws, animal rights, Garden Spires, grassroots activism, making a difference, New Jersey, Patrick the Miracle Dog, Patrick's Law, pit bull