"Ron Carlson Writes a Story" by Ron Carlson

These pages give solid advice. Go slowly. Stay in the concrete. The specific is your friend. And whatever you do, don't get up for coffee. A writer is the person who stays in the room.

In this book, Carlson explains, paragraph by paragraph, how he wrote the short story "The Governor's Ball." Every writer has a different creative process, but I really connected with Carlson's points and ideas about stories. The book is something that can be read in a single sitting, and returned to multiple times. I'm currently applying what I've learned to my in-progress dog-wash story.

Dog Wash

In the name of research, I took Louie to a dog wash today. He's fine getting bathed in our shower, but there's a dog wash in my latest story, and I needed to see one first-hand. I'd spent the morning cutting off all his hair, which didn't put him in the best of moods. But then we drove to the dog wash and once in the tub, it was like he was shell-shocked. Shaking, trying to get out, he was a mess and I felt guilty for making my dog suffer so I could write some dumb story. The barking dogs in the kennel next door didn't help, either. I'd gone to the dog wash wanting to soak up its nuances--its tear-free shampoo and crazy-delirious gold retrievers. But Louie was so terrified I got him in, bathed (with only a minor dry), and out.

A Disaster Not Caused by the Current US Administration

I saw the Pompei exhibit today at the Natural History Museum. A poet would write a moody, uncomfortable poem about what they'd seen--a couple embraced in death; interminably tiny tomb relics; museum-goers stepping in front of you to get the best view of devastation; and of course the trompe l'oeil frescoes (always a solid go-to for poetry). Since I write prose, the best I can manage is this blog entry, and hope to store away something--the hippies on the grass with their perfectly hippie dog?--for a story.

Also, happy birthday to my friend Erin, who got gypped by an hour.

This Blog Has Gone Too Long Without Pictures of Louie

This evening at the park:

Lunch with Julie

Right now, the world feels like that carnival ride The Scrambler. Pretty thrilling, and awfully satisfying, but able to make you lose your lunch. It helps to know there are other people holding on, smiling, and hoping the nausea won't get the best of them, too.

Julie's dog, Zoey:

First Draft

Doubt is my constant companion...I think. Doubt is my constant companion...

Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott

My brother believes monkeys are nature's comedians. But if you're Anne Lamott, you might argue for flossing. As in, "Of course [Lamott's son] doesn't want to come to regular worship--it's so naked, built on the rubble of need and ruin, and our joy is deeply uncool--but he doesn't want to floss or do homework, either." There are three or four other flossing punchlines in this book.

The essays are funny, tightly-written, satisfying reflections on spirituality, learning to forgive George Bush, getting older, and a liberal northern California lifestyle.

"One Hand Clapping" is a dark but comforting essay. A member of Lamott's church is dying of cancer, and wants the children to decorate the casket her body will be cremated in. She wants to see the finished project before she dies, to get comfortable with where she'll be going and how she'll get there. The elders aren't sure it would be healthy for the children, so a compromise is reached and at Sunday school the children make drawings that will be pasted onto the box.