I have a good excuse for the long delay since my last post. Thanks to the inspiration of my friend Caleb, I've started writing a book.
Caleb has been reading to me out of the novel he's been writing for the past year. About once a week, Caleb and I meet for coffee. Caleb will read a new chapter almost every time, and slowly, he's taking me through the book. I've decided to take my own shot at writing a novel.
I've always wanted to try writing a book, but when I've thought about it the actual event was inevitably in the indeterminate future. After listening to Caleb for a while, I felt a strong urge to attempt a novel myself. I thought about plot lines and characters for about a two weeks. Then I tried to get started on the actual writing, but I found that making time was an issue. My excuses evaporated when an acquaintance told a story about her writer friend. The writer friend had decided that he wanted to finish a book, and knew the only way he could was to get up at 5:30 every morning and write before he went to work. As soon as I heard the story, I knew I was going to have to do something similar.
I woke up the following morning at a 5:45--no alarm, no plan--just a sudden sense of opportunity that woke me up all by itself. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes and realized that if I didn't get up and write, the book was never going to take shape. So I did, and I've been doing it every morning for over a week. We'll see if it sticks. The coffee definitely helps.
18 February 2009
03 February 2009
Mrs. Dogwalker
My house is downtown on a cul-de-sac. The only cars that drive by the front door are on their way in or out of a parking space. The only real traffic that passes the house front is either pedestrian or bicycle. Until I moved into this house, I never would have guessed that so many people in Salem either bike or walk to work. Every weekday morning, droves pass by my doorstep, accompanied by the whoosh of rapidly-moving slacks. Soon after I took up residence, I heard a statistic on the radio: Salem is in the top ten bike-friendly cities in the nation, with over 15,000 people riding a bike to work. I believe it--I think I've almost hit about half of them while backing out of my carport.
The people walking or biking by my house are all different. Many of them are secure, middle-class citizens on their way downtown to their state job. Quite a few are college students, walking two blocks south to Willamette University. And not few of them are neighborhood characters: homeless men lugging bags filled with cans, the halfway house rehab guys from a block north, or my personal favorite, Mrs. Dogwalker.
I don't know where Mrs. Dogwalker lives, but I'm pretty sure it's nearby. I don't see her every day, but I'm pretty sure she is out for a walk at least once in every twenty-four hour period. I call her Mrs. Dogwalker because she is always accompanied by her German Shepherd. The first time I noticed her, I actually heard Mrs. Dogwalker before I saw her. I was walking down the stairs in my house, and I heard beautiful female voice outside near the sidewalk. The voice was speaking coaxingly and with deep feeling to someone else. I didn't hear much of the conversation, but I caught a bit about dealing with anxiety, post-traumatic stress, and some other terminology from clinical psychology. I assumed that the woman with the voice was counselling someone else. When I looked through the window, however, I saw a haggard, shabbily dressed woman in her seventies talking to a dog. I listened a while longer, and heard the woman tell the dog in her calm, soothing voice everything that the dog needed to know to regain his mental health. She was very thorough and persistent, but most off all, she filled her words with a depth of feeling that communicated real concern for her pet's mental well-being.
I've watched Mrs. Dogwalker for a long while. I haven't had the courage to strike up a conversation yet. She seems uncomfortable when she sees other people. And I suppose perhaps, she's a little nervous that her dog might embarrass her in public.
The people walking or biking by my house are all different. Many of them are secure, middle-class citizens on their way downtown to their state job. Quite a few are college students, walking two blocks south to Willamette University. And not few of them are neighborhood characters: homeless men lugging bags filled with cans, the halfway house rehab guys from a block north, or my personal favorite, Mrs. Dogwalker.
I don't know where Mrs. Dogwalker lives, but I'm pretty sure it's nearby. I don't see her every day, but I'm pretty sure she is out for a walk at least once in every twenty-four hour period. I call her Mrs. Dogwalker because she is always accompanied by her German Shepherd. The first time I noticed her, I actually heard Mrs. Dogwalker before I saw her. I was walking down the stairs in my house, and I heard beautiful female voice outside near the sidewalk. The voice was speaking coaxingly and with deep feeling to someone else. I didn't hear much of the conversation, but I caught a bit about dealing with anxiety, post-traumatic stress, and some other terminology from clinical psychology. I assumed that the woman with the voice was counselling someone else. When I looked through the window, however, I saw a haggard, shabbily dressed woman in her seventies talking to a dog. I listened a while longer, and heard the woman tell the dog in her calm, soothing voice everything that the dog needed to know to regain his mental health. She was very thorough and persistent, but most off all, she filled her words with a depth of feeling that communicated real concern for her pet's mental well-being.
I've watched Mrs. Dogwalker for a long while. I haven't had the courage to strike up a conversation yet. She seems uncomfortable when she sees other people. And I suppose perhaps, she's a little nervous that her dog might embarrass her in public.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
