Hello, Home Fry!
I have a new dog named August. We call him
Augie.
Augie went outside early this morning, like he does every morning. When he had done his business (genius boy, Augie!), he didn't turn right around and run back to me like he does every morning.
Actually, he started to. But suddenly he stopped short and sniffed savagely at the ground, his brand-new spaniel senses firing on red alert.
I was standing 10 feet away, but I could feel the primal wolf stirring in this 9-pound pup—the wild animal that was about to go inside and be served a breakfast of organic chicken breast, carefully minced and trimmed of all its free-range fat.
Within seconds Augie had something between his teeth—was that a mole? Whatever it was... it was small enough to tuck inside a 9-pound puppy's mouth. (Oh God please let it already be dead.)
The tail of the thing (maybe a mouse?) dangled between his lips—he looked like a Hollywood bad boy with a cigarette. (I don't think moles have tails?)
He was supremely pleased with himself. I was thoroughly grossed out.
I've had dogs since I was 12. I know the worst thing to do in this situation is to scream and lunge at him to try to wrest any prize away—no matter how gross. That'll make any dog—even a baby one—clamp his jaw hard and run in the opposite direction.
So what did I do?
I screamed and lunged at him and he clamped his baby jaw hard and ran in the opposite direction.
I'm not proud of it. But keeping it real.
Whoa that dog can run! Augie took off like a tiny, furry quarterback—running the ball downfield, dodging and weaving in the wet grass. I trailed behind, sloshing in my slippers.
He's fast but I learned he's more of a sprinter than a marathoner. (Tucking that away for future reference.) Also, his legs are like four inches long. Within minutes I'd lapped him, caught him, and held him in the air (DROP IT! NO! DROP IT!) until finally... he dropped it. It tumbled out of his mouth and landed noiselessly on the lawn.
It was 7 AM. I was standing in the yard in 40 degree weather in soggy slippers, freezing and sweating at once, with an outraged, squirming puppy in my arms (UNHAND ME, WOMAN!).
I looked down at the tiny corpse where it had landed on the lawn in front of me. All I could manage was: "So it is a mole."
Well, was.
* * *
Writing can feel that way, can't it?
Sometimes the more you chase, the faster the ideas seem to gallop in the other direction.
Or they're all over the place, like an overstimulated spaniel working some invisible scribble of a gridiron chalked in your backyard by a deranged groundskeeper.
* * *
For a break from the news, last week I watched writer David Sedaris's MasterClass. I'm a Sedaris Superfan—which feels like it should be a Facebook group but isn't, I don't think?—so there's a lot I appreciated about his writing process.
But one thing stuck out for me from the almost four hours David and I spent together.
"I can't start an essay if I don't have an opening line," David said. That line might change, "but I can't get to the second sentence until I feel steady with the first," he said.
I recognized that immediately as true (that's why I wrote it down LOL). Not just because I can't start writing without a first line, either. But also because I realized that we writers also veer and swerve a little, trying to find a better way in even after we think we've committed.
From David: "I knock over here, and if that doesn't let me in... I go over there."
Just like when I sat down to write this letter to you. I had nothing.
It's not that nothing has been happening... I mean, it's 2020. It's just the opposite: Too much has been happening. I don't have to detail it all in this paragraph for you, because too much has been happening for you, too.
Maybe we're all a little like overstimulated baby spaniels this week. This season. This year.
But in this case, anyway, I didn't chase.
I was the one who stopped in my tracks.
It was the one who let something primal bubble up.
And, this time, the subject just came to me. And sat right in my lap.
* * *
Next time your inner spaniel is overstimulated, try this:
1. Focus on crafting your very best first line.
2. Write the next line.
3. Repeat #2.
4. Change the chalking on the gridiron when you feel it. You've got this.
* * *
QUICKIES
It's Thanksgiving week here in the US, so here's a duo of holiday-inspired marketing posts, followed by a deep-dive Q&A from last week.
➡️
How to Create Ridiculously Good Content Last week I joined SharpSpring CMO Chip House for a deep-dive Q&A session about how you can create ridiculously good content. The conversation is geared toward agencies. But it applies to
us all.
