He’s Right — Writing IS Easy!
You know why I love the Internet? A lot of reasons, really, all of them starting with I can look up the lyrics to any Sly and the Family Stone song that I want, ANYTIME I WANT. This still amazes me. But you know, I’m easily impressed so that’s not saying much. I also adore the Internet, the Information Highway, running willy-nilly from here in Oregon all the way over to North Carolina, down to Rio by the Sea-O, then flying ZOOM like a CRAZY BOOMERANG all around the world, BECAUSE IT MEANS I DO NOT HAVE TO PHOTOCOPY AS MUCH STUFF.
(I also love the Internet because my awesome and beloved late dog, Wacky Dog — he who gave slobbery kisses and had the tendency to eat as much wood fiber as a family of beavers — shows up second and then again third on a Google search. He is that important. Not was, IS. Long-live Wacky Dog!)
Just now, when I was trying to find this funny New Yorker essay (from eleven years ago) by Steve Martin, CRAZY BOOMERANG there it was. So I can share it with you. If you haven’t already seen it, give it a read. I have always enjoyed getting writing tips and hints and especially liked this one:
“WRITER’S BLOCK: A MYTH
Writer’s block is a fancy term made up by whiners so they can have an excuse to drink alcohol.”
The copy I have is faded and does not have the date on it. It was in the “Shouts & Murmurs” column, I can tell you that much. But I would have guessed I’d been carrying this clipping around for three or four years, tops. (I am inaccurate, at best. Please be advised.) But you do not have to fret about my reliability because voila! There it is online. And I’ve just saved myself the trouble of photocopying fifty thousand or so copies. Also, it’s on the Internet, so you know it Must Be True. (Another thing I love about the Internet. It’s factually accurate! Neat!)
My other favorite essay IN LIFE that I have hauled around, it would appear, since 1992 is called “The Sanctuary of School” and is by the inimitable Lynda Barry. So Lynda, if you’re ever doing a vanity search on yourself and land here, WACKY MOMMY LOVES YOU AND MARLYS. I cannot find a copy of the essay online, alas, but I did find about 40 bazillion essays that other people have written about this essay. So it would seem I am not the only one who was taken with it. Try to find a copy if you can — it’s brilliant.
All for now, ta-ta. But before I go, I will tell you something else. Because even though I am feeling more okay every day, I still am sad as hell over my dog. So I’m trying to remember a few of the horrible things he did (broke windows, destroyed furniture, bit the cats) so I don’t, you know, make him into some Black Lab Angel, which he certainly was not. (If you go to this website, you will notice they are SOLD OUT of both the “Black Labrador Puppy, Yawning” and “Black Labrador, Laying” figurines. Not that I was thinking of purchasing one. I would just like you to be aware of the fact that I am NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS LOST HER MIND over her black lab puppy.)
So when I get too sad, from thinking about all the chaos and bliss that Wacky Dog brought into our lives, then I try to remember something funny.
He thought he was a twelve-pound Bichon Frise. He did! When we went on our honeymoon, oh, what to do with the dog?
“Why can’t he go with us?” I begged. (Me, the girl who also begged to have the dog in the wedding. “He will roll in shit and ruin everything,” my Hockey God-to be told me. He’s right — he would have.)
“He will ruin our honeymoon” HG told me. (Yeah — he would have.) So we left him with a friend — a friend who co-habitated with two fluffball Bichons.
We got to Santa Cruz and I woke up the next morning sobbing. (This was, I dunno, six days into our honeymoon? We had planned to be gone ten days, I think. We drove down the coast highway, 101. Don’t take this trip with someone who gets carsick, just fyi.)
“I miss my dog!” My husband laughed at me and took a picture. I just looked at it the other day — it’s in our wedding/honeymoon photo album. There I am, distraught and pale, curled up in a motel bed in a nest of white blankets and sheets. I look like I’m dying of consumption or something.
We drove back home, where we found the dog happily curled up like a great big ol’ kitten with Bichon 1 and Bichon 2. He sprung to the door to greet us.
“He had the best vacation!” our friend told us. “I can’t believe how well he gets along with my dogs!”
Woof.
Love,
WM
, 
.
I had a cat that thought he was a dog (without any obvious role models). He liked to follow you around, his sleeping position was very unlike cats, when he was hot he put his tongue out like dogs do, we went walking together (no leash, just a collar) and he liked (fellow?) dogs etc, etc. Kind of trans-species stuff.
Oh, and as a first time visitor here – I think your writing is great.
February 27th, 2007 | #
it’s a gift, isn’t it…the love we can feel for our animals.
and that joy and sorrow roller coaster ride.
February 27th, 2007 | #
A few months back, my spousal unit had a rare day off from work and took me out to lunch. “What do you want to do now?” he asked after we had finished. “I want my dog!” He thinks I am not right in the head. I don’t care to think what I would be like after six days without her.
February 27th, 2007 | #
It is ironic, because I am the first person to say pets are pets, people are people. And here I am, still crying. It’s a good day — I’ve only cried twice. My cats are not my children, my dog was not my child. I didn’t give birth to them. But I did adopt them, and they did become members of the family. I am mourning losing a family member. I need to ease up on myself and not be trying so hard to “get over it.” The unconditional love that pets give you — there is no replacing that. My dog madly loved me all the time. My cats have started acting more dog-like, it’s kinda sweet. We’ve started keeping their food in the kitchen, where we fed the dog, instead of on the back landing.
February 27th, 2007 | #