Well, that was an interesting time

Hi! Welcome back! I sure as heck didn't mean to be gone for so long, but I had one problem get thrown at me, then another, then one hit my wife and I and knocked us both down for a bit.

Our most recent addition to the household, Diamond, hadn't been feeling good for a while. I take her outside at night because I'm up later than Claudia, and seeing a fifty-pound dog gorge herself on grass, then throw it all back up right in front of me was one of those moments I need to use in a story. I only hope I can capture it well enough to make all you poor readers feel it as intimately as I did. I didn't throw up, but I'm glad I hadn't recently eaten.

But one day her stomach got really hard, and my wife got home, found a 24 hr vet, and loaded her up in the car. A friend of ours went along to help hold Diamond, and Diamond showed her gratitude by puking all over her. I don't think Claudia and I are going to be living that one down anytime soon.

The vet was closed, despite what their website says, and after some more hunting around (and dropping our friend off to take a shower), we found one and got the bad news. Diamond's stomach was twisted, and she needed surgery right then. Over four thousand dollars worth of surgery.

We don't have that kind of money sitting around waiting for us to give it a call and ask it to come over. So we had to break down and apply for a line of credit, over the phone, and talking to a machine. I really, really, really hate credit cards, and so does Claudia. We buy what we need or want with money that we have, and save up for or do without something if need be. Credit cards have their uses, I know, but (my opinion, of course) they use the holder more than he or she uses it.

But we got it, racked up more debt than either of us had possessed in a long time, and handed our dog over to the vet. Surgery went well, and after a few days of observation, we brought her home with a doped-up smile on her face and a scar full of staples that went the whole length of her underside. The staples just came out Friday.

So I've been coming home on my lunch hour to let her out of her crate (cage) and allow her to stretch her legs for a little while, then locking her up and going back. Claudia has been giving her extra TLC before and after work, and we've both been taking turns sleeping with her on a futon to be there in case she had problems.

I never knew a dog could snore. Did you?

I've still been writing this time, but not at the same pace or with the same zeal. Knowing you suddenly owe that much puts a new light on little things like a cantankerous refrigerator or a headlight that's out. It's worth it though, especially every time Diamond smiles, runs up to get affection, or thwaks the floor with her tail because she's wagging it and she's also too lazy to get up. It's worth it.

Then, good news. I got paid for Dirty. The check arrived, and I sprained my lips from grinning and bruised both ears because I did it so fast and wide. I got paid. I'm in print, and I got paid. Words? What words? This is emoting and floating and running down the street shouting 'Eureka!' I got paid.

Did it cover the vet? Oh heck no. It'll put a scratch in the bill, is all. But I got paid. If I drop dead tomorrow, I'll be talking about it to the valkyrie who picks me up or the ferryman who gives me a ride. No one ever actually came out and told me that I wouldn't make money from this, but a look that lets you know someone thinks it's just an indulgent fantasy, especially from someone close to you, sticks, and not in a good way. I ended up divorcing the person who gave me that look.

But I got paid. For writing.

The world's biggest marshmallow

So yesterday, my wife and I brought home a new addition to the household. She's named Diamond, is a boxer/retriever mix, and in the first hour she had established herself in the pecking order somewhere below our long-haired cat. A single paw-swipe at her nose sent her running away and hiding behind my wife, who was trying to be supportive while laughing so hard she had to sit down.

The book is coming along, slowly, but it's getting where I need it to be. I'm also looking at new markets where I can submit some of the stories I have sitting around on my hard drive. Also, I'll probably go through Roja at least one more time before I consider it ready to use as agent-bait. It's nice to have a plan of what to do. Now the only thing left is to follow through.

Some small part of my brain is also going back to The Red Man Burning. I haven't worked on it in a while, not since I missed getting In The Dark done on time (which still annoys the hell out of me). I'm having to go back to all those weird, awkward moments from when I was a kid. That's a time when you have to find your own way in a world where you have almost no say in what goes on in your own life, the people who have power of life and death over you have a set of priorities that they created long before you ever showed up, and everything from doorknobs to grocery shelves are designed for people who are six inches to a foot taller than you. Childhood has been romantisized in our culture into some magical, beautiful period in our lives when the world is fresh and beautiful and there's no lesson so hard that we can't get through it. I'm sure someone, somewhere, grew up in a place like that, but the more people I meet, the more I think that childhood is when spirits are broken and psychopaths learn just how well they're going to fit in. We all go through that period, and then we selectively scrub our memories of it until we're left with something we can tell ourselves and other people.

That's what I need to capture.

In the middle of writing this, Diamond started whining, which we've figured might be her signal for 'Could I step outside for a moment? I have some business to attend to.' I was only planning on taking her out into the backyard, but right now it's cool and misty out, with something that's not quite fog thickening up to the point where anything farther than a block away is hidden in soft gray clouds. I grabbed her leash and we both took a tour of the neighborhood while her toe nails clicked on the sidewalk, and every other sound was muted by the mist. Beautiful.

To end this on a cheery note, if I can get this to work right, I'll be posting a picture of our new dog right here. She's a big, furry lump of woof, and she's dozing in front of my desk while I'm writing this.

Still writing.