WHAT MY BUDDY STEELER TAUGHT ME

Photo by proud grandmother Susan F. Craft

Being in a writing zone is a wonderful thing. The thoughts come so fast, it's hard for your writing hand or typing fingers to put them into coherent words. You feel as if you are flying above the earth, taking the most fantastic journey imaginable. A high so incredible, you never want to descend.

Sometimes the ideas and words don't flow. You have a notion, maybe even an outline, but you can't find the end, or the twist, or the dialogue you're seeking. You may even begin to question the concept, the characters, or whether or not you're a mystery writer or any kind of writer at all.

These times can be caused by a lot of things. Personal preoccupations, work, stress. Writers are often counseled to "write through" these dilemmas, but sometimes you feel "all written out" from your job and other obligations. You decide every fictional work you've begun is bad, and you don't want to write through more bad prose to get to good. Maybe you just can't make yourself string more words together. And you shudder to think anyone might read what you've written.

So, you stop.

You feel guilty about it. You think about what you meant to write, but you still can't get beyond the defeat. You wait and don't know what to expect.

I was in one of those places when I went to visit friends who were house sitting their "granddog" while their son was at the beach.

Photo by doting father Donovan Craft

Steeler Nation (you know his namesake team), a bouncing, jet black combination dachshund and poodle ("Dachapoo") came into the household when his dad, cousin and co-owner, and aunt and uncle lived with the grandparents. Steeler was used to being in a vibrant home with lots of people to pay him attention.

Things happen. People get job opportunities and have to go in different directions. Steeler and his dad moved out. Steeler's cousin, aunt, and uncle moved out, too. Only Steeler's grandparents were left at the home.

When Steeler came to visit his grandparents, he was overjoyed to see them, but he hated for his dad to leave, even though briefly. Steeler lavished love on everyone and looked puzzled when he had fewer people with less time to respond to his adoration.

The grandparents placed Steeler on the porch at night and returned in the morning to find him looking expectantly through the window to greet them. Almost as if he stayed in the same position, waiting for them to return.

So, the grandparents asked me over. Steeler was beside himself to see me. He jumped up to be petted and admired. He brought me his squeaky toy to throw for him to retrieve. Maybe most disconcerting for someone who hasn't lived with a dog for awhile, he propelled himself at my head and licked my face to get attention. Steeler is nothing, if not determined and unrelentingly persistent.

The day after I visited, I had an idea about how to finish a story. I sat down to write and it was as if the floodgates opened. I read and reread. The words were good. They made sense and flowed. I almost felt as if I could cup what I had written in my hands, lift it to my mouth, and gulp down sweet refreshing liquid. It was exhilarating.

So, I started thinking about my little buddy Steeler. He hadn't seen me in months, yet was glad to greet me. He never gave up seeking to get my attention, even though I would offer him a little petting, then turn to other matters. He kept watching me and propelling himself at me, until I gave in and enjoyed being with him.

Writing is like that sometimes. You keep it at bay until finally it comes tumbling out of you.

Next time I feel incapable of putting words together, I'm going to remember Steeler's laser focus, whether I was looking at him or not. I'm going to try to channel some of his energy and find those words I'm looking for and propel them onto the page.

Thanks, Steeler. I owe you a big sloppy hug.

Have you found a "force" that spurs you into writing?

Photo of Steeler and me by Susan F. Craft