Lisaland

She’s almost 13.

That’s really old in dog years.

Sure, she moves a bit slower than she used to. But overall, she still loves a good swim, a long walk, and barbeques in the summer. And while I often joke about caring for an old lady dog, I’m immensely thankful Abbey’s stuck around this long.

I’ve never really let myself think about life after Abbey. My husband and I adopted her when she was a puppy, just days after getting back from our honeymoon. She’s been with me through two miscarriages, every step of motherhood, marital issues, three of Marc’s job changes, a failed business venture, one completed novel, (two half-finished ones) and a move to a different house.

Marc’s travel schedule, especially in the first six years of our marriage, was rigorous. His job is demanding and often, back then, it left him emotionally drained. So even when he was home physically, all he wanted was to be left alone. It was tough on him. It was tough on me. I didn’t have much of a support system in place in St. Louis. As most STL transplants before the advent of social media will attest, it was difficult to make friends here, especially if you were of a more introverted nature. My family and most of my friends lived more than an hour away. But I always had my Abbey.

No matter what time of day, Abbey is there to offer a hopeful wag or an enthusiastic response to the notion of a walk. She’s convinced bacon-draped, jelly-covered bagels are always a good idea. When I’m at home, she follows me from room to room. No matter how much it hurts to climb those stairs or how tired she might be, she’s my constant companion.

This morning I dropped her off at the vet’s for surgery. She’s got a bunch of ligment and knee problems now.  She’ll spend the night at the animal hospital.

We stood at the receptionist’s window while I filled out the paper work. Abbey was fine, I was fine. But when a woman dressed in scrubs appeared to retrieve Abbey, to prep her for surgery, my eyes filled with tears. The nurse smiled as I handed her Abbey’s leash. When she lead Abbey away, I turned my head. Abbey whimpered out of confusion. She didn’t want to go back through an unfamiliar archway. She wanted to stay with me, as she always does.

I bolted out of the waiting room. At that point, tears were rolling down my face and I was using my sleeve to wipe my runny nose.

They probably think I’m crazy.  You might too. She’s not “just a dog”. She’s transcends the word. Life, for all of us, slips from season to the next. She’s in her winter now. Someday, I’ll have to live without her. I just don’t know if I can do that.

Two friends recently had their books released.

Danielle Elliot Smith‘s book, Mom, Incorporated, is getting some rave reviews as is Little Black Dress by Susan McBride.

Can I tell you how exciting this is? To watch their hard work and passion cumulate into something readers are finding and loving? When I think about them, I do a little happy dance.

Mom, Incorporated is a book about helping the moms with an entrepreneurial spirit establish and grow a business. Danielle and her co-writer Aliza share some valuable lessons learned in marketing, billing, accounting and legal matters. They also touch on how to balance home life and career. Buy it here!

Susan’s book is about a magical little black dress made of silk, spun by spiders. The dress fits perfectly on every body shape and size. (See, I told you it was magic.) But the kicker is that it reveals snippets of the future to the woman wearing it. The story centers around this dress and three women — Antonia, Evie and Evie’s sister Anna. Buy the book here!

Both women are super busy right now. Danielle’s in the middle of her book tour. Susan’s working on her next book. They are dynamic women with lots of wit and moxie. They inspire me. Congrats to Danielle and Susan. So happy for them and their success.

When I moved into my current neighborhood, a woman named Sharon was fighting a (third) bout of cancer.  I saw her on occasion. We had a few conversations. But I confess, I rarely chatted with her for more than a few minutes. I’d heard a ton of stories about how she was once a powerful lawyer. She was a strong-willed, determined, independent kinda chick. I was not. And while I was incredibly awed by her, I was also severely intimidated.

You know that phrase, “It is better to be silent and suspected a fool than to speak and remove all doubt?” Yeah, I fully subscribe to that one. I didn’t want her to think me a complete moron so our chats weren’t very deep ones. Now, I wish I would have had enough courage to knock on her door and visit. I know I could have learned a lot from her. And I’d like to think our conversations would have been good for her too.

Eventually, the cancer took her last ounce of fight. At her funeral years ago, plastic forks were handed out. A message was attached to each that read, “The best is yet to come.”

There’s a story about how life is like a meal. Save your forks because the best (dessert) is yet to come. Sharon was a huge believer in that phrase.

The other night after dinner, as I cleared the dishes and readied dessert, I repeated this line without even thinking. And as soon as it flew out of my mouth, I thought of Sharon.

Although people may drift in and out of our lives, we are rarely unaffected by their presence.  Sometimes they open our eyes to something that’s hidden within ourselves. Sometimes they help us make sense of our world. Or maybe they’re here just to walk beside us on our respective journeys.

It was just a beautiful reminder of how we all affect each other. And it’s the same with the books we read. Certain scenes, characters or bits of dialogue can haunt us, free us, or inspire.

I recently finished Left Neglected by Lisa Genova as well as The One That I Want by Allison Winn Scotch. Both stories were told from a first person, present tense. As a reader, I really enjoyed how each story unfolded in this way. As a writer, the stories lent me some courage. The April After was originally told in a first person, present tense. But I converted to a first person, past tense because I kept reading writing articles that stated writing first person, past tense was preferable. (Some called writing first person, present tense “annoying” and “constricting.”)

But after reading these ladies’ books, I took some inspiration from Sharon, Lisa as well as Allison and reconverted the story back to the way it was. I feel this is the strongest way to present the events. I want to be true to the character. And this feels like a better fit.

I guess what I was surprised to learn is how much other writers, people you don’t even know, can impact your craft and make you think. So Allison and Lisa, if you ever happen to come across this post some day, thank you for the boost. And Sharon? You have my gratitude as well.

Recently when we decided to paint the house, I included “Lisa’s writing workspace” to the “yes please!” list.

Jason, our painter dude, has done a great job with every room he’d tackled. And overall, I think I’ve done a pretty good job of choosing colors.

Until now… I love the color purple. A LOT. And I thought having a color I love splashed on the walls would encourage me as I continue to concoct different plot lines and bits of pithy dialogue.  I pointed to a small purple swatch and took a giant leap of faith when I choose this specific shade.

Today was the big day. And I should have known it’s a bad sign when you see a little bit of the paint on the walls and think, “Holy Sh*t! That’s pur-ple!” I thought I’d wait to see how it turned out before I issued a verdict.

And well… My inner 5-year-old who is super-girly and used to paint her toe nails with a purple magic marker loves it. The 38-year-old me? Cringes.

I’m still kinda girly but not THIS girly. The thing is, I’ve loved to read and write stories for as long as I can remember. I’ve loved purple for just as long. So I figured I’d add whimsy and vibrancy. Besides the name of the color was “mythic.” Hello! If that doesn’t appeal to a hopeful novelist, what would?

Overall, it’s pretty but a little much given it is coating all four walls. Maybe hanging a few corkboards, a calendar and a painting will help. Let’s hope so. Because right now it looks as if Barney exploded all over my walls. And it’s gonna take a lot of work (either mine or Jason’s) to change.

Just wondering if you have ever tinkered with your office or writing space and wound up with a decorating disaster. Tell me your story.