Who let the dogs in . . .? I’ve written maybe thirty short stories before the last one refused to quit and turned itself into my novel, An Invitation to the Party. I don’t think there’s a single one that doesn’t have at least one resident canine. I attribute it to the library books I carted home in grammar school, week after week, in the 1950’s: Lad a Dog, Old Yeller, Big Red, White Fang, Call of the Wild. If there was a dog on the cover, I was going to read it. I never decided every story I wrote needed its own dog(s). It was just that at some point in each one, the scratching at the door would begin, the whining would start, the pitiful whimpers. Sometimes I’d try to hold off as long as I could. But in the end, it was I, I always let the dogs in.
1 Comment
Cathy
2/17/2022 11:19:27 pm
It’s because we are better people when we are around animals. I’m sure of it.
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We tend to write about what we know. I am a writer, thus this blog: Why write? What, when, where to write? Stay tuned. Archives
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