The Unicorn Story

Ever since I told my mom I was dabbling in fiction writing, she keeps saying "Oh, good! I always wanted you to finish that unicorn story!"

Huh wha?

Until I was maybe twelve, I was pretty sure I had an invisible pet unicorn hanging out with me. I was also the proud owner of the largest collection of unicorn figurines ever to grace the planet. I lived, ate, breathed, dreamed unicorns. My Christmas presents were all unicorn-themed. I had unicorn stationary, unicorn sheets, unicorn light switches, unicorn posters, unicorn books... I was so into unicorns that my poor sister, who preferred cats, nevertheless received various unicorn-related gifts from relatives who were blinded by my obsession.

But back to the unicorn story. I wasn't a big writer when I was a kid because I considered writing to be something you had to do as homework, not something you did for fun. Almost everything I wrote was for school, and was therefore technically accurate but not emotionally engaging.

So hearing Mom talk about this unicorn story was a big surprise. I don't remember writing it, I don't know what it was about, and I'm sure I must have been, like, six years old when I wrote it. I don't think there are any surviving copies.

I guess Mom still thinks of me as a little kid. :) I thought she was going to faint when I told her I'm going to be 30 this year.

Nanowrimo Week 4 and life is good!

Well. Where to begin? For the first time, I'm ahead of the game, having spent my entire Sunday writing. I'm at 40K words one day ahead of schedule.

And how did I manage this? Especially when the day was rainy and gloomy, preventing me from dumping my rascally foster dog outside in the outdoor kennel?

DOZER BABYSAT.

Yes, folks, my dog-hating grumpy old dog BABYSAT the foster dog.

I kid you not. Dozer played with Titan and kept him entertained for hours. I didn't have to worry about a thing because Dozer kept Titan right by my feet and kept him engaged in real play, not table-chewing and blanket-ripping and carpet-soiling (which is not play even though it's sure fun for the puppy). And after all that play, Titan was so exhausted that he completely passed out! Poor Dozer, who was covered in drool by that time because he'd been letting Titan chew on his face nonstop for twenty minutes, also took a nap.

I was so happy I nearly cried. But no, I had no time to cry. I had to write! So I didn't let my faithful dog down, my poor dog who was enduring horrible torture for my sake--I wrote like crazy.

I really don't know why Dozer played with Titan so solidly, for so long. After I had finished writing for the day, Dozer resumed his I-hate-you-you-bastard attitude toward Titan.

My dog is so weird. But I love him.

nanowrimo week 3

Middle of week 3 or something like that, who knows, really. Will be at 30K words tonight if all goes well. My head is killing me and even though I know I'm speaking English, it just sounds like gobbledegook to me at this point.

Our foster puppy Titan, the blue heeler puppy from... not hell, but somewhere near it, I'm sure, got neutered yesterday. He was unfazed. By the time I got him home, the anesthetics were worn off and he was bouncing around like a maniac again. He cannot sit still for even a minute. He has had the honor--no, distinction is a better word--of chewing the first hole ever in our sofa. He then tried to sample the dining room table. Right now he is sitting between two Galileo Bones alternately chewing on one, then the other, then back to the first.

I say that the dog is crazy, but it's just because I feel stressed by this unexpected burden, on top of everything else I'm trying to do and everything else that is going on. I just am not in a place where I can handle this constant attention-sink. If I am watching him so he doesn't chew up the table, I can't write or make dinner or even walk off to rotate the laundry. But he's a very good dog that will make someone very happy... as long as they have the energy to keep up with him.

Mostly I am just furious with Byrd for bringing the dog home when I clearly told him "no." And when he brought it home, he swore up and down that he would be primarily responsible for taking care of it and finding it a new home. And after that, he promptly started working 16-hour shifts, night work, leaving him barely enough time to come home and collapse on the bed and get a little sleep before running off to work again. Yeeaah, sure, honey, let me know when you think your responsibility for the dog is going to kick in.

I love my husband, in part because of his soft Jello heart, but sometimes I just want to strangle him.