Goody Beagle here. You don’t know about me unless you have read my book Dog Park Diary: the social round of Goody Beagle. It’s a good book, and mostly true. But after it was done I found I had more to say about dogs, so I’m writing a blog. It’s on my page on Amazon – just click here or look off to the right of your screen to the Blogroll and click on “Goody’s Blog.”

I say it on the first page of my own website: authors are people with authority. So why am I so surprised that now after my book about my dog Goody (Dog Park Diary: the social round of Goody Beagle) has been published, some people think I am an authority on dogs and dog parks!  I’ve been asked to write articles about dogs and dog parks. I was a guest on a radio show, talking about dogs and dog parks. This makes me feel kind of funny, because although I know and love my dog, and I enjoy taking her to the dog park, I wouldn’t call myself an authority. But there it is – the power of the Book. Go ahead – write one. I promise you too can don the mantle of authority.

on summer evenings
swirling clouds of tiny bugs
hold a spiral dance

It’s lucky for the ants, flies, and spiders that I’m not in charge of the universe. If I were, the functions of insects would be handled by mammalian creatures – cuter, furrier, without windowpane eyes.

But I won’t kill insects. I’ve even saved a few of their lives. They don’t seem overly smart, and will often head obliviously and directly into certain death: flying into the candle flame, jumping into wine-filled glasses, crawling up my leg.

I know it wouldn’t be a good idea to pave over God, but I believe it would make picnics easier.

Have you ever thought the world may need what you write? That your knowledge, or inspirational story, or revolutionary method, may be the exact thing someone out there is waiting to learn? Maybe more than one person is waiting – maybe there are thousands who could be helped by what you have to say.

The bottom line is – your ideas, your stories, and your experiences matter. You matter. You do make a difference in the world. You are an actor, not just a reactor. You needn’t succumb to the despair and apathy present in the phrase, “I’m just one person.” All writers are just one person. The written word has a long and distinguished history of teaching people new ways of thinking and doing. Many books have literally changed the course of history.

Write it down!

spin your phony words

from the deep background of lies

Someone is watching

I don’t hear the voices of my children anymore. I don’t hear the word “Mommy” or the giggles from little-girl sleepovers. I don’t hear the wails from scraped knees or the high-pitched snorts at dumb knock-knock jokes. I don’t hear the harsh blast of Metallica playing to a crowd of rowdy 14-year olds, or know-it-all teenage voices declaiming deathless 80s and 90s slang such as “Mega” or “Burnt.”  I don’t hear the muttered whispers when they creep in way past their curfew, or the shrieks about broken nails or messed-up hairdos.

No, I don’t hear my children anymore. But I do hear their warm voices talking about their women’s concerns and I am happy when the phone rings and I hear them say, “Mom.”

meet in the city

a cup of bitter coffee

a long intense chat

Try this writing tip:  take the first line of a novel, or short story, or poem, written by someone else, and use this first line as a springboard into your own writing.  Write a page or two, starting with the other author’s line as your first line, and see where it takes you.  Then when you are done, delete the first line that is not yours. The rest of it will be.

Here’s one I wrote, starting with a line from a poem by Hildegarde of Bingen, “I am the yearning for good.”

I am the yearning for good because when I feel the nasty thoughts of anger or smallness, jealousy or fear, when I want to snarl, “she can take her xyz and shove it up her you-know-what” or when I want to whine, “why does he get so much and I get so little?” or when I want to yell “Get the hell away from here” – when I want to say these things, I feel guilty, and that’s how I know I yearn for good. Even in the face of despair that I am not, and may never be, really good, not like I want to be.

I am the yearning for good in the midst of fear, strong as dark whiskey brewed in black winter caves. That smoky taste of fear and lust rises in my throat and oh how I yearn for good then, for a crisp light breeze to blow me outside to where wild weeds grow in lush profusion even though they’re not supposed to, even where their beauty is not seen.

shades of Mexico

drink spiced chocolate coffee

wear a turquoise shirt