The Riot Life

Facing Facts or Faith?

Raw winter days are incentive to retreat indoors and wait by the fire for the warm whispered promises of spring.  Raw emotions have the same effect, and maybe the same cure: curling up in front of a fire and simply waiting until a better feeling comes along.

I have been waiting to hear from publishers about a series of books I've written called "Furry Tales From The Riot Life."  I love these books, and I love seeing the reaction of my readers as they follow my real life adventures.  I sent them out to publishers in a blaze of earnest hope last fall, accompanied by a book proposal that was, to my advisors and me, compelling.

My first rejection letter arrived recently, stating that the publisher "wasn't enthusiastic enough" to offer me a deal on my project.  Which immediately made me wonder: what was it that they were initially enthusiastic about?  Could I add more of that and take away something else to push their enthusiasm meter back into the acceptable range?  What if what they want more of is something I can't give them?

For me, the hardest part of the creative process is sending out my projects to be evaluated by faceless names at a publishing company.  I think it would be easier to accept rejection if I knew that the person rejecting my work knew me and liked me and wanted me to succeed.  That might make it harder for them to reject me, which wouldn't be a bad thing.  I have faith in my work, plenty enough to supplement someone who might be lacking that last little bit of enthusiasm necessary to push my proposal over to the "Accept" pile.

Someone told me recently that I had to face facts: few writers get published, and even fewer make a living from their writing.  I said nothing; that little piece of supposed wisdom is actually common knowledge.  As a small dog with big dreams, I can either face facts or face faith.  Facing facts is easy, and carries a multitude of rationales for why my dreams can't come true.  Facing faith, i.e., choosing to focus my eyes on the outcome I can't yet see, is more difficult.  It leaves me vulnerable to embarrassment and exhaustion as I try and try and try again to give voice to my feelings through words and pictures, even as the flood of rejections washes over me.

The sun is starting to warm up my window seat.  I will soon leave my comfortable spot in front of the fire to soak up a few good rays of hope streaming through the window, pulling me closer to the window, then the door, then the world outside where I will continue to cast my stories on the winds and look with faith for my acceptance letter arriving soon.

Keeping In Touch

The facility of email notwithstanding, I find that I enjoy receiving cards and letters in the mail.  Thus, every year at this time, I like to send cards to my friends and family.  I like to think of them holding the same envelope that I have held, opening the flap that I have sealed, and holding on to my little greeting card.  I like to think it's worth the extra effort.

That said, I decided this year to send a Christmas Card, not a Happy New Year Card.  In years past, I've sent New Year's cards to buy myself a little extra time during the extra busy holiday season.  But this year, I felt so organized that I decided not to hedge; I would send out cards before the new year.  And for the most part it worked.  I sent out quite a few cards.  But there are those that still surround me, crying out for correct addresses and stamps. 

Part of the problem was that I switched from a Treo to an iPhone, and during the syncing process I must have lost random contacts. Perhaps those contacts were afraid to jump from one device to another.  Perhaps they didn't want to leave their comfort zone.  I didn't realize this had happened until I started running into people and thinking, "Wait a second, did I send him/her a card this year?"  Then I'd get home and check and -- lo and behold -- they weren't on my list.

I'm trying to correct that now, before the New Year arrives.  I hope I'll make it.  But to those of you who haven't yet received your card, just know that it should be there soon.  If not, just give me a little shout out.  I'm stuffing and licking as fast as I can!

What Goes Up...

The holidays are coming to a close.  It hardly seems possible that it's been almost a month since I put up my tree, and now it's time to take it down.  Putting it up is always more fun than taking it down, I guess because when I put it up I was anticipating all the fun around the tree.  But now that it's time to take it down, I'll spend some time reliving the fun moments of this Christmas, like:

• Our first Christmas in Atlanta;
• My first time sleeping in the bed with Consti and R.D. (thanks, R.D.!);
• Playing with Daniel, the plumber who miraculously arrived and saved Consti's sanity;
• Playing Santa to Taxi, a little poodle who is now the owner of a Minky coat I found at a garage sale;
• Slow cooked beef ribs and standing rib roast which yielded delicious tasty treats.

Dwelling on these happy memories will certainly ease the monotony of packing away all the bright and shiny ornaments.  I hate to see them go, but they'll be back next year.

A Blue Christmas

Big News: I received my first blue box this Christmas!

What's so great about a blue box?  Well, it's not just any blue box, it's a Tiffany blue box!  Blue the color of a cloudless day, with a red ribbon to signal that a red letter event will soon unfold.  I love Tiffany.  For over 100 years they have created beautiful and useful objects.  They are known for making quality gifts to last a lifetime.  I can hardly wait to open my little box!

Stocking Feet

Well, my tree is up but it took both my PeoPets to get it in its stand, in the door, and then upright.  I helped by grabbing the branches that had to be cut off and moving them to the kitchen where I gnawed on them.  Chewing not only cleans your teeth, but it can also help reduce anxiety because it gives you something to do during a fight or flight moment.  My fight or flight moment came when Consti and RD finally got the tree upright, and then it bowed on the ceiling because it was about a foot too tall.  It took both of them to hold it upright, and neither of them could reach the loppers to clip off the top of the tree.  They looked at me, but I lack an opposable thumb, so I couldn't help them.  The three of us plus the tree reminded me of a "too many cooks" scenario.  So I did what I could: I dragged a big branch into the kitchen and left them to figure out how to handle the tree.  Which they did, sweating all the way.

But happily, it's up and we're trimming it.  That's what they tell me, anyway.  I don't know why we call it trimming when we're actually adding things to it, but that's the tradition. 

Another tradition is hanging the stockings.  Most people hang them on the mantle, but I have a better idea: the stairs.  It will be much easier for Santa to get to these, and they're more secure hanging from the posts.  I've heard of stories where Santa comes down the chimney and squeezes underneath the mantle and the felt of the stocking catches on the back of his Santa suit and he pulls the stocking off the mantle without even realizing it.  He turns around and doesn't see the stocking because it's stuck to his back and he says, "Hmm, I guess they didn't want their extra treats."  I definitely want to avoid that misconception!  I want to make it easy for Santa to give me what I want.

To spoil, or not to spoil?

I have received numerous comments about my posting yesterday, but not what I expected.  I thought some readers might take issue with my unconventional approach to hanging stockings, and I thought we'd have some vigorous debate about the merits of mantle vs. stairs.  Instead, most readers wanted to weigh in on the stocking that says "Spoiled."

One reader writes, "Don't let your PeoPet exploit you by making you put up a stocking that labels you as 'Spoiled.'  You obviously work very hard with your books and your blog, and anyone who works that hard can't be spoiled."

Another wrote, "I wouldn't advertise being spoiled if I were you.  Santa might get offended and leave you fewer treats if he thinks you already get more than your fair share."

Very thoughtful of you, kind readers, to alert me to your concerns.  But here are the facts: I am spoiled.  Santa knows it, my PeoPets know it, my mailman knows it.  Strangers know it within moments of meeting me.  I am spoiled beyond belief with endless outpourings of love and hugs and consideration and words of encouragement.  I see nothing wrong with that - and neither does Santa.

My PeoPet Grammy, Conchi, once wisely told me, "Ri Guy, creatures are either spoiled or neglected.  Certainly you are spoiled, but you immediately spoil others with your love, attention, and affection."

I don't think any of us can get enough of love, affection, and attention.  It's the abundance of material things that can lead to being spoiled...rotten, and that's what we want to avoid.  Maybe you think that getting treats in multiple stockings is excessive and falls into the spoiled...rotten category.  I prefer to think of it as Strategically Operating for a Christmas Knockout or, in other words, SOCK it to me Santa, the more the merrier!

It's beginning to look a lot like ... !

This time of year is  very exciting to me!  The celebration of  peace, hope, and joy.  Imagine  a world  where love abounds.  The twolegs try to do this every December, but sometimes they get so uptight about being able to deliver peace, hope, and joy that they just end up screaming in their cars while they're stuck in traffic on the way to the mall.

At times like these, I find it helpful to choose a theme song to remind me of what I'm bound to forget during the busy-ness.  My choice of the month is Tom Jones' rendition of "Help Yourself."  The song makes some great points:  "The greatest things in life are free; Help yourself to my lips, to my arms, just say the word and they are yours."  What a wonderful, upbeat message. 

I  recently shared these thoughts with Phil, one of my great friends at Pike's Nursery in Atlanta.  Phil helped Consti and me select our tree: an enormous round  tree that smells like  Christmas.  I love going to Pike's for my tree.  I'd gone the Sunday after Thanksgiving to watch them unload the first group of trees from the tree farm, and I got to run around and greet all the newcomers.  Pike's is like my second home, so I feel qualified to be a greeter.  I told the trees, "You will soon be adopted by wonderful families, and you will bring joy to their worlds just like I bring to mine.  It's a big responsibility, but you can handle it.  And you'll get so much more than you give." 

I can't wait to get my tree home and set it up with a big drink of water.  We're going to have a great time together!  Thanks Phil! Thanks, Pike's! 

Fairy Special Homes

Make no sudden movements.  As you carefully zoom in on the "mushrooms" behind me, you will notice little specks of light.  If you focus for a few minutes without blinking, you will see that those little specks of light are actually tiny, energetic fairies.  They have pitched these mushroom shelters in my yard for a short vacation and change of scenery.

I first became aware of flower fairies when I read Consti's book Fairy Garden: Fairies of the Four Season.  It's a lovely book, but I thought of it as fiction until Consti told me otherwise.

I had a hard time believing in fairies because I'd never seen one.  So, where was the proof?  Consti shook her head.  "No no, Riot," she told me.  "The fairies won't reveal themselves to you unless you first believe in them."  That was tough.  How can you believe in something you can't see?  "Faith," Consti told me.  "You gotta have faith."

So, over the summer, I spent time just being in the garden among the flowers.  Over time, I started noticing unusual developments impossible to explain -- unless I took the fairies into account.  Like the arrival of whole mushroom colonies that sprang up fully formed overnight.  Or ripe grapes on the arbor that disappear without a trace overnight. 

I now try to check the spider webs in the garden every morning - just to be sure that they haven't trapped any fairies.  While fairies are pretty smart, they can occasionally get tipsy after diving into the catnip.

Reality Television

Yesterday during my morning break, I turned on Martha Stewart's television show.  Martha was joined by her Frenchies: Francesca (my cousin) and Sharkey (shown in this picture).  Francesca was having jealousy issues, and Martha had invited a "trainer" to help train Francesca out of that habit.

I would be mortified.  Why do creatures go on television and air their dirty laundry and bad habits and allow the public to watch their efforts to reform?  Is it money?  In Francesca and Sharkey's case, I'm sure they wanted to support Martha, but it may have also been that they'd never had a Kong before, and as a result of being on that show they each received a Kong.  Allowing your personal life to be broadcast to strangers in exchange for a Kong?  You'd have to be doing it for love because, while I love my Kong, I can find other ways to treat myself and I'd trade my Kong for privacy any day.

I've caught snippets of Dr. Phil's show when I flip channels occasionally, and those people seem very sad to me: husbands and wives publicly confessing to infidelity, mothers going around with their daughters' boyfriends...and all of them looking into the camera and saying, "Help me, Dr. Phil," while the whole country is privy to their embarrassing behavior.

I'm too much of a hedonist to ever be a glutton for punishment like that.  Can those 15 minutes of fame really be worth what they cost over the long term?  Again, I believe Sharkey and Francesca were trying to help out their PeoPet, Martha.  But I would encourage them to turn the segment around and emphasize their training of Martha, bless her heart, not the other way around.

But, as we say in the old country, "Chacun a son gout." (To each his own.)

Feeding the Fish!

The only creatures not complaining about this heat wave are my fish.  Not only do they have a cool pond to live in, but they also enjoy shade (and protection from raccoons and big birds) from numerous aquatic plants. 

It's difficult for me to have extended conversations with them because they're so skittish.  I've been trying to develop trust with them by feeding them at the same time every morning.  I think they're starting to expect me now, and the more they see that I bring only good tidings, the longer they stay. 

My fish and I couldn't be more different: gills vs. lungs, swim vs. run, scales vs. fur.  That may be why I enjoy spending time watching them.  Their slow, fluid movements are so graceful.  After watching them, I feel so relaxed.  So much of life goes by in a blur.  Taking time out every morning to feed my fish starts my day on a happy, peaceful note.