It's True--Writers Are "Catty"

Maddox the Assassin Cat

You can’t dictate when or where your “muse” will hit. In the dim, early hours one morning as I stumbled in a NyQuil-induced haze back to my bed after tending to a sick 8 year old, I passed our kitten. In the glow from the hallway nightlight, he rolled and dodged batting one of the kids’ “lucky” rabbit’s foot key chains. As I rounded the corner, bracing myself just a little in case his sadistic sights turned toward my bare ankles, the idea for this blog entry plinked into my brain.


I wonder when that cat sleeps. I mean, he’s always doing something—day or night. Kind of like a writer, hee hee.

So, instead of counting sheep, I snuggled under the warm covers and went through the other reasons my cat reminds me of a writer. I believe I got through the first three before sleep settled once again around me. Since then I’ve added a few more. See if you can relate.

1. My cat never sleeps. Well, technically, he does sleep, but never fully, deeply, it seems. Even in those moments I catch him taking a catnap, his ears twitch with curiosity and attention. If something really interesting happens, I see his open just a slit as he gauges whether it is worth his time to investigate. Even tonight as I type this after everyone else has gone to bed, the cat is sitting in the bathroom sink looking at himself in the mirror. No rest for the weary, they say.

2. My cat looks for unusual ways to kill and maim people. We lovingly refer to our 8-month ball of blond fluff, Maddox, as The Assassin Cat for his stealthy attacks upon unsuspecting family members. Just like in some of the best heart-stopping stories, you never turn your back on him or really relax while in the shower. Mystery and suspense writers are always planning or plotting ingenious ways to do away with characters.

3. My cat is a master at creating tension. No sagging middles with this feline teenager around. Whether it is his weekly dodge out the front door just as the school bus squeals to a stop or when he races in and out of the covers as I make the bed in the morning, he keeps things interesting. And just when you relax and settle in thinking the tension is behind you, he ups the ante—like when he recently knocked the plant off the stairway (and on to my cream-colored carpet) at 3:28 in the morning.

4. My cat finds wonder in everyday things. Give him the ring off the milk jug lid and he happily plays all morning long. Leave a laundry basket in a strategic place and he hops in and out, amusing himself. A balled up sock becomes a mouse; a shoelace turns into a snake; a binder clip doubles as a slippery fish. He is not hampered by what is, he simply sees what could be in every situation. Just like writers I know whose eyes light up at the mention of sheep farmers, bomb-making, or Italian immigrants, and their imaginations runs wild.

5. My cat possesses an insatiable curiosity. He runs toward anything that scurries across the floor or past the window. He sticks his nose into every opened closet, cabinet, or drawer. We even had to dig him out from inside the wall when he found where my husband was running wire. Kind of like writers I know who read the dictionary and the encyclopedia for fun, who pick the brains of people in any profession, and who actually care enough to research the name of that doohickey on the shooter’s rifle in Chapter 4.

6. My cat spends a large chuck of his day stalking things. He stalks the dog’s tail, the slipper dangling from my foot, and the birds outside the window. All the writers I know are also stalkers. While “stalking” may be a little heavy to use, it’s still kind of what they do. They “stalk” editors and agents and published writers through websites, Facebook, and Twitter. They “stalk” that next idea. They “stalk” people farther down the publishing road at conferences and book signings. And they “stalk” that elusive book contract or major feature article.

A few times a week Maddox plays the piano by walking across the keys. He’s pretty good, too. And while I haven’t seen him type anything legible yet, I’m not putting that past him either. He is fairly amazing. Okay, your turn: What are your favorite quirks in the cats, or the writers, in your life?

Nikki Studebaker Barcus

Poodles and Prose

Chevy and my Granddaughter, Trinity, a few years ago.

What do John Steinbeck, Walt Disney, Clare Booth Luce and Karla Akins have in common? 

As you can probably guess from the title, they're all writers--and they own(ed) poodles.

I find this extremely encouraging. I always look for an excuse to identify with someone successful.  Such comparisons give me hope. 

"Steinbeck had a poodle, and I have a poodle, so that must mean I'll be a best-seller like Steinbeck, right?"

Okay, fine. That's a fallacy. But I still like the idea of owning a sort-of-poodle-really-half-a-golden-retriever-dog.

His name is Chevy and he's taught me a lot about courage.

When I found him on the Internet, the owners wanted no more of him. I had been looking for a "Golden Doodle" to rescue because I believe in rescuing dogs rather than buying them from breeding programs. 

Golden Doodles are half golden retrievers mixed with standard poodles. I first "met" one on a vacation trip several years ago and fell in love with their gentle personalities, intelligence and zest for life. Everything is joy, hot dog treats and felicity to Doodles who leap like gazelles (or young bulls if the china tea cups are nearby) at the mere thought of a ball or the long-awaited return of their master from the mailbox.

Doodles don't look like poodles if you don't trim their coats in the prissy-poodle style. I keep mine fluffy. He’s the sweetest dog I've ever owned (I've owned a lot of dogs--I have three now). When he wants to say hello he gallops up to me and lays his giant head upside down in my lap. The magnitude of this endearing gesture is nearly more than my heart can stand. It's a huge responsibility to be loved this completely by a helpless creature, don't you think?

But, in spite of all my love and pampering, he remains thoroughly dedicated to the emotion of fear. If there's a grocery sack out of place, or a coat, his deep, colossal bark fills the rafters. When we travel anywhere with him he trembles like a young bride on her wedding day. He's utterly terrified of life because he didn't get to experience living in all its fullness as a pup. Because he was rambunctious (as puppies should be) his owners kept him caged for the first eleven months of his life. Imagine solitary confinement as a puppy. The isolation must have been harrowing.

We've carefully introduced Chevy to the outside world, but it remains a true challenge. His anxiety level is especially high when he steps outside of his comfort zone. It's been nearly three years and he's still extraordinarily afraid. But as his masters, we know he needs these experiences to help him heal and grow and be the wonderful dog God created Him to be.

He's taught me a lot about courage and trusting my Master. I feel exactly like him some days when I'm staring at my computer screen, reading blogs about the things I need to do to be successful. It's scary to enter contests, go to conferences, and talk to people I don't know. I like being in my "cage" i.e. writing cave. I'd rather snuggle in and hide here wearing my pajamas and avoiding the makeup mirror. But my Master is asking me to take a few risks, and learn more about what's out there in the big wide writing world. Instead of being married to fear, I need to be committed to Him, and the plans He has for me.

Chevy and I will learn together.

Puppy steps for him.

Baby steps for me.

 “Thou hast enlarged my steps under me, that my feet did not slip” Psalm 18:36, KJV.