Miss Sophie Writes - Reposted from Tara Joyner Haussler's blog "I Might Need A Nap"

 

Miss Sophie Ru

 

Note: Miss Sophie lives with Tara Joyner Haussler. This post was previously published on Tara's blog I Might Need A Nap. Tara was one of the authors in the anthology A Cup of Christmas, available on Kindle for $1.99. All proceeds go to First Book, a charity that places books in the hands of children in need.

 

 

A note from the paws of Miss Sophie:
 

     These people, I sure have a hard time figuring them out sometimes. They know my name, and yet, they call me “No” and “Stop it” almost more than they call me Sophie.
 

     It’s not like I picked out that name for myself or anything–they chose it. If I’d had my druthers, I would be called Geraldine. Yeah. I like that name.
 

     Anyway, yesterday they said, “Bed,” and I went and they gave me my treat on command. I’ve got them trained well. When I sit in my bed, I wait, and they give me a treat. It’s a pretty sweet deal actually. They left for a few hours and when they came home, I could hardly believe my eyes.
 

    And I have pretty good vision.
 

    The people brought a tree in the house. You know, one of those things that lives outside that I like to sniff around and eat things out from under. In. the. house. Well! I mean, these are the same folks who take their shoes off in the house and flip out if I go anywhere near the mud puddles way back in the yard behind our house.
 

    I don’t get it.
 

    It immediately started shedding, something I can proudly say I do not do. It was pretty disgusting. The Fella promptly vacuumed it up. I actually chose not to bark while he was vacuuming this time, and the people didn’t notice or anything. Really? Fine. Next time then…
 

    After all of the hullabaloo about getting this tree in the house, I watched as the Fella brought in a big box of things on the ends of green wire. (I like green wire. I like wire. Twist ties are my favorite, but they never let me play with one for long.) They spent much time discussing these things and untangling them. It was torture. They did all of this beside the tree which they put in the room I’m not allowed in. Honestly, you mistake a rug for a piddle pad once or three times too many…
 

     After things were untwisted, the people talked some more.  The one they all call Mama, the one who sits up with me late at night, kept saying the letters, “LED” over and over and wrinkling up her nose like she does when she tells me my toy is “nasty.” (It’s not, it’s delicious.) I don’t think she cares for whatever that LED thing is. The Fella took several of those strand thingies outside and the littles went with him. Then the one they call Mama twisted the rest of the wire thingies all around that tree.
 

    Can you imagine what that’s even about?
 

    When she was done, she stood back and then flipped a switch.
 

    Wow.
 

    They’ve been doing some pretty crazy things around here, like putting some lights in different places and putting these red and green things all over the place, but this was amazing.
 

    It was all lit up, that tree, only there was no fire like what the one they call Mama turns on in the living room at night. These were all sparkly and warm and I wanted to crawl right under that tree, drink from that big water bowl, and gaze up at the twinkly lights. And look for treats…
 

     Tonight they went through a box, each one of them, and they hung things on the tree. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. And they won’t let me anywhere near it. I can’t imagine why.
 

They keep me away from everything fun–the trash can, the mud puddles, and now this–this tree.
 

     I just don’t get it.
 

     But tonight I’m thankful my people are back home and that it looks like we’re going to bed a little earlier tonight.  I’m thankful for the food in my bowl and the water in my dish, but I still think that tree offers a lovely new eating venue.
 

     Most of all, I’m thankful for the happy faces and the singing of songs that keeps happening around here. It seems like they are more relaxed these days. And happy, relaxed people make for a happy Sophie.
 

     Love and barks to all. Sophie

 

 

 

 

That tree -  INSIDE the house with lights all over it! Have you ever heard of such?

 

A note from Tara: As I was stringing the lights on the tree this morning, I saw Miss Sophie watching intently from the other side of the gate. I wondered what she thought of all of the goings on, and she was more than happy to share. Tonight I’m thankful for that. And for a word my Daddy taught me long, long ago. Anthropomorphism. I love that word. Love to all.  

 

 

 

Tara Joyner Haussler

 

 

 

Visit Tara's : I Might Need A Nap Mama Said They Made Me Nicer

Throughout the adventures of my life, when I would get stressed or yes, let’s be honest, whiney, Mama would call me out. “You need a nap. Get some sleep. Things will look different after you get some rest.”

 

 

Author R. Leonia Shea, Legendary Magic, and The Dog Days Of Writing

It was a subtle transition.  At first, I dismissed it for a variety of reasons:  it's too hot, the ground is too damp, the humidity is too high.  I never thought it was just old age or the cataracts that clouded her big, brown eyes.  Instead of wanting to spend the days in the garden with her furry hip pressed against mine and her black nose twitching excitedly, she napped in her bed, sleeping contentedly while I read a book.  Every once in a while, she'd chase dream-rabbits with her small paws twitching, her ears pricked forward, and a doggy grin of joy flashing across her white muzzle. 

After a few weeks, I felt the need to do something and tried to coax her back outside.  She wasn't interested, so I had to find another way to amuse myself.  Soon, we replaced the chattering squirrels in the trees with air conditioned comfort and the clicking of computer keys.  I began writing to keep my dog company.    Between chapters, I would reach over and rub her belly while I thought up plot twists.  She would regard me with an interested expression, and I'd read snippets of my stories to her.  Listening to the words in my own voice gave me a sense of the cadence of my writing. 

My dog was the one who listened to my first manuscript.  She watched as I stared into space trying to come up with the next line, ever my patient companion.  As she grew older, we spent more days writing (okay, I wrote and she slept) and when we went out for walks she was my excuse to get some distance from a scene which just wasn't working.  When we returned home, I was refreshed and able to concentrate again.  She was ready for another nap. 

It is because of my dog that I finished several outlines and developed a few stories that I have since published.  The garden we once tended together has long since filled in with weeds, but I have found a new fertile ground to cultivate - my imagination. 

When the inevitable happened, my manuscripts went untouched for months.  Writing had become something that we did together and I found my grief paralyzing.  What had been routine became impossible, but eventually the impossible became therapeutic.  Writing soothed my lonely hands and I published the novel I had written on the living room floor years earlier.  It became Elementary Magic.

Naturally, there is a dog in that story.  The mythical trickster spirit Coyote is my tribute to my writing partner because she was indeed, my partner in everything.  She inspired me to be a better person than I ever thought possible, taught me compassion, patience, and fortitude.  She planted the garden in my imagination.

Although she was blind (almost overnight, as sometimes happens to diabetic dogs) she seemed unaffected by her condition.  In fact, she would sit in front of the window as if she were looking out it, and I would open the door so she could look outside on sunny days and feel the warmth of the sun on her fur.  She taught me just because you can't see something, doesn't mean it isn't there.  I made concessions to her blindness, her medical conditions, and her needs.  She made me a better person and a writer.

Many years have passed since then, and I have a new writing companion now.  She loves spending the day stretched out on the couch listening to clacking of the keys on my keyboard.  She rises before dawn with me and takes up her post on the couch in my office while I work.  She has taught me to approach everything as an adventure, to slow down and take the time to chase the moths that flutter around the patio lights, to explore the overgrown garden, and to take breaks to throw a ball or a stuffed toy instead of getting frustrated when a scene simply won't come together.   She is also the inspiration for the character of Coyote because to her, everything is fun and needs to be done immediately. 

The speed and cadence of my writing has changed as a result of the switch in writing companions.  My new co-author has a short attention span and a persistent nature, so I must get my thoughts down quickly because I never know when she'll present me with a toy and an invitation to play.   We have formed a partnership of our very own, one different from that of my first co-author, but one which reflects our relationship and our personalities. 

She listens when I read things aloud.  Paws at me when I've become too absorbed or when I seem frustrated.  She distracts me or lets me work for long stretches of time, and she is always there to lend a supportive ear.  She also keeps the area beneath my desk free from random goldfish crackers and pretzels.

I always write with a dog around.  They keep me centered, provide me with just enough distraction, and give me a non-judgmental ear.  They also keep me from becoming too serious.  Writing should be fun, and there should always be short breaks to rub bellies, throw balls, or just plan the next plot twist.  It's a garden of a different sort, and I have a partner to help me tend it. 

About the author:

R. Leonia Shea

 

R. Leonia Shea is a writer with the heart of an artist - or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, she can usually be found at her computer or in her studio creating something while worrying that there's something else she should be doing.

Come to think of it, she's one of those people who seems to always be torn between two things like art and writing or the mountains and the sea. Maybe she simply believes you can do it all - as long as you have supportive people around you.

Her latest release is Legendary Magic: Relic Hunter Book 3

 

The Books:

Find all R. Leonia Shea's books on Amazon.

 Published October 2014

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Dr. Arienne Cerasola might have a suspicious mind, but that doesn’t mean something nasty isn’t being planned by two of her former acquaintances. They have banded together on an archaeological expedition in the United Kingdom, and that could spell trouble for the magical community. The magical apocalypse kind of trouble.

As a witch and disgraced archaeologist, Arienne shouldn’t be surprised when Kingston Pon asks her help to find a lost relic. After all, Kingston is one of the senior members of the United Coven and Alliance and Arienne is one of the few people who knows about his secret resistance activities with the Crux Crucio Orbis. When she learns her own Grandfather is involved in the C.C.O., Arienne’s more than a little angry that her family has been keeping secrets. Secrets about their involvement in the magical world. Secrets about Arienne’s legacy. Keeping secrets means creating lies and Arienne is determined to unravel the deception even if it means collapsing the foundation of her new life.

Caught between the clandestine world of the C.C.O., the dangers of the Alliance, and the treachery of a new magical organization Arienne must trace the grain of truth in the legends passed down from the ancient Celts, through the Roman Empire, and right into King Arthur’s court. Legends that were created to protect the truth and keep the relic from passing into the wrong hands.

The confines of loyalty and duty make it an even more complicated quest. She might be the only one who can balance the power without collapsing the foundations that hold magic in check but to accomplish that, she’ll have to face the truth about herself, her family, and her place a world she was never really part of.

Links:  Amazon   Amazon Author Page   Author Web   FaceBook

 

              Twitter  @RLeonia1    Smashwords     Goodreads

Author Constance Walker and Jake's Story

 

Standing next to me in line waiting to board the flight home the man behind me eyes the blue heart identification tag on my luggage: “I LOVE DOGS.” 

“So, what kind of dog do you have?” 

 I smile and think this man has no idea what is about to come:  I flip open my cell phone and begin scrolling through the hundred or so photos. “He’s a hound/shepherd.  He’s a shelter dog.  We fell in love with him as soon as we saw him on the internet and the next day we drove two and half hours to get him and it was love at first sight.  His name is Jake.  Isn’t he gorgeous?”  I show him a photo.

The man looks and nods politely.  “He is cute.”

“He’s more than cute – he’s perfect.  This is what he looked like when we first brought him home.  Isn’t this a break your heart photo?  He sat on the backseat of the car and we swore he was saying, ‘I’m going home. I’m going home.”    

 

“He’s charming and gentle and the best dog in the world.”  I pull up another photo. “This is Jake the first time he saw snow.  He gave me a kiss.”

 

I flip through the photos.  Jake with a toy:

 

“Here’s one of Jake watching the Westminster Dog Show.  I keep telling him he’s more beautiful and smarter and nicer than the competitors.” 

 

The man hands me back my phone. 

“Do you have a dog?” I ask.

“No.”

“Go to the shelter,” I practically command, “and get a friend for life.  For real.  You’ll never live without a dog again. ”

 I pull up more photos… Jake on the bed… Jake taking me for a walk in the morning… Jake in my office…     Jake with my son and daughter-in-law. Jake in the fall blending with the leaves.

 

I tell him about how Jake, “Lucky Jake”, my friend calls him, plays with the deer in the back woods because he thinks they’re just other dogs.  (I check him for ticks when he comes in.)  And how he just watches the birds and the squirrels and sometimes plays his “I’m a hunter” stalking game – standing stiff, raising one leg and pointing, and then running and chasing them up the tree. 

 “Let me see Jake,” a woman down the line says.  I pass her the phone with the photos pulled up and she looks and passes it to the 30 or more people waiting to board with me. 

“He’s darling.  He’s so cute.  Look at his eyes.”  Everyone comments about my wonderful Jake.  And I nod because they agree with me.

I see other passengers fiddle with their phones and wallets.  “Here, this is my dog.”   Their photos are passed to each other.  Every dog is admired although I know my Jake is the best.   

Later, after we land, we dog-lovers, no longer strangers, shake hands and say goodbye and wish each other and our pets well.

An hour later I pull into my garage and I can hear Jake barking his greeting to me and I yell, “I’m home, Puppy (although he’s ten years old now, he is forever a puppy to me!) I’m home."

I open the door and he’s sitting there, waiting patiently for me and the treat I take from the bowl on the mantle.  And then I hug him and hold him and yes, kiss him, and he’s already forgiven me for having left him for a weekend. “I’m home, Jakeroo.. I’m home.”

 

And then he falls asleep and all is well… all is well.

 

 About Constance Walker:

Constance Walker

Constance Walker has had an extensive career that includes journalism, public relations, producing and directing documentary videos, and writing magazine articles. She hosted a writer’s group on AOL for thirteen years, and then finally pursued her dream of writing.

After having five novels published the traditional way, she decided to publish her own books. In 2013 she established Winter's Eve Books and re-issued WARM WINTER LOVE in both paperback and eBook form.

In addition to WARM WINTER LOVE, Constance will be reissuing:

WHEN THE HEART REMEMBERS,
ONE PERFECT SPRINGTIME,
LOST ROSES OF GANYMEDE HOUSE, THE SHIMMERING STONES OF GLENDOWER HALL

Her newest novel, IN TIME, a time-travel paranormal romance spanning 1941 to present day, was released June, 2014.  

She lives in Maryland with her dog, Jake.

 

 

About IN TIME:

 

 

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Released June 17, 2014

 

It never occurred to Allie Winters that there was something different about Evermore—the small town that she was forced to spend five days in because her car had to be fixed. Yes, it was quaint and yes, it seemed maddeningly out of step with the current times, but it was nevertheless like all those other “remember when” towns she had visited—people in different era clothing, out-of-date music playing on the radio, roads that were only semi-standard and no modern conveniences to be seen or heard. In other words, just another tourist trap.

But was it? The clues were always there for Allie but in the beginning she misreads them and thinks she has come upon yet another “restored” town that Americans like to visit during summer vacations. When she finally understands that by some strange trick of fate she has actually entered a time warp – it’s only August, 1941, in Evermore – it’s too late for her to just leave for she has already fallen in love with the editor of the town’s weekly newspaper. Noah Wilson, in the course of only a few days, has won her heart in a thousand small ways – from his low-key acceptance of life to his extraordinarily old-fashioned ways of loving her.

IN TIME is a love story of two people who, through some “window in time” are able to meet, get to know each other, fall in love and then understand that that love—though they don’t know how—will be bound forever and ever throughout eternity.

 

 

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Author Jayne Martin and Dixie

Dixie

 

Small Packages

 

Her name is Dixie.   She is a seven-year-old, 5.08-pound Chihuahua and yes, I’m one of those goofy owners who, on occasion, have been known to dress up their dog.   What can I say?   I was denied a Barbie as a child.  
 

Unlike me, she does not need an IV of coffee to wake up in the morning.   Her eyes spring open and she’s ready for the day.   It’s usually about 7:00 a.m.   I hear her stir and try to stay still as I can.   I do not want her to know I’m awake yet, hoping to get a few more minutes of respite from an increasingly crazy world.  I can feel her staring at me from her perch on my pillow, her breath at my ear, then her tiny tongue ever so lightly on the tip of my nose – and I’m screwed.   Just a one miniscule twitch, but that’s all it takes.   She pounces:  “I know you’re in there!”  I roll over and duck my head under the covers, but to know avail.  When the Chihuahua is awake, everyone is awake.  
 

Finally, I give in and out we go for her morning potty.   Dixie was very easy to potty-train because every time she peed or pooped I would always clap and shout “Yay, Dixie!”  I sometimes wonder what my self-esteem level would be if every time I peed someone would clap and shout, “Yay, Jayne!” but I’ve yet to find that kind of devotion.  
 

Into the kitchen we go to get her breakfast, Dixie prancing at my feet.   I get the can from the refrigerator, scoop out a large tablespoon onto a saucer, and stick it in the microwave for nine seconds -- no more, no less -- so that it is just the right temperature for the princess.   The sound of the timer going off sends her into a dizzying twirl of anticipation and joy known as the “Happy Dance.”   Dixie is the very definition of joy.   She’s exploding with the stuff.   This can be hard to take when you’re a natural born curmudgeon like I am, but damned if she isn’t winning me over.  Still no coffee and yet here I am smiling.  
 

As a puppy, Dixie was highly influenced by my elderly cat, Chelsea, who slept most of the day.  So Dixie eats her breakfast, then back to bed she goes leaving me to meander into my office to begin my day’s work.   For most of my life I was known as a “cat person.”   I preferred cats over dogs for the same reasons many do not – their complete indifference to what you think of them:  Feed me, clean my sand box and maybe, when and if I’m in the mood, I’ll let you pet me.  That’s something I can relate to, and yet another possible reason why I’m single.  But, somehow, this tiny creature has totally stolen my heart and I live to do her bidding.   
 

My work day ends promptly at six.   I know this not because I have a clock, but because every day, at just that moment, Dixie will bring her toys, one-by-one, into my office.  First, the purple bear.   She looks up at me with it in her mouth, her big brown eyes telling me it’s time to play now.   If I fail to respond, this will go on until her toy basket is empty -- the pink flamingo with one foot chewed off, the little yellow chicken with the broken squeaker, the “Grrrrrona” beer bottle complete with stuffed lime in the top – until finally I shut off the computer and engage in a rousing game of fetch.  
 

“Goooooooo get it!” I shout, followed by a shrill and rapid “C’mere, c’mere, c’mere, c’mere, c’mere…”  She never tires of this.  I will collapse before she does.  

 

Dixie also enjoys watching TV, mostly reality shows, “Underdog to Wunderdog” being her favorite.  I pick her up and she crawls up my chest, comfortably settling onto “the boob shelf.”  There is something about loving a little dog that is so visceral, especially when she is sitting right on top of my heart, her breath rising and falling with mine.   I cannot begin to describe how calming it is.   Okay, not a few glasses of Chardonnay or a couple of Xanax calm, but pretty damn near.   And you can still drive if need be.   

 Jayne Martin

 

Jayne Martin’s book of humor essays, “Suitable for Giving: A Collection of Wit with a Side of Wry,” is available in paperback and digital formats.  Her short story “The Heart of the Town,” won the Fall 2013 WOW-Women On Writing Flash Fiction Competition.  Previously, she wrote for television.  Credits include “Big Spender,” written for Animal Planet and available on Netflix and Amazon.  You can find her daily at injaynesworld.blogspot.com.

 

 

 

Available on Amazon and Kindle

 

 

 

Screenplay written by Jayne Martin

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