Writing with Puppy

So we got a pandemic puppy—and said puppy has upended my writing life.

I usually work first thing in the morning. I begin by reading poetry or a few pages from something I love, and then I shift to the draft of a current essay, re-reading the prior day’s work and then going forward. This process is now a thing of the past.

Now mornings are spent keeping puppy from biting my ankles, tearing my jeans, or eating my daughters’ joints. He chews up the Sunday paper, grabs shoes/slippers/dirt from the houseplants and runs—spraying the floors with spitty soil.

The first few days of life with puppy, I fought for my writing routine. I set my books and notebooks out on the kitchen table the night before and in the morning, I gave puppy a new bone (bison flavored), and sat in the chair furtherest from him.

Did I get any writing done? I think you know the answer.

Yet puppy, for all the ways he has altered my writing has also reminded me the importance of living. Part of writing is being connected to the larger world. In order to be absorbed by your work, you need time away from your desk, gathering experiences, having your schedule shattered, your heart broken, your favorite book chewed up and left in the corner. Such times tether you to the days gone by and the privileged moments of the present.