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One of my great joys since coming home post grad school is hanging out with my doggo. Iām lucky to be part of a dog-loving family. Weāve never been without at least one, though Chaser has been with us the longest: fourteen years now.
Chaser became part of our family when I was a junior in high school. I know this specifically because I had made a scrapbook for egg babies (yes, that is a real high school experience I had) and Chaser was listed in it as their uncle.
When we moved to the US ten years ago we first left him in Manila, but eventually we brought him over on a transpacific flight. Upon landing in SFO he was extremely pissed at us (understandably). Luckily weāve never subjected him to that again, and he has since remained a delightful fixture in our California lives.
I havenāt always been living at home, but when I am, walking Chaser is one of my primary chores. I genuinely enjoy itāfor an hour I can just stick my headphones in and listen to a podcast or audiobook. But it was a real task for many years, because he was a pain in the butt whenever we encountered other dogs. I used to view Walking Chaser as a kind of minigame, where the goal was to avoid every other dog, because if we saw one Chaser was bound to embarrass himself making terrible screeching noises. In the last two years or so, though, heās really mellowed out. Now all he cares about is jamming his face into bushes; meanwhile sometimes other dogs are screaming at him. He pays them zero attention, and its other owners making apologetic faces at me. Quite the role reversal.
Talking care of Chaser this past half-year made me realize a few things applicable to writing that I thought might be useful to share. Itās a strange concept, but hear me out.
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Regular Exercise
Chaser spends most of his days sleeping now, which makes his daily walk so important: itās the main way we make sure he stays fit and active.
The thing is, his mood towards walking is different every day. Sometimes heās incredibly lazy and I have to do a ton of coaxing to even get him out the door. Sometimes he drags his feet, and itās a war to get him to walk anywhere. Other times heās easy, and as soon as I put his leash on heās leading the way. In almost all of these instances, no matter how the walk starts, by the time weāre halfway to the park heās vigorous again, eager to go. And no matter how he feels in the beginning, whenever I get home, he doesnāt want to go back in. He wants to walk in circles in the garden forever. (Which would be great, except I usually still have another hour of dayjob work to do after our walk.)
The writing analogy here is that itās the daily exercise that matters: not how he feels or how lazy he is at the outset. Because if we can get past the first hurdle, which is making it all the way past the neighborās driveway, eventually he finds his rhythm and is ready to do at least one full loop of the park. Sometimes we even get two loops in, which is what I always aim for, though itās not always possible.
Similarly, if you take your creativity out for regular exerciseāand it doesnāt need to be daily if you canāt do dailyāit starts to become a habit. Itās still painful some days. But you know you can do it; youāve done it a hundred times before. Also, however you feel in the beginning, once you get started moving, youāll likely find itās possible to go just a bit further.
Caveat: there are some days when Chaser really, really doesnāt want to go outāmaybe itās raining, or heās been a bit sick. On those days, I donāt force it. For one thing, it would mean literally dragging him, which I donāt want to do to him or me. In these cases I take him out long enough for him to do his business, then bring him right back in. Thereās always tomorrow to get the full walk in. As long as we get back on track with the regular walking a day or two after, itās all right.
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Gentle Guidance
Chaser canāt really see anymore. We considered surgery, but felt uneasy about the risk, and luckily heās so familiar with our house that it doesnāt pose too much of a problem. Unless thereās a random obstacle heās pretty great at navigating everywhere.
Occasionally, though, heāll get stuck in a corner. Sometimes when Iām not paying attention heāll end up in this little corridor between my bed and the wall, just wide enough for my side table. When heās in that gap he has no idea how to get out. Heāll scratch at the wall until I pick him up and point him in the right direction. Then he takes a few tentative steps and realizes oh, I do know where I am. He reorients. And heās fine, until he gets stuck again.
Although this happens repeatedly, I know itās a new and scary experience for him every time. I never get annoyed at him when this happens. He canāt see, after all.
I realized one time, after picking him up and setting him on his way yet again, that I should treat my stories a bit more like how I treat Chaser: gently. They donāt want to get stuck. And it isnāt their fault they donāt know where to go or what the problem is. The stories deserve patience and kindness. If theyāre in a tight spot, my task is to steer them carefully so that they find their footing again: back to the place they know, and (somewhat) confidently on their way.
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Appreciate Everything
I loved Chaser when he was an unruly pest, and I love him now, as a chilled out friend. He brings my family endless joy. Iām completely biased but I also think heās the cutest Boston terrier, and the compliments he gets at the park reinforce this. I love him even when he has extreme farts or when he snores too loud (but donāt put him in my room at night, or else I canāt sleep). My family calls him both ābabyā and āloloāāhe is absolutely both. And Iām grateful every day that I get to poke his belly so that he glances, coolly, back at me. If I had moved to a different city after the pandemic I wouldnāt have this.
Similarly, I want to remember to be grateful for the words, through the challenges and delights, the monotony, the heart-pain, the small wonders. The times when Iām away from it.
Itās easier said than done, of course. Writing can be a slog. Sometimes our relationship is pretty antagonistic. I think Iām the boss of my writing, that writing is a grim act of beating a story into submission: work for me. Other times I sit down to write and just feel completely exhausted. But I want to be grateful for it, even when it is work. I donāt want to forget how cool it is: that my brain can come up with these places and characters, that translating images and feelings into words is something I can do, something that I feel is worth doing. Taking care of Chaser is work, but absolutely worth it.
One of my favorite things to do, when I have a free moment, is get down on the carpet where Chaser is curled up and watch him sleep. Usually, after a few beats, heāll acknowledge Iām there with a snort or a glance. Or sometimes Iāll pet him because I canāt resist it, and after waking up enough to say āHeyā at me heāll go back to sleep. I can lie there for a long time just listening to him breathe.
Of course, I want my stories to be awake, so the analogy falls apart there. But I think there is something to simply listening, sometimesāthe story has its own breath and its own rhythms. Maybe all I need to do is witness it.
News and Things
I participated in a FutureConSF panel with brilliant colleagues Eliza Victoria, Victor Fernando R. Ocampo, and Vida Cruz last Nov 29, where we discussed Science Fiction in the Philippines and Singapore. I really enjoyed our conversation; we talked about the challenges of publishing at home, how we all got started, writing Filipino words into our stories, and more. If youāre interested you can watch it here.
Iām participating in the Kidlit for Luzon fundraiser, offering critiques for a short story or the first 25 pages of a manuscript in exchange for $15 donations to typhoon victims in the Philippines.
Thanks as always for reading! I hope the final month of your year has gone all right so far. And rememberātreat your stories with the same care youād treat a beloved pet. If you liked this post, feel free to share it with others, orĀ sign upĀ if you havenāt yet.