The world’s cutest puppy—otherwise known as Moke, my nine-month-old English Cocker Spaniel—was starting to look more like a dust mop than a dog. It was time to take action. I steeled myself for the task. He may be young, but he has definite opinions about what he likes to do and what he doesn’t. And as an aspiring escapee, he has moves that would have made Michael Jackson jealous.
When I finally managed to catch him after three rounds of keep-away and five rounds of ring-around-the-coffee-table, I carried him over to the couch. Fortunately, I kept two hands securely wrapped around his round, little body, since he immediately started to wiggle and wriggle his way to freedom.
No such luck. Keeping a finger-numbing grip on his collar, I reached over and grabbed the curved, comb-like tool that would strip away the dead undercoat along with his overly fuzzy, brown-hued puppy coat.
Within three strokes, he quit wiggling and lay calm. In less than five minutes, his eyes started to close. Clearly, he needed to relax into the moment more fully.
The event reminded me of the practice of writing. I don’t know about you, but all too often a number of my clients play a game of keep-away with themselves when it’s time to write. “I’m not in the mood,” they say to themselves. Or, “I’m not inspired.” Or, “This just isn’t the right time. I’ll do it later.” Then later comes, and they squirm out of their writing again.
When they finally do sit down to write and get through that initial start-up period, they suddenly realize they’re back in the game. And before they know it, the writing window is over and they wish they had more time. Sometimes, they even make more time.
I’m hoping that with a few more comb-outs, Moke will associate the experience with pleasure. I wish you those same associations when it comes to writing.
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