Why do most of us write?

Some of us have that story or message inside that we just have to share. For others, writing is just one of those things you do—like walking, or cooking, or connecting with a friend or family member. Also, a lot of people realize they can promote themselves and their business venture(s) more authentically and more convincingly with a book than with anything else.

Whatever your reason for scribbling, the key to successfully starting, completing, and publishing a book lies in remembering that special something that drives you to want to write, so you approach your keyboard—or pad and pen—with gusto rather than a sense of obligation or dread.

My three-year-old English Cocker, Moke, lives this enthusiasm-driven philosophy of life.

In the morning, he flings himself on me the moment I show signs of movement, eager to smell my breath (okay, how weird is that?) and snuggle, his unstoppable tail beginning its daylong wag.

Instead of using the dog-door to go out, he waits for me at the top of the stairs and then at the kitchen door before bounding out onto the lawn. Then he rushes in for food, even if it’s 5:30 and he’s got 90 minutes before breakfast. (And yes, he and his brother can definitely tell time.)

When it’s not mealtime, he regularly heads back out to either side of the backyard to check out the neighbors’ activity. He’ll sit and watch his version of doggie TV until some kind of unexpected activity prompts him to contribute his barking to whatever is happening.

In the car, he sings his excitement as we near our off-leash destination despite any and all attempts on my part to curb the vocals.

When we visit the dog park, he quickly zeroes in on the tub of water that serves as a large drinking bowl, sloshing around in what he clearly has decided is his personal pool. 

He shows how thrilled he is to see just about everybody by jumping on, yes, just about everybody. This, despite my diverse and unrelenting efforts to convince him to keep his paws on the ground.

In my office, he burrows into the dog bed to the right of my chair or the couch behind my desk once he’s tossed around a couple of pillows and made things just how he likes them.

If he thinks we’re going out the front door, either for a walk or for a ride in my Eurovan, he bounces off the wall (I’m being literal here) like a confused Olympic gymnast, launches himself in the air, pirouettes, and then starts the routine all over again, all to his own squeaking soundtrack.

The list goes on. It can be exhausting. It can be annoying. But watching him in action reminds me that enthusiasm is the magic sauce that makes everything that much tastier.

What would your writing life be like if you could approach it with the enthusiasm of a somewhat toned-down version of Moke?

I’d love to know what happens if you decide to try that out.