Kate Harrington

Covid Excuses

For the first time in two years, I shook hands with someone. And I’ve recently hugged two friends! I’ve stopped putting on a mask when a workman comes to the house, and sometimes even when entering a business.

But are we really back to normal? Covid hasn’t gone away yet—or maybe never.

These last two years, I used Covid as an excuse to focus on my writing and to put off a great many other matters. That was lovely, while it lasted.

Recently though, I went through two or three weeks of low-grade anxiety, which I could not drown out with escape reading. Nor would it go away.

I finally moved to mindfulness. I’m not good at sitting meditations, but mindfulness can be performed any time, during any activity. All it takes is watching my thoughts while walking or washing dishes or any other mundane occupation. And especially when that anxiety (tummy dread) comes up, to enter into it rather than run from it.

These days, there’s a lot I want to run from. I can only listen to so much NPR on the war in Ukraine. And thinking of all we are not doing related to climate change moves my adrenalin into high production.

But by attending to matters closer to home I’m keeping my anxieties in check. Things like contacting people to help me with self-publication issues. And tackling the income tax paperwork.

Something I learned years ago—but seem to relearn on a regular basis—is that ignoring matters actually loads them onto some invisible calendar in our psyche. I get weighed down with undone tasks. Tackling them frees up some amazing energy reserves.

Of course, I’ll always want to put off the hard things, like writing this blog. But for now I remember what the repercussions will be if I don’t do them.

Sophie never puts off anything—except when thunderstorms or fireworks keep her from going outside to take care of business.

Lucky dog.

Life as an Introvert

Connections

For me, living as an introvert (recently described as an extreme introvert) means my contacts with people are even more—not less—important.

I discovered in my librarian days that continual contact with the public was too much, and that no contact was far too little. Which is why, in retirement, I enjoy my peaceful writing time only because I also have outside contacts. COVID lockdown made grocery trips, zoom meetings, outdoor tai chi sessions, and family phone calls of über importance.

Why I write

I learn best through stories. Any science or history takes on a greater reality if seen through some kind of narrative.

A shy child learns empathy through reading about others’ experiences and feelings. Especially feelings! It’s difficult to identify my own feelings if deluged with other people’s. By telling myself stories, I can find out what I feel. By writing out those stories, I can stand back and examine them.

The fear of making mistakes

From the time we brought Sophie home from Animal Humane, I’ve recognized our similarities. She was so in need of belonging, and so afraid of making mistakes, that she had several accidents.

My gentle husband took charge of getting her outside and eventually she settled in.

I swear Sophie has an imagination too. The way she plays with her toys—and never destroys them. One day while we were in the kitchen, she dashed around and around. Out of sight in the living room she would pause and make strange noises, then pick it up and run past us again.

If she were to write a book, what story might she tell?

Stepping Out, Part 2

this writer’s journey

When my daughter was a baby, I began a novel based on one scene and an emotion.

A group of teenagers stood on the surface of a strange planet. They had no idea why they were there—and neither did I. A timely article about children removed from their mother’s custody provided the emotion. That scene came to be indelibly linked with a bereft mother in my mind.

Thus began a writing project which surfaced and re-surfaced over the years, as I worked to discover who those teens were and what they were doing on that planet—

until two years ago, when my writing world grew gray and uninspiring and I knew something had to change. I could quit, or

or I could self-publish.

Self-publishing sounded scary, far scarier than anything I had ever done. But with that thought, my world took on renewed color and zest. And I realized that if my efforts were to face the wider world, there was work still to be done.

What might have been one book about those teens standing on that planet had grown to two—and then three. A trilogy. But an unfinished trilogy. Plus a companion volume about a child in hiding who appears in book one.

I didn’t have to experience the terror of publishing right off. First I had to revise and polish.

delaying fears

I took a class (and repeated it) on how to self-publish. I found a wonderful illustrator for the book covers. And a copyeditor. And formatters. A year went by, each step a new experience.

I further managed to delay publication by making editorial changes, formatting changes.

But eventually I had to step out of the way and free the book into the world.

In August 2020, Pawn Quest went live in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. Three teens, three links to a mystery extending far beyond Earth . . .

And with the pandemic it was easier to bring out another book than to promote the first.

In December 2020, Ty’s Choice was published on Amazon as well. Ten-year-old Ty’s Mum needs tablets from the vita-med fabricator. But when the fab stops working, Ty must go Outside and if he’s caught, he’ll be chipped, never to go home again.

The books are available on Amazon in both Kindle and print formats. Please consider leaving a review.

Stepping Out

When ground squirrels ate up my garden last summer, I began filling two water containers. Since the squirrels continued eating squash leaves and other sprouts, I realized they weren’t eating for moisture alone.

However, the water containers did attract birds and so I continued. This fall after we stored the patio umbrella, I placed a third, larger container on the metal table overlooked by three large windows. Most birds stay away, preferring the more distant locations. All but the house finches.

On cold mornings the red-headed males and more sober females peck around the ice for melt waters. And on warmer days they even bathe.

House finches are brave—though no less wary than other species. I need to learn from the house finches.

“Well, you can always quit”

When growing up, I had a big sister to follow around, but eventually we went different directions. Ever since, I’ve been very conscious of how scared I am when beginning something new.

After years of staying home with my children, I needed psychotherapy to believe in my abilities and my more than ten-year-old MLS degree. When I finally got hired as a full-time librarian, almost immediately I hit a snag.

I had to make phone calls. Easy enough to talk to people directly, but I hate making cold calls.

I said to myself, “Well, you can always quit.”

But being a librarian was who I was. I picked up the telephone.

Sophie has fears too.

Sometimes Sophie refuses to go in the backyard for her bedtime “taking care of business” routine. It’s a mystery what disturbs her when there have been no firecrackers and fireworks. In my imagination, it’s a raccoon or other wild animal lurking. Too bad Sophie can’t explain.

But then, I can’t explain my own fears, so why should she? Last night I carried her to the far corner of the front yard and made sure she did her business on her way back to the door.

My writing life

Writing can be lonely, but a writer need not be. I attended conferences. I joined an organization and got active. I joined a critique group (now two groups).

I wrote. I rewrote. I revised.

After countless revisions, I moved on to my next inspiration while sending out queries. And nothing happened.

Finally, the day came when writing lost its appeal. I got up in the morning with no anticipation for the day’s work. My life turned colorless, gray.

The thought came again: Well, you can always quit.

Quit writing? But writing is who I am.

To be continued

Gardening in this time of COVID

These last several months, I’ve stayed busy with writing, but any time I attempted a blog, I set it aside, unable to complete it. This time I’m going to post!

I love growing winter squash, but living in the southwest, I’ve had very few successful seasons since we’re plagued with squash bugs, and they seem to prefer the winter squash varieties over summer squashes and cukes. Only a prolongued freeze wipes them out—not something the southwest sees very often.

Last year I grew a prolific zucchini in a container, but my in-the-ground tomatoes produced little due to weather and soil. Rather than give up, we had raised beds built. I anticipated harvesting winter squash and tomatoes. With no trips planned, the time seemed ripe to spend the entire summer tending the garden.

Signs of trouble

First, I set out a row of sunflowers along the side of our shed, imagining their big flower heads overlooking the raised beds. But no sooner were they planted than those tender green leaves disappeared. I covered the remaining ones with plastic; the plants lasted only as long as the protection. As soon as the plastic came off, the leaves disappeared. Meanwhile, wild, volunteer sunflowers went untouched.

Ground squirrels

We knew we had a squirrel under our shed, drawn there, we thought, by the acorns from the oaks out front.

That squirrel had to be the culprit—but why eat green leaves? Was it thirsty? I put out two water containers and filled them every day. The birds were delighted.

More and more leaves disappeared: From volunteer amaranths in a flower container. From Armenian cucumber vines. From scarlet runner bean vines. Plus my very first green tomatoes disappeared. And finally, the winter squash that were delightfully shading other plants in their container started turning up with bare stalks.

Only the chard and the nightshade leaves—peppers and tomatoes—remained whole. I was a very unhappy gardener.

Sophie

Sophie is attentive to sounds. She hears the cries of birds in distress and immediately starts barking, knowing one of those cats is out there needing to be chased away! But if the cat stands still, Sophie can’t even see it.

Sophie only reacts to a squirrel if she actually spots its motion, though sometimes she’ll sniff around the shed.

I finally ordered one of those ultra-sonic pest deterrent machines, but once installed, couldn’t see any difference. The squirrels were still chewing on the squash.

Traps

At long last, I called my pest control guy. He came and set a trap for what he called rock squirrels. In two days, he hauled away five of them—catch and release.

Then nothing. The food bait disappeared, but the trap remained untenanted.

And two bold squirrels showed themselves—one checking out the

garden while the other sat on the wall between our house and the next: Was it on guard duty? looking for missing family members? considering a venture out into the world?

They’re awfully cute with their big eyes and fluffy tails, almost inspiring me to make up stories for a picture book. But for the first time, I’m not on the side of Peter Rabbit.

This tale of tails remains unfinished—just like the COVID.

Hurdles

The nippiest day of the year—so far. Sophie resisted going for a walk this morning—she was far too cozy on the couch—so I put her in her jacket and she hopped down.

The wind has effectively swept the sidewalks clear of leaves, but Sophie’s first hurdle was leaping the dam in front of the door to get outside.

Earlier this morning I had braved the cold to walk to the coffee shop. Another regular told me it is only four months until spring. Actually, it’s less than that, since New Mexico February’s frequently offer some lovely warm days.

But today is nothing to complain about: blue sky, chill calm air, and lots of leaves floating down, clearing the way for the winter sun to warm us.

Sophie and I paused outside Fiona’s house. Fiona, a small poodle mix, had spotted Sophie through the window and barked. We moved out of the driveway for Roger to drive in. Fiona’s barks changed to very demanding yelps at Roger’s slowness to join her; he petted Sophie first.

I have been silent in this blog for months—preoccupied with revising the second volume of my trilogy, working to fill holes in the third, and going over the formatting of the first—due soon to be uploaded for publication.

This morning I faced my real terror at the prospect of publishing—an undefined terror but there just the same. Walking to tea, I wanted to roll up into a ball. It took an effort to hold my shoulders back, or “Lift the heart,” as they used to say in yoga.

Lift the heart

It helped. All the signs I look for while walking were with me. The streets opened up, no waiting for traffic. No cold standing at the bus stop to come home; in fact, I had to run to catch the bus.

But even knowing the Cosmos is on my side, nothing has changed. I still have to face those final hurdles in this my first publishing venture. But the signs tell me that the hurdles are no more than I can handle—like Sophie’s leap across those leaves outside the door.

Stay tuned. And lift your heart.

Gotta Keep Learning

Sophie Dog Goes to School.

My friend Jane, who keeps Sophie when we’re out of town, thinks Sophie should be a therapy dog. I totally agree. She’s the perfect temperament, friendly, gentle, and soft to the touch.

We got home from our family reunion at the same time that Jane was attending the first doggie class (on her own; dogs weren’t invited). The next four weeks required dog and one or two people. Due to schedule conflicts, I took Sophie on my own one of those days and Jane took her another day without me.

That was a hard month! A hot month. We’d leave in the heat, park in the sun, and walk shadeless sidewalks. At least the class was indoors.

But Sophie loved it! She loved the class. She loved the proximity to other dogs. She loved her practice sessions. And she loved the treats.

Her best command is “sit.”

Even with treats at home, “down” is a challenge. The instructor told us that position can cause small dogs to feel vulnerable.

Jane and I are undecided about continuing Sophie’s education. Since the second class series takes place outdoors, we are definitely waiting for cooler weather.

One Curious Result.

For months before going to school, Sophie spent her nights on the living-room sofa rather than sleeping in our bedroom. Within days of beginning class, she resumed spending her nights near us.

The class came to an end. Our practice sessions dwindled to nothing, and Sophie reverted to spending her nights in the living-room. I thought, hmm, that’s odd. Time to make a change.

Since my main time with Sophie is on our morning walk, I decided to combine walk and practice. We find a shady spot at the park to put in a few minutes of practice. The outdoors is definitely more distracting. I’ve given up on “down.” “Stay” doesn’t always work, but it’s coming along nicely.

And Sophie has returned to sleeping with us in the bedroom. I would love to know what this means, since it can’t be about treats.

Growing Pains

I’m a Show Me kind of learner, and my self-publishing project by definition requires a lot of DIY steps. Like Sophie, I love learning most of the time. But I have exceptions: such as getting used to a new car or mastering a computer program.

These last weeks became stressful when I realized I had jumped the gun in sending off my first manuscript to be formatted. Since it’s a four-part series, I have been working hard on all four parts; my biggest concern has been to reach a satisfying conclusion.

Meanwhile, I sent off the first manuscript for formatting without confirming that it was ready. It was not. After (too long) a debate, I retracted it, determined to do it right so that (maybe) I won’t make future stupid mistakes.

In consequence, my newest project is to master MS Word. I’ve used Pages for years, and for many years before that I used WordPerfect. Learning Word is a huge painful hurdle

I can do it, though maybe not with the same joy that Sophie exhibits.

I need a treat.

Attachments

I’ve always been attached to home—no matter where home is. Sophie has her own attachments.

The rule at the park is: All dogs must be leashed. I got in trouble once when meeting a neighbor with his two dogs. In order to keep from tangling leashes while the three sniffed and swapped ends, I released Sophie. Unfortunately, just then another neighbor crossed the street with her own small dog. Sophie was distracted from her greetings and there were growls before I grabbed her. The woman got very upset with me.

When I met her again some months later, she apologized. She’d been upset about losing a pet in an encounter with a loose dog.

In spite of the general leash law, and the park rule, every morning two or three dog owners gather at the corner of the park opposite from the school bus stop to toss balls. If I spot any other unrestrained dogs, I leave the park, but these pets have eyes and hearts only for running, catching, and returning with their balls for their next run.

Usually there are only two: Holly, a black standard poodle and smaller Hita (short for Hijita, meaning Daughter) a friendly, spotted, mixed breed. The poodle wants everyone to join the game. She drops her ball near me, hoping I’ll throw it—which I do, though my tosses are rather feeble. Sophie used to bark at Holly as if a threat, but no longer.

A cold and crisp day is just what gives Sophie lots of energy. She’s ready to play. These mornings she bounces around wanting to run, not after balls but after the other dogs. On this particular morning, I looked around. No one in sight. The school bus had left. Perfect. I released her. But after Sophie sniffed at Hita, she returned to my side and sat.

Her body language was so clear! No thanks. I don’t want to be disconnected. She never wants to appear as a “Lost Dog” on a flyer.

This morning, we circled the park from the other direction. Holly caught her ball and turned back. Sophie took off after; she doesn’t run very far or very fast but I wasn’t ready to dash with her, so dropped the leash. Sophie continued on, dragging it until she ran out of steam, then stopped.

Responding to fears can keep us safe, but often a fear is something we need to push through. By writing and not publishing, I found myself in a gray gloom. When I decided to explore self-publishing, I discovered a renewed enthusiasm, and my world enlarged. There’s such a thing as keeping ourselves too safe.

Sophie’s always watching for the next dog or person she can befriend.

Nothing was ever accomplished by remaining insular. Living in New Mexico with our mix of native Americans, hispanics, and every other race, creed, and gender, my vote goes for the acceptance of differences, for immigrant rights, for expedited entry of refugees, and for automatic citizenship of every child raised in this country.

To both of us, home is home. Everyone needs and deserves a place where they can feel safe

Facing Fears

I was thinking about Fear this morning. Partly because the heroine (in my current revision work) has to face her fear as she moves into the story’s climax. Partly because I’m discovering that ignoring my own fears stifles creativity.

Too much of this year I spent in the doldrums, unable to move. I overate and watched too many videos with a cloud of not-quite-but-almost depression hanging over my head. The worst part was trying to justify a two-mile walk for morning tea with no projects to work on.

When I decided I had to self-publish three middle grade/tween science fiction novels, I experienced a burst of enthusiasm and energy. That energy led to tackling the work at hand.

But, unsure how to begin a self-publishing project, that idea lapsed into the background. And sure enough, the doldrums returned, bringing all my momentum to a halt.

Self-publishing terrifies me. The biggest part is self-exposure, rather like my first library job. I discovered being professional meant I’d have to make phone calls. Well, I can always quit, I told myself. But I didn’t. It’s the same now. I can always quit. Or—

Or I can stick to my goal, every day reminding myself fear doesn’t have to be in charge.

Sophie is a good role model—up to a point. While my fears are invisible, hers are not.

Some threats, such as a vehicle nearing her spot on the sidewalk, cause her to shy away. Perfectly reasonable reaction. However, if it’s not coming at her, like the noisy trucks currently clearing sewer lines outside the house, she announces loudly that they don’t belong there! Scram!

If a bicycle or skateboard or dog takes her by surprise, she’ll lunge. I doubt if she intends to bite, but she makes clear she wants them to back off. Well, I don’t exactly lunge at my fears, but Sophie’s absolutely correct about facing them head-on.

Sophie’s reluctance/refusal to go out into wind and rain comes closest to my kind of fear. This fall, I made her a coat to provide a little armor against some particularly violent weather.

For me, talking to people in the know provides its own kind of armor. Lois, for instance, tells me launching the first book is the scariest, and after that it gets easy. (I hope so.)

Meanwhile, I’m taking baby steps towards that goal. This lets me set deadlines for other work, knowing I’ll have wind in my sails to carry it through. Staying aware, not letting my fears go underground, can and shall move me forward.

Third Time’s—Another Harness?

Sophie and I are serious creatures, aware we’re a couple small blips in the big world. That doesn’t mean we don’t react—to bullies and threats—real or imagined.

We’re also obstinate where we believe we’re right. On walks, only one of us gets to be right. We have our stand-offs. Some days she wants to go one way, and I want the other. Or I come to the end of the leash, only to find her stopped in her tracks staring at me until I return to her side, then she proceeds again nicely. I wish I knew what she’s thinking.

Speaking of obstinacy, I remember the morning Mom tried to put me in a dress for pre-school and I said, “no.” Even then, when Mom asked, I couldn’t tell her why. My best guess is she had told me I was getting too big for it, and I had crossed it off my list of possible clothes. Beware what you say to your kids!

Anyway, back to the previous blog’s discussion of harnesses. Sophie did not like her second harness any better than the first. So we took her shopping—again—and paid twice as much for harness number three.

This one goes on her for the morning walk and comes off after her evening outing. It seems to be a keeper. She might still play hard-to-get but if she wants to walk, she’ll lower her head to help me put it on.

Just like my preschool dress, Sophie can’t explain to us what was wrong with the other two. So long as she willingly wears this latest one, we’re all happy.