How Writing a Novel is like Having a Dog @coop

LUCY BURDETTE: Our guest today is our good friend Mike Cooper. He's too modest to come right out and say this, but his forthcoming novel is the winner of the first-ever Mysterious Press Award, and it's coming our way in September. Today, though, he has an interesting post about his writing process....

MIKE COOPER: Writing a novel is not like driving a car at night (sorry, E.L.), at least for me.  Well, unless the car is stalled, there are food wrappers and empty cans scattered about the floor, and the engine just ... won’t ... TURN OVER.  Also it’s cold and snowing and the troopers have already been by, but only to issue a ticket for a broken taillight.  Oh, and the arrival deadline is midnight.

But that’s not today’s metaphor (salient though it might be to the current work-in-process).  No, today we’re going to talk about why writing a novel is like having a dog.Look, there’s OUR dog!  Isn’t she great?  Her name is Bailey, a black-lab-plus-who-knows-what mix.  Utterly charming, cheerful, energetic, and unfailingly eager to meet new people, Bailey loves the world and everything in it.  (Except a few other dogs, and vegetables, and coming back when called.  I guess she’s not perfect.)

Anyway, she’s been with us for a year and a half, which coincidentally is about how long it takes me to knock off a novel.  And that’s only the beginning.  Here are all the eerie parallels between a dog and an unfinished manuscript.

+  Both require waaaay more time than you think.


Years earlier we got a cat.  Man, cats are EASY.  Show him the litter box –- done!  Scratch his head now and then, provide a few catnip toys, get some dried fish from H-Mart; ten minutes a day tops.  We can even leave him alone for a weekend no problem.

A dog is not like that.  Sure the kids promised to take care of the walks, but you know how that goes.  First thing upon waking, mid-morning, mid-afternoon and before bedtime –- that’s a couple hours right there.  Plus constant demands for attention inside the house, struggles over bed space at night, various medical emergencies.  It’s a wonder anything else ever gets done around here ... including, you know, writing.


+  Paper training is just like a first draft.

It takes forever, you’re constantly cleaning up messes, and it’s impossible to escape the frequent question “why exactly am I doing this??”  And just when you think you’re done . . . you’re NOT.

+  You get yanked around a lot.

A better dog owner would have spent more time training, instilling discipline and obedience, but for better or worse that’s not us.  So walks can be a struggle, with sudden full-power lunges after squirrels and rabbits (and small fluffy dogs led by nice elderly women, a particular peeve of Bailey’s for some unfathomable reason).  Hey, is that a skunk? –- let’s check it out!Developing a storyline is much like that, at least for me.  The characters are constantly jumping away in unexpected directions, going off script, completely twisting up the leash –- I mean the plot.  First rewrites are always a nightmare, as I try to restore order and bring everyone to heel.

Then there’s the whole business side of writing, which is like the worst dog walk ever.

But it’s not all bad ...

+  You make new friends.

Oddly for such solitary business, writing has introduced me to all sorts of people, many of whom I quite like.  In the same way, an hour at the dog park every day has introduced us to a group of other regulars, and we really look forward to seeing them.  Their owners are nice too.

+  In the end, you can’t live without either.

For all the complaining one might do, at the end of the day there’s nothing like a dog curled up by your side, warm and comfy and full of love.  Just like a finished manuscript!

Except for the drool, of course.


Question for writers: Cats famously interfere with the creative process by walking on keyboards.  What has your dog done to help, or hinder, that next novel? For readers: How about some cute dog stories?

Mike Cooper has wanted for years to write a vampire dog detective romance told from the dog’s POV.  His next novel, however, is THE DOWNSIDE, coming in September from Mysterious Press / Open Road.  He lives outside Boston with his family, including one cat and, yes, one dog.  More at www.mikecooper.com.

They (fill in the blank) like cats and dogs

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  (Breaking news: I am at Mystery Lovers Bookstore in Oakmont tonight! Come on down!)

Anyway, when I lived in Atlanta, we had my cat Lola, and a wacky enthusiastic beagle-type pooch named McGee. They were both terrific animals, but the oh-so-snarky Lola’s take on McGee was that he did not exist. I don’t think Lola every admitted there was another animal in the house, no matter what McGee did. McGee, happily, was a dog of very little brain, so he did not have enough space to include the concept of “cat” after Jim, and food,  and how to “arooooo” and well, that’s about all he could handle. So it worked out nicely.

As the brilliant Kathy Lynn Emerson so hilariously explains, it is not always easy.

The Scottie Barked at Midnight: Of Dogs and Cats

by

Kaitlyn Dunnett (aka Kathy Lynn Emerson)

I hesitated for a long time to introduce a dog of any sort into the Liss MacCrimmon series for one simple reason—there were already two cats. Now, some cats like dogs, but I didn’t think a cat with the personality of Lumpkin, the big yellow Maine Coon Cat Liss inherited along with her house, was likely to be very accepting. He had trouble enough adjusting to Glenora, the little black kitten I added in A Wee Christmas Homicide.

By the time someone suggested I include a Scottish terrier in one of Liss’s stories, I’d already written a scene in Vampires, Bones, and Treacle Scones in which Lumpkin has a run in with Papelbon, the dog belonging to Dan’s niece, Samantha. Here’s what happened when they met:

            Lumpkin spat, hissed, and expanded to twice his normal size. Since he was a Maine Coon cat and weighed in at well over fifteen pounds on his slimmest day, he was a formidable sight. 

            The reason for his ill humor was a dog, Papelbon by name, a black and brown mutt of uncertain ancestry, although it probably included a splash of border collie. He belonged to Dan Ruskin’s brother Sam.

            In spite of the unfriendly reception, Papelbon wagged his plume of a tail and tried to touch noses with the outraged feline. Lumpkin took a swipe at Papelbon and missed. With a yip of surprise, the dog retreated behind Sam’s legs.

            “Come out from there you yellow-bellied chicken.”

            “Daddy!” Sam’s daughter Samantha, age nine, knelt beside Papelbon and flung her arms around his furry neck. “Don’t be so mean. That nasty old cat scared him.”

            Papelbon licked her face.

            Liss hid a grin as she scooped up the cat and slung him over her shoulder, thus clearing the way for Sam, Samantha, and Papelbon to enter the house “I’ll be right back,” she said as she started down the hall. “Make yourselves at home.”

            Lumpkin growled low in his throat all the way to the kitchen. Liss carried him into the connecting pantry/utility room. “Sorry, sport,” she told the cat. “You’re confined to quarters for the duration. Live with it.” She had to move fast once she put him down, but she managed to shut the door before he could get past her. The unmistakable sound of claws scoring wood made her wince but didn’t surprise her in the least.

By The Scottie Barked at Midnight, the ninth entry in the series, Lumpkin has mellowed somewhat, although he still has his share of bad habits. He has accepted the presence of a second cat and a move to a different house, but there are some things a cat just should not be expected to tolerate. Here’s a short excerpt, the scene where Lumpkin and his little buddy Glenora meet the Scottish Terrier Liss has rescued for the first time.   

            Liss unlocked her back door, scooped up the Scottie, and stepped into the kitchen. Both cats materialized out of nowhere. Lumpkin, the Maine Coon cat, caught sight of the dog first. His head shot up, as did his tail, which instantly puffed up to twice its normal size. Glenora, smaller and coal-black, went up on her hind feet, trying to get a better look at the newcomer.

            “Now, guys—play nice.”

            Moving slowly, Liss lowered the Scottish terrier to all fours. She was quivering with excitement, anxious to investigate these new and interesting creatures, one of whom was bigger than she was.

            “Lumpkin. Glenora. This is—” She broke off, momentarily stumped. She had to call the dog something. Sweetie was just too cutesy. Wee Jock was a cliché, aside from being the wrong gender. Pets belonging to past presidents had led to the overuse of Fala and Barney for Scottish terriers. Then it came to her—the perfect nickname for an animal that had narrowly escaped being run over by a car. “For now, we’re going to call this pooch Lucky,” she informed her feline housemates. “Be polite to her. She’s a guest.”      

            All high spirits and friendliness, Lucky danced up to the two cats. Glenora bristled and spat. Lumpkin’s ears went back. That was the only warning before he struck out, slashing at Lucky’s nose. The Scottie backpedaled so fast that she tumbled ass over teakettle.

            “That’s enough!” Liss grabbed for Lucky, meaning to lift her out of harm’s way, but the crisis had already passed.

            Lumpkin sat down and began to wash his nether regions. Glenora turned her back, flicked her tail, and stalked out of the room. Trailing her leash, Lucky discovered a dish containing leftover dry cat food and chowed down. Liss collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs.

            “That went well,” she muttered.

I’d love to hear real-life stories of the 

first meetings between dogs and cats and how their owners coped while their pets adjusted to sharing. In this case, of 

course, the Scottie already has a home 

and returning her to it is what involves 

Liss in murder and mayhem.

HANK: So Reds? Do yours fight like cats and...well, you know. Do they?  Or can there be dog détente?

Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett is the author of over fifty books written under several names. She won the Agatha Award in 2008 for best mystery nonfiction for How to Write Killer Historical Mysteries and was an Agatha Award finalist in 2014 in the best mystery short story category for “The Blessing Witch.” Currently she writes the contemporary Liss MacCrimmon Mysteries (The Scottie Barked at Midnight) as Kaitlyn and the historical Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries as Kathy (Murder in the Merchant’s Hall). The latter series is a spin-off from her earlier “Face Down” series and is set in Elizabethan England. Her websites are www.KaitlynDunnett.com and www.KathyLynnEmerson.com