Chet The Dog

Archive for the ‘Chet The Dog’ Category

Sports With Meaning, But Not The Political Kind

“Oh, I’m sticking with it,” LeAnne said. Any other possibility had never occurred to her.

“Why?”

“I love the pole vault,” LeAnne said.

“What do you love about it?”

LeAnne had never considered that question. What did she love about the pole vault? “The feel, I guess.”

“Tell me about that.”

This wasn’t easy.

“Take your time,” Gina said. No more bumping and crashing sounds came from inside the bus. Was Mr. Adelson eavesdropping?

“Well,” said LeAnne, “in English the other day we were learning about three-act plays. And I wondered if the pole vault was like that. First there’s the set-up – that’s the run. Then there’s the complication – getting all the moves down so the pole bends just right. And after that’s the resolution – when you let go and fly.” Gina was watching her closely. “Is … is that the kind of thing you mean?” LeAnne said. “Or something else?”

– from THE RIGHT SIDE.

 

Greenbacks and The Nation Within

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/dog-loves-money-pay-for-treats_us_59c670eee4b06ddf45f84119

Chetspeak on Sunday

The perp looked around – what nasty little eyes he had! – and saw there was nowhere to go. We were in some kind of warehouse, big and shadowy, with a few grimy high-up windows and tall stacks of machine parts. I couldn’t remember how the warehouse fit in, exactly, or even what the whole case was all about; only knew beyond a doubt, from those nasty eyes and that sour end-of-the-line smell, a bit like those kosher pickles Bernie had with his BLT’s – I’d tried one; once was enough for the kosher pickles, although I always had time for a BLT – that this guy was the perp. I lunged forward and grabbed him by the pantleg. Case closed.

– from THEREBY HANGS A TAIL.

Saturday Morning Coffee

Maybe because we’ve been socked in on Cape Cod by the remnants of Jose – while the rest of the country is nice and sunny – but I woke up this morning thinking of the desert. The Sonoran desert, specifically. I fell in love with Arizona during the writing of THEIR WILDEST DREAMS. I think it’s the first book where I broadened some of the humor a little bit – so in two ways at least it’s a precursor to Chet and Bernie. No canine narrator in THEIR WILDEST DREAMS. The POV is multiple third-person close, which can sometimes be pretty hackish, but I think not in this case. In desperate financial straits, Mackie, the main character and a former dancer, tries working in a strip club. I got an email from a stripper telling me the thoughts in Mackie’s head while performing were just like hers. A stroke of luck. How could I ever have researched something like that? (Don’t even go there.)