Last night I was part of an authors' event. There were 80 or so writers there, each one eager to talk about (and sell) their books.
I got to see and chat with her Mary Horner. Mary's one of the newest writers at WOW. Check out the site--if you haven't already--and be on the look-out for Mary's posts. They're always thought-provoking and helpful.
I got to ride and chat with Linda O'Connell. Linda is a magnet for the quirky/the strange/the "characters"... and last night was no exception. However, she's always able to make the most of any situation and see the positive in a heap of not-so-positive. And I got the chance to hang out with Donna Volkenannt and Pat Wahler. While we chatted, I got some tidbits about some publishers, heard about an book event and got rejuvenated by hearing what they were working on.
And now onto back-of-the-book blurb fun:
The Last Bite of Gunter
When Gunter was a puppy, his family put up with his pee puddles.His mine-fields of poo piles. His chewing. His constant yapping.
But once the pup passed by his second birthday, his family said, “Enough is enough!” When they’d step into a pond of urine or a fecal pile of not-fun, they’d shout. Seeing another chair leg being whittled away by Gunter’s teeth made them scream.
Gunter’s family had enough of Gunter. They’d tried dog trainers, they’d gotten him on Ceasar Milan’s show and even the Dog Whisperer had to admit, “This is my first failure.”
Finally, the family decided the “scared straight” method. They nestled Gunter into a hoagie bun… and told him, “If you don’t straighten up, you’re going to be tonight’s entree.”
Will Gunter learn some house manners? Or is he destined to go from a bad dog to a hot dog? (146 words)
The true story of Hansie: The above photo took me back to when I was 10 or 11. My best friend was Gwen McKenna. Her family had a dachshund named Hansie. Hansie was quite an unusual dog. He once came back from wandering the neighborhood with a perfectly-baked turkey leg in his mouth. Did someone feel sorry for him and give it to him? We never knew.
One Halloween, Gwen and I dressed Hansie up as a hot dog. We put him between the top and bottom of a loaf of French bread. (I think we gently tied them onto him.) Hansie was great sport. When Gwen and I were younger, we'd put girly doll clothes on him and walk him around in a stroller. Being a hot dog was --I imagine--much less embarrassing for poor Hans...
And for those writers who like to think ahead, here's the photo for next week: