Five Things My Corgi Has Taught Me About Writing
The other night, I dreamed that Stephen King and I were hanging out with our corgis.
Our corgi, Moneypenny. Photo by Luisa Perkins
The other night, I dreamed that Stephen King and I were hanging out with our corgis. Mine is named Moneypenny (Penny for short), and his is Molly. It was one of those dreams that was a drag to wake up from, because it was pure fun.
Stephen and Molly King. Photo from BarkPost.com
I admire Stephen King and have read virtually everything he’s ever published — the fantastic along with the not-so-great. His talent has been honed by decades of steady hard work. His book On Writing is a terrific resource for writers of any genre. I could write a lot about what he’s taught me, and maybe I will at some point.
But today, I’ll share five things I’ve learned about writing from my corgi.
Give your whole attention to what you’re working on right now.
Good to the last drop. Photo by Luisa Perkins
Penny knows multitasking is a myth. When she has something to do, she sticks to it until the job is done. (Until a squirrel or the cat across the street shows up. Nobody’s perfect.) Like Penny getting every last lick of milk out of a glass, I can shut out distractions and persist until my piece of writing is as good as I can make it for the day.
2. Playing is often the best work.
Moneypenny helping our youngest dig a hole. Photo by Luisa Perkins
Penny takes her play seriously. Tell her to kill Schneckes (our name for her snake toy, because if you say “snake” to her, she puts out her paw to shake), and she will shake it furiously until she deems she’s snapped its nonexistent spine. She will play race and chase or tug and fetch forever, always with an attitude of complete joy and gratitude for your attention.
When I look at my writing as something I have to do, I get anxious and I start procrastinating. But when I treat my writing like Penny treats play time, I feel that same joy, the fabled sense of timelessness called flow.
3. Rest.
Moneypenny planking. Photo by Luisa Perkins
When it’s time for a break, drop the work. Leave it behind. I said, “Leave it.” (Only dog owners will get that.) Sink into your downtime. Savor it. Let go of all that monkey brain and cultivate dog brain instead. Roll over for a tummy rub and just. chill. out. Enjoy the rest of your life that makes writing not only possible, but infinitely richer and better.
4. Learn from peers.
Moneypenny (right) and our corgi neighbor, Lizzy Bennet. Photo by Luisa Perkins
Penny approaches every dog with submissive ears. She rolls on her back and exposes her vulnerability to even the tiniest teacup chihuahua. And she loves to mimic what she sees other dogs do.
I learn best from other writers when I’m humble and vulnerable, when I realize that even a writer decades younger than I am has something to teach me. Open every book with submissive ears, figuratively speaking. Learn to read like a writer, and don’t be afraid to mimic craft techniques you discover in the work of those you admire.
5. Don’t be afraid to look ridiculous.
Moneypenny in Savasana (sort of). Photo by Luisa Perkins
Penny has endless confidence, but zero pride, and that’s one of the things that makes her so lovable (and entertaining). As a writer, I do better when I let go of pride and am willing to admit I don’t know what I’m doing. There are things I just cannot figure out on my own. I need help from others — critique partners, editors, sensitivity readers — and I need them not to tell me how great my work is, but to show me where it could be better.
Things worth doing are worth doing badly at first. Before you can get to competence, you have to recognize your incompetence — and often, you find that out from others.
All right, post over. Time for me to get back to the manuscript I’m trying to finish and shake it by the neck until it’s dead. Or something like that.
Moneypenny says goodbye! Photo by Luisa Perkins