Okay, not really. Buddy doesn’t wield that kind of power. But he does make writing pretty damn hard, in the most charming way possible. Imagine, you’re writing an intense scene, the words flowing out of you like water from a fire hydrant. And this is going on….
It’s… it’s a little distracting. Can I help you? You need something?
Other times, Buddy is more physically intrusive. He doesn’t know about personal space. Or he doesn’t care.
Clearly he doesn’t want me to write sometimes. I have to type with one hand while doing this with the other:
For the critics, I would need a third hand to un-flip his ear. Other times he literally puts his foot down.
Every so often, I think he just wants to check out what I’ve written. You know, to see if it’s working.
Fortunately, Great Danes sleep like 23 hours a day. Unfortunately, it’s often on my lower back.
If I don’t make it as an author, it wouldn’t be fair to blame Buddy. But I can’t help but wonder if superstar authors like Stephen King would be able to handle writing sessions supervised by a ginormous, lurking dog. Perhaps Cujo would have been a Great Dane instead of a Saint Bernard.
This happens Every. Single. Day. So, more of Buddy to come on his namesake blog.
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