Writing - A tentative step into publishing.

I have written for as long as I can remember, but it had always been just for my eyes, an audience of one. Occasionally as a child I would inflict it upon my parents who listened with that fixed, glazed smile that parents have mastered over the millenia. Occasionally they would raise an eyebrow at the often unexpected themes and if it was deserved, issue a chortle or two.

I have written prose to accompany prints in editions of books I have made and have always produced journals, short stories and poetry. When I say all of this it sounds rather grand but in all honesty it presents itself as a huge jumble of words that just seem to appear unbidden. I always feel much better afterwards and use writing to try and untangle my way through my thoughts. It is essential for me.

It was only when we rescued a Lurcher in 2017 that I began to write in a more public way. It was out of a desire to document our lives with Elsie Esme Weatherwax Webb AKA Spindlehound, that The Lurcher Diaries began.

Her introduction on her website reads as follows.

My name is Elsie Esme Weatherwax Webb and I am a Lurcher, sofa sprawler and a keen diarist. Here you will find a place to read my houndly observations on life. I like to think of myself as an enigma with a flair for the dramatic and ridiculous.

I am happy to hold a paw up to being a freewheeling fantasist extraordinaire, but most of all, I am a hound…Spindlehound.

It has been a fabulous experience and over the years we have become part of a wonderful online sighthound and animal loving community, which is something I did not expect.

One day I had an unexpected surge of confidence (which was in no way connected to a beautifully prepared Margarita) and I decided to contact some publishers with a view to

Having her diaries immortalized in print.

I am exceptionally excited and a little trepidatious to announce that the Lurcher Diaries are going to be published shortly. Her webpage is presently unavailable but I will leave you with one of her most recent tales, to whet your whistles.

SENIOR CITIZEN SPINDLES

My dearest and most treasured pals! One must apologise as it has been a fair while since my last missive to you all. I must hold my paws up to you and hope that you all do not judge me too harshly. I am transitioning dear pals and it is proving to be a physical and emotional minefield that I am tip toeing through with my petticoats held high and teeth (tooth) firmly gritted. 

I am transitioning from a devil may care, high octane scamper hound about town – to a more sedate, creaky and plodding example of damehood. In short dear friends, I am now a pensionable hound. Nobody really knows my real age but my papers indicate that I am 13 ish and much to my annoyance I have had to slow down a tad lately. As they say the spirit is more than willing but alas one has become, dare I say it, doddery and wobblesome on one’s pins. Sometimes each limb seems to work independently and want to go in different directions which makes navigation challenging and time consuming. Don’t get me started on the shiny wooden floors at Spindle Towers…I now need crampons to traverse the living room without it becoming a Frank Spencer sketch.

I can reassure you all though that I am still wholeheartedly adored by the loons, who have completely adjusted their routine and lifestyle to accommodate a wobblesome Spindles. It is as they say, all part of the deal and thusly I still have them firmly under my paw.

Regretfully this has also meant that I have been having regular visits to the vet. One upside of this is frequently visiting the all you can eat small pet buffet – apparently called a petting zoo. I am only ever allowed to peruse the menu sadly. The other upside of this is that I have led the loons to believe that the only way I will take my myriad of tablets is if they are encased in a succulent covering of grated, high quality cheddar cheese. Black Bomber as a preference. Yes, as you might expect I do have high cholesterol, however, the decision was made that a Spindles must have a certain amount of joy in her life. 

One rainy autumnal morning we were all gathered around the kitchen table, supping our steaming Earl Greys and munching away at our toast when Hector magicked a small booklet out of one of his fabled crevises. It was tentatively pushed in front of me so I scrabbled for my varifocals from the deep and dark recesses of my capacious day muff and popped them on to see what it was. I was expecting one of his dodgy mags, ‘Bifurcated Rivets’ or ‘The Edwardian Gentlemans’ guide to hosiery’, but I was rather stunned to find one of those innovation catalogues that you get foisted upon you at a certain age. I was not a happy Spindles. I conveyed this by menacingly peering at the pair of them who were nervously twiddling with their toast and refusing to make eye contact with me. I turned up the power setting on the stare and they sighed, folded their arms, and prepared for a verbal fracas. May I now say that getting old is not fun, and I know they are trying to help me, they have my best interest at heart – but it still smarts.

Well, I suppose it could do no harm in looking so I started to flick through the pages with begrudging interest. Well goodness gracious me! I can only say that I am saddened by not being able to look through one of these with my old pal Nelson, who would have gloried in all the rotating attachments. It was like entering a whole new world of possibilities and quite frankly it was blimmin marvellous. I suddenly sensed that this might be more beneficial than I first thought.

I have been acquainted with shoe horns for many years now although not necessarily for the purpose they were intended. For any queries on this I will refer you to Sister Josephine (owner of renowned dodgy nightclub The Velvet Marmoset). 

I was also aware of the existence of the grabber stick, as Muvver had had hers confiscated years ago by Hector for wanton misuse in a confined space. I felt perhaps that it could be of use to me so I drew a little tick next to it as I also did on the Foxy sock and stocking aid as I must admit that it is getting more irksome ferreting about under my crinoline these days. Tick.

This went on for some time and before I knew it, I had ammassed a collected of new goodies. My one complaint is that there seems to be a misapprehension that the people who may need to use these contraptions have lost their sense of style, which is as we know, not true. Consequently I made a further list of haberdashery notions, sequins, leopard prints and fringing that I would pimp up my purchases with. Even my day muff was going to have some new twinkles and a quick trim where the edges were a bit fluffy from over handling. All in all I felt quite satisfied, deciding that if you can’t beat it then you must grasp it (whatever it is) with a firm paw and stick some sequins on it!!!

I shall report back when my packages have been delivered, but until next time, pip pip me hearties!