victory is mine

My four day ordeal with the cable company is finally at an end.  I have internet service again.  Hooray!  But now I’m left with a strange feeling of loss.  Oddly enough, I miss having something of that magnitude to blog about.  Am I crazy to wish for lightning to strike again?  Metaphorically, of course. But still.  Shouldn’t I be happy to have things back to normal?  Happy for the prospect of getting a good night’s sleep, at last?

I am.  Happy that is. 

All in all, it was a good day.  If lightning hadn’t struck, I would have never known the cable company had been overbilling me by almost fifty dollars a month for the past seven months.  So now, not only did my monthly bill go down, but I have a nice little credit sitting out there too. 

Not bad for four days of misery.

And I might just go back to the bookstore tomorrow for old time’s sake.  I think they’re going to miss me.  The guy at the coffee shop told me he liked me.  It’s only fair for me to let him get used to my absence slowly.  Like over the course of a few days, and a few morning lattes.  This is strictly an act of kindness on my part, of course.

And without all the drama, I can get back to writing.  The serious, finish my current book, kind of writing.  No more excuses. 

Well…just one more.  I’m exhausted.  I’m going to sleep for a change.

Until the next time…I’ll be writing in my sleep!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

day three of no internet

I'm camped out at a bookstore in my PJs and slippers drinking Diet Coke and eating rice crispy treats. God help me.

The worse part of that sentence?  The Diet Coke.  I can give up rice crispy treats mid-bite if I have to with no regrets, but give me a sip of Diet Coke and even while I’m thinking I don’t really like the taste that much, I can’t stop myself from drinking the whole thing. 

I had been on the wagon for over a week until my internet went down—reason number one hundred eighty-four to be mad at Comcast cable.  I have no idea why, but diet drinks make my breasts tingle, and not in the nicey way.  More in the, “that can’t be good” sort of way.  I’ve tested it.  No diet drinks…no bad tingles.  Diet drinks…lots and lots of weird.

Maybe my strange mood has been influenced by a worse than normal lack of sleep. 

I woke up early this morning, waiting for the promised call back by the cable company, (after only four point seven five hours of sleep) a call that never came.  At quarter til one this afternoon, I dialed the number I have unfortunately memorized and clicked through the automated prompts without waiting for instructions.  I do not think this is a skill I want to showcase, but I was sadly proud of myself for remembering the path as if I had just navigated the Halloween corn maze successfully (something I have never actually done, by the way.)

I would have continued to rough it at home with my semi-connection to the “borrowed” wireless signal, but now, not only do I have no internet at home, the neighbors seem to have noticed a slower connection and turned off their prehistoric router so I’m being forced to camp out at Books-A-Million.  I even bought the membership card so I could get free Wi-Fi (which isn’t really free if you have to buy the membership…just saying.)

I had to switch bookstore chains today after the people at Barnes and Noble started calling me by name and asking me about my dog. 

This is not the sort of fame I’m looking for. 

But sadly, fame of any kind will have to wait.  I have an appointment with the cable guy in the morning.  They gave me a window of eight a.m. and the apocalypse, so we’ll see.

Until the next time…I will be expecting a man in a red suit with horns and a pitchfork at my door bright and early!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

I'm in internet hell!

Can lightning strike in the same place twice?

I am speaking metaphorically this time.  And yes, it can.  The zig zaggy jolt of electricity surging through my house the other night was nothing compared to the shock I got while dealing with the cable company today. 

Comcast Cable…I’m talking to you!

I was sent on a wild goose chase of epic proportions today by my friendly neighborhood cable provider. 

“Just bring the broken equipment back to the closest cable store and swap it for new.” I was told.  I didn’t want to drive across town to the closest cable store.  “Can’t you just send someone to me?” I begged.  I do that when I’m trying to get my way.  They weren’t having any of it.  I had to drive.

I hopped in my car at ten-thirty in the morning with the broken bits and headed in the general direction of the cable store.  I didn’t bother to write down the address, because I have navigation in my car.  I hit the nearest drive-thru window for sustenance, and continued on while eating fries and listening to satellite radio.

It was a long drive.                    

When I got close, I pulled out the navigation and discovered this location does not exist.  But of course, it had to exist.  I was told to go there.  Apparently, no one told the navigation equipment about the existence of the cable store.  I wasn’t concerned at all.  I just dialed the number I had memorized after several calls that morning and the night before, and clicked through the endless choices in the automated system until I reached a live human being.

“The cable store is directly across the street from the Big Chicken.” The man said. 

Everyone in Atlanta knows where the Big Chicken is.  It’s a landmark!  I hung up and headed straight there. 

When I got to the intersection, I didn’t see anything resembling a cable store.  There was a tire shop. A Mexican restaurant.  A vacant lot.  A rental car office.  No cable store.  I turned down the cross street and went several hundred yards before circling back around and went the other direction.   Again, I drove about a hundred yards before circling around again. 

I was livid and hit the speed dial.

I didn’t call the cable company, I called my husband.  He needed to know I was mad.  I don’t know why, he just did.  Then I called my mother.  She needed to know this too.  My sister called me out of the blue, and I clicked to take her call so she would know how mad I was too. 

She knew where the cable store was…a mile down the road…way past the Big Chicken.

I scarfed the last of my fries in the Comcast parking lot before taking a deep breath and charging into the cable store to swap out my equipment.

The line was to the door.  And not just any line.  I have been in line at the DMV, the social security office, and even at the mall to see Santa on Christmas Eve.  This was worse. 

The women working in the office were separated from the customers by bulletproof glass.  We didn’t even have bulletproof glass at the bank where I used to work.  There were children screaming and crawling along the dirty floor and no one seemed to notice but me.  The man in front of me had three teeth, and arms filled with enough cable equipment to supply a prison.  He was laughing hysterically at something no one else could see.  This was definitely worse than the mall line waiting to see Santa.

This was the receiving line in Hell and we were lined up to meet Satan.

I clutched my cable boxes a little tighter and tried not to make eye contact with anyone as I waited my turn. 

A baby crawled closer to me and I wondered if I would have to run to get away from it when a woman finally noticed her child was missing and scooped it up. 

Time stood still while I was in the cable office, but I did finally manage to reach the front of the line where I was told they didn’t swap out internet boxes.  I would need someone to come to me.

“But…I asked for someone to come to me and they said no!” I told her. 

“Oh, they do that all the time.” She said laughing.  They do that all the time?  And no one stops them?  It must be the same “they” who told me the store was across from the Big Chicken. 

“Can I at least get a new HDTV box so I can watch TV?” I begged again.

“It looks like there’s an open work order on your account already.  We can’t help you at all here today.”

Three hours after arriving there, I got back in my car with my broken cable pieces and drove for forty-five minutes to get home.  I called the cable company from the car, suppressing the urge to share all the bad words I’ve learned over my many years as a sailor/pirate/truck driver.  They said I would have to wait for someone to call me back to set up an appointment to fix my internet because I’m just a residential customer.  We don’t need internet.

So I’m using my “borrowed” connection again tonight.  Apparently, it was left over from 1995, and no one was using it.   

Supposedly, someone will call me in the morning to set up a time to decide if they want my business as a “residential” customer.  We’ll see about that.

Until the next time…I’ll be waiting four hours to download pictures with my dial-up speed connection!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

someone up there is trying to tell me something

What else could it mean when your house is struck by lightning? 

Did I do something wrong?  Was it because I hid the powdered donuts from everyone else in my house and ate them all myself? 

Whatever I did, I didn’t mean it!  I’ll be good from now on, I promise! 

When the thunderstorm moved in this afternoon I was thrilled.  It was the implied promise of cooler temperatures and less humidity that had me excited.  I’ve never been fond of unbearable summer heat.  So I didn’t mind the dark skies, the deep rumbling of distant thunder, or the light show. 

I like a nice summer storm, after all.

I didn’t even flinch when the storm was directly overhead.  I relished the soothing sounds of thunder and rain as I sat to write a new chapter into my work in progress.  The dogs were at my feet, I had classical music playing lightly in the background, and I was completely oblivious to the danger getting closer until the loud crack that lit up my kitchen!

My laptop flashed and went dark, frightening me more than the blue light still pulsating in the air.  I was terrified it had been fried.

It wasn’t. 

But my wireless router was.  So were my cable internet modem, my HDTV box, and all the outlets in my kitchen.  The kid’s bedrooms were also dark, but since most of them weren’t home, I wasn’t worried about that.  I was worried about the cable equipment and getting back to Twitter.  How could I possibly post on Twitter if I couldn’t even reach the internet?

I immediately yelled for my husband, who had somehow missed the whole “we were struck by lightning” thing as he worked from his home office in the other wing of the house.  He had yet to discover the loss of internet connection.  But he immediately jumped to action checking to be sure the house wasn’t on fire.

I didn’t care about a fire.  I was too busy pressing the reset button on the cable modem, using every bit of “wish” karma I had left in me to resuscitate the internet connection. 

I unplugged it…shook it…plugged it back in…kissed it…twice! And finally pressed the reset button while looking toward Heaven and mumbling, “Please come back, please come back, please come back.”

It didn’t.

My husband, the software engineer, set out to “fix” the problem because I’m just a writer, and we don’t know how to fix things in the real world. 

After multiple attempts, and a lengthy phone call to the cable company, we had to accept the inevitable.  Our cable modem had gone into the light. 

I didn’t care that I couldn’t watch television, or Netflix.  I didn’t care that I may never be able to plug in a blow dryer in my bathroom again.  I didn’t even care that the kids may need flashlights to find their pajamas. 

I was too busy packing a bag to head out to the bookstore for free WiFi! 

Of course, I couldn’t spend the entire night at Barnes and Noble, they closed at ten.  No, I had to troll the airwaves for an alternate internet connection, hopeful that my neighbors had left theirs open…and went to bed early.

Instead, I locked into to my husband’s cell phone connection (stealing his bandwidth without his knowledge because I know his password!)  His new mobile device is amazingly fast…even with two people sharing the connection. 

Tomorrow I will be forced to drive to the other side of town to swap my deceased modem for a new one.  In the meantime, I suppose I’ll have to use my own phone for the rest of the night.  Thank goodness for a 3G connection!

Oh, and just in case you were wondering…we did manage to get the lights back on in the kids’ rooms.  Because it was the right thing to do.

Until the next time…I’ll be going to bed early like a pioneer!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

another hot day on planet earth.

Once upon a time, as the snow was falling and we were trapped in our house for more than four consecutive days because the city of Atlanta was shut down, and the roads by my house were closed, and we were running out of milk, bread and toilet paper, I made a silent wish for it to warm up.

The moral of this story is be careful what you wish for.

My air conditioning is currently cranked down to seventy-one degrees, but the temperature in the house won’t drop below eighty.  I have fans on full blast all over the house to blow the cold air as it comes out of the vents, and linen drapes to block out the sun. My house is beginning to resemble a crypt, and if I could convince everyone who lives here to take turns breathing so it would lower the hot breath circulating, I would do that too. 

I am seriously considering saying to hell with the hardwood floors and installing a sprinkler system to mist me while I sit on my laptop in the living room. I know computers don’t like water, but I don’t like sweat.  People just shouldn’t have to live like this! Even my dogs refuse to go outside in the middle of the day for fear of bursting into flames. 

Is it global warming?  Is it just a random heat wave?  Is this what we have to look forward to in years to come? Should I be stocking up on sunscreen?

I think for now I’ll start sleeping inside the refrigerator…you know, just until it cools off.  I think I’ll make a wish for cooler temperatures…remind me I said that come winter.  I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.

Until the next time…I’ll be wishing for a snow storm!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

and that's why I don't eat peas

Writers live in a different world than other people.  We experience life in a different way.  We think of things in terms of characters and story lines.  But sometimes, we literally couldn’t make this stuff up.

For example…

I went on a family outing to the Atlanta History Center today.  It was probably the worst day ever to go anywhere involving outdoor tours.  I was drenched.  My linen trousers stuck to me all the way down and my skin glistened with sweat.  We had to offset our time outside with long bouts of air conditioned indoor attractions, and even scheduled in lunch at the famed Swan House Restaurant.  It was here where I found myself trapped in the ladies restroom. 

I wouldn’t have believed it if I read it in fiction, but there I was, sandwiched between the door and the toilet in the smallest stall ever!  I had to straddle the toilet to get my pants down and when I did, my knees were pressed against the door.  Imagine my horror when it came time to leave and I couldn’t open the door.  I was trapped.  Again, I had to straddle the toilet to get the door open.  And I just had to share my story with my mother…and the three other people in the restroom, who didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did, by the way.

Like I said…I couldn’t make this stuff up!

Another example…

Just the other night, I was chatting with a group of fellow writers, and we decided to play the “worst divorce story ever” game.  My ex had done some pretty awful things so I was pretty sure I would win. 

Boy was I wrong!

When multiple personalities and polygamists were on the table, my cheating ex with his stable of strippers was suddenly very pedestrian.  And all I could think of was how only a group of fiction writers could have lives that were torn straight out of a book. 

But with such horrible divorce stories on the table, we had to ask ourselves what we were doing wrong that left us open to such things.  We lived in different cities…opposite continents even. Was there something in the water?  Was it something we ate?  

We decided it was very possibly something our mother’s told us was good for us…like peas.

That was when we decided it would be best if we stopped eating peas.  It certainly can’t hurt, right? 

Until the next time…I’ll be waiting for the next unbelievable moment to pop up!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

can you identify a dangerous dog?

Anyone who reads my blog with any regularity knows I have a houseful of animals, most of which were rescue pets.  Over the years, I have adopted many a dog from a rescue shelter and they have become part of my family.  Only Indiana Jones, the Mastiff, is a breeder dog.  I cringe when I hear people classifying any dog as being bad just by the nature of their breed,  just like I would hate to hear anyone make assumptions about another person just on the basis of race.  I am so glad Monique took the time to write this particular blog today.  I hope you appreciate her words as much as I do…

Friday Dog BlogHave you ever feared that a dog was going to bite you?  Perhaps you were out on a walk when a stray approached you and you were unsure of his friendliness…or maybe you remember a dog from your childhood that frightened you?  When you think of a dog which frightened you, what type of dog do you picture?  Is there a breed which particularly scares you? 

After all of my years professionally working with dogs, the mental images I conjure of aggressive dogs might surprise you.  The first dog I think of is my grandmother’s Lhasa Apso.   Boo Boo, who weighed in at a whopping 18 pounds, terrorized her house and everyone in it.   Boo Boo was an extremely aggressive dog—a serious resource guarder of any and all things placed below counter level.  If you put the newspaper you were reading down on the couch to go get a drink, by the time you returned, the paper had become his—and he would defend it with Piranha-like teeth and quickness .  His frequent bites were Level 3 and Level 4 on Dr. Ian Dunbar’s bite scale, with punctures, multiple lunging attacks, and head shaking while biting.  

Another dog which left me shaking in my boots was a Cocker Spaniel in the adoption kennels of an animal shelter.   A volunteer dog-walker said she was concerned about his behavior.  She put him in one of the shelter’s interaction rooms for me to evaluate—although, looking back, I’m not sure how she did it.   The interaction rooms were spacious, with benches lining the walls, dog toys, and large windows to watch the pooches and their prospective adopters.  Approaching the room, I saw an absolutely Disney-like Cocker Spaniel—blond, flowing coat, wondrous ears.  But I never made it past the door to greet this beautiful dog…he viciously attacked the door and windows of the room once he saw me.  With lowered head and a whale eye, he began to resource guard any and all objects in the room.   In my mind, I saw the family which would adopt him—a nice mom and dad with a couple of children who wanted their very own Lady from Lady & the Tramp.  But they wouldn’t be getting Lady…they would be getting Cujo.  I couldn’t let that dog be adopted, so I let the shelter staff know my painful decision. 

Thankfully, I don’t have to make life and death decisions for dogs very often.   Many of the aggression cases I work with can live normal lives with their families after working through behavior modification protocols and implementing good management programs.  Some require a lot of work, but do not present a danger to their community.  

What types of dogs do I see most frequently for aggression?  Would you believe me if I said Chihuahuas?  Golden Retrievers?  Cocker Spaniels?  Dachshunds? The small, designer dog mixes?  You should believe me, because those really are the breeds I see the most frequently for aggression.  Notice anything?  Did I mention Pit Bulls?  Dobermans?  German Shepherds?  Rottweilers?   No, I didn’t.   Talking to trainer colleagues, I hear the same list of breeds over and over again.  We all share a concern for the temperament of the so-called family dogs like Golden Retrievers. 

Any and all breeds of dog can be aggressive and potentially physically harm people.  After all, all dogs have teeth, right?  How do we prevent aggression?  Is it through breed bans and legislation?  Should we enact sweeping legislation aimed at particular breeds?  Should all dogs of a particular breed suffer and be destroyed for the actions of a single dog? 

As a trainer, I truly want to see the number of serious dog bites each year begin to decline.  I am saddened to hear about the “dog bite epidemic” in our country.  And every day, I work with dogs to help find a solution to this widely publicized issue.  But, I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty, enacting legislation to eradicate breeds which are potentially dangerous is absolutely not the answer.   If we enacted laws based on the breeds I see in practice, Atlanta would have passed breed bans on Golden Retrievers, Cocker Spaniels, and Chihuahuas years ago…

The answer to our nation’s dog bite problem is education—educating breeders on selecting for temperament, educating dog owners on selecting a breed which actually fits their lifestyle, educating veterinarians on socialization practices for puppies…

I wanted to write on this topic today because of a disturbing editorial piece which was shared on Facebook.  The writer, Teresa Chagrin, is a member of PETA—People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.  On July 13th, she wrote a piece for Fredericksburg.Com advocating that the only way to kindly deal with Pit Bulls was to spay and neuter all adult Pits and to euthanize all Pits in shelters.  In other words, death for all Pits is a far better fate than potentially going into a responsible home, receiving proper socialization and training, and living a happy doggy life.  She actually says in the article that responsible people don’t adopt Pit Bulls.  Interesting, coming from a group which supposedly wants to save animals, isn’t it?  Below is a link to the article—tell me if I am misreading it:

http://fredericksburg.com/News/FLS/2011/072011/07132011/638588?______array

As a trainer, I can’t imagine a world in which we have decided any particular breed is such a danger it must be exterminated.  I have to hope we will deal with dogs and their behavioral issues individually, rather than condemning an entire breed based on the actions of just a few.  I hope the dog lovers reading this will check into legislation pending in their communities.  Find out how your community is working to define “dangerous dogs.”  Does the label apply to the behavior of an individual dog or does it broadly proclaim a list of dangerous breeds?  Pay attention—breed specific legislation is a very slippery slope which someday may affect your breed…

Monique

 

I am so thankful to Monique for writing this blog.  One of my rescue pets just happens to be a Pit Bull mix named Joey.  He is the sweetest dog I have ever known, and I can’t imagine a world without him in it.  Thank you, Monique…for reminding us both good and bad come in surprising packages.

Until the next time…I’ll be dodging those dangerous designer dogs!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

no peas for me!

My husband got my attention this evening with a simple question, “where do they have an all you can eat chicken buffet?” 

My interest was piqued. 

“How about all you can eat ribs?” He went on, mostly to himself, but I was suddenly paying rapt attention. 

“I like chicken.” I said.  “What about all you can eat rotisserie chicken?” 

Our entire conversation was now pivoting around the premise of all you can eat “something” for dinner.  He was hungry.  I was hungry.  So why not all you can eat?

It wasn’t long before my stomach was rumbling in protest, and I was craving a bottle of Tums and a shower.  The idea of all you can eat "anything" was making me sick.  And the funny thing is he wasn’t suggesting we go into a place with the notion of strapping on a feed bag and overindulging.  We just wanted something good for dinner.  Something we could pick out ourselves without having to cook.  

There was just one flaw in our plan. 

There isn’t a single place anything like what we were looking for.  Oh sure, we have a few all you can eat buffets with their veritable smorgasbord of selections, but very few of those options are overly appetizing.  There are far too many choices and most of them are fried, soaked in artificial butter or loaded with evil carbohydrates and fats.  These all you can eat buffets practically dare you to eat way too much, which was why my stomach was putting up a fight at the mere suggestion. 

I didn’t want all you can eat.  I wanted something good to eat.

I wanted Curly’s chicken. 

Curly’s Chicken House.  It was a place my parents used to take me when I was small.  They were fairly well-known when I was a kid, and may still be in business in the tiny town of Elmira, New York.  But in the big city of Atlanta, Georgia in the year 2011, there is no such place as Curly’s chicken. 

But that was what I was hungry for.  And seriously, my stomach must have a very good memory, because I can still smell the barbeque chicken and the fresh yeast rolls hot from the oven.  And I can remember the sensation as the wax paper peeled away from the cold square of butter, just waiting for me to spread it across the hot roll.  If I close my eyes I can still taste it as if I had just taken a bite.  So we piled into the car and drove to the closest place to Curly’s we could find. 

The local chicken and rib shack.

The chicken was dry.  The fries were cold.  And they didn’t even have little pats of butter…or hot yeast rolls! 

Most of my dinner came home in a doggy bag for later.  Or never…it will probably find its way to the trash by the end of the weekend.  Instead I pulled out the left over pasta alfredo with peas from last night’s dinner. 

And then I remembered I wasn’t going to eat peas anymore.  It would appear peas are the downfall of women everywhere. 

But that’s another story for another day.

Until the next time…I’ll be eating a bowl of cereal!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

there's more than one way to burn a candle

I was reading through my old blogs this evening, trying to think of something fresh to write (or something old to reprint) and ended up laughing at myself.  I have seriously done some outrageous stuff.  Unintentionally most of the time, but still very funny.  I dare you to click through the archives.  There are a lot of crazy times in there. 

Today is not one of those days.

Today I spent most of the day sleeping.  I suppose I needed the sleep.  Admittedly, I have been burning the candle at both ends and a little bit around the middle too. I guess it just caught up with me.

I have to say, sleep is very nice. I might like to do it again very soon.

So while I was sleeping, I decided that I need to find some balance in my life.  I need schedule time for things like family, and fun…and sleep.

Either that or I need to get another me to cook, clean, and do the laundry.  And another me for maintaining my social media.  A me for doing my edits…and maybe to exercise so I don’t have to. 

Until I figure out a way to pull that off, I guess I’ll just have to force the original me to slow down and plan my time better.  Of course, I say that at one-thirty in the morning. 

Baby steps, right?

Until the next time…I’ll be burning the candle from the top down, in my head anyway.

 

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

the key to success

My father sent me an email this evening.  It was a list of rules to live by and the keys to success.  He has apparently been compiling the list for a while now and decided to forward it on to the next generation.  I thought it was a pretty good list, so I figured I would pass it on down the line to you. 

Rules to live by:

Determine what you actually believe in.   This is one of the most important tasks each person has in life.  Without understanding what you believe in you cannot your live within your own beliefs

Always be true to yourself. Your beliefs should always govern your actions

Always assume you are right until proven otherwise; however always be ready to admit you were wrong if it turns out that way.  You must have confidence in yourself but you can never allow yourself to be unwilling to learn or change.

Listen to others. Learn from them. 

There is no such thing as a free lunch!  Everything has a cost. It is just hard to see in some cases.

Honesty is the only way to a happy life. If you never do anything you’re ashamed of honesty is easy.  If you feel you may have to lie about doing something, don’t do it!

Learn to make decisions.  If you make a wrong decision, then make another one.  You will eventually get one right!

Be prepared to never stop learning.  As soon as you stop learning you are obsolete or dead, maybe both. 

Always be fair to others, and never allow others to be unfair to you.

You and only you are responsible for your happiness.

Success is getting what you aspire to.  Happiness is being happy with who you are and what you have.  They aren’t the same thing, never forget that.

Never forget that there is no such thing as a free lunch!  

Never forget that there is no such thing as a free lunch!  

Never forget that there is no such thing as a free lunch!  

No the above is not a typo.  It just needs to be emphasized.

 

The following are keys to success in all things:

Personal responsibility: 

You must assume responsibility for your actions. You must assume responsibility for your results also. 

Willingness to learn:

You must never stop learning new things. You should try to learn at least one new thing everyday.  If you not have learned something in the last week you are in not working hard enough. If you have not learned something new in the last month you are in trouble! If you haven’t learned something in the last year you must be dead! 

Honesty: 

You must be honest in all things, but most of all to yourself. 

Work hard: 

No one ever succeeded sitting on their backside. 

Play hard: 

Play is where you recharge you batteries. If you don’t take time to play you will fail eventually.

You don’t always need a detailed map: 

You can start a long journey without a knowing every road along the way. To start a trip to California you only have to head west.  It’s at least 2500 miles before you need any real details. 

Don’t be afraid to fail: 

Failure is a result of trying to do hard things.  Never failing is an indication of not attempting anything hard or worthwhile.  A person learns more in one failure than in 10 successes.

 

This last key resonates the most for me.  Don't be afraid to fail.  How many of us have given up before we have even tried just so we could tell ourselves we didn't fail?  We can't fail if we don't try.  But we can't succeed if we don't fail.  I sort of don't mind all the rejection letters now.  It really is all part of the journey. 

Thanks Dad.

Until the next time...I'll be working on my own list! 

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

friendship

I was all set to write a blog about my addiction to social networks and how the simple loss of internet or technical difficulties on Twitter can send me into an unrecoverable tail spin a la Tom Cruise in Top Gun.  After all, between nine-thirty and ten-thirty this evening, I was convinced that a coordinated attack led by the combined forces of Facebook and Google+ had taken out Twitter for the sole purpose of shortening my lifespan.  I was practically running around the room screaming for valium when I thought I had lost the follower count I had worked so hard to build. 

As horrible as that scenario would have been, had it been in any way true, it would not have been the end of the world.  Well, I say that only because the problems seem to have been fixed, but still…I would have survived. 

I would have simply had to find another way of reaching out to the wonderful friends and fellow writers I have met using said social networks.  

We don’t live in the same world I grew up in, and that is both a sad fact of life and a blessing.  

Just three weeks ago I was, for lack of a better phrase, moping around the house without a drop of energy or inspiration to keep me going. 

I still wrote the blog every day.  And if the opportunity presented itself, I would open a file here and there just to click the keys until I had tweaked a sentence, or moved a paragraph, before saving and closing it again until the next time.  Even my website was neglected; its pages dull and lifeless, the forum passed over and forgotten like last year’s tomato plants.  Worse than that, I was dull and lifeless…my creativity zapped from me like a firefly dying on the floor.  

My keys to imagination land, lost in the couch cushions of life. 

Then one day about three weeks ago, as a flash of my old self was shining from behind the dark curtain of indifference, I met them…one by one.  Other writers.  Fellow travelers on the same path as me.  But I didn’t meet them at the grocery store or the library.  I didn’t find them at a coffee shop or a pharmacy. 

I met them on a social network. 

And thanks in large part to their friendship; my spark is back…my enthusiasm for life returned.  I am writing again.  Not just a blog, but a manuscript.  Not just a few clicks on a screen, but page after page of dialogue. 

I have opened a page on my website for other writers to share their work—a place where we can critique each other, and support each other’s dreams.  I know what I want again…and I’m prepared to reach for that shooting star, even if there’s a risk of my hand getting burned, because I know my friends will stand behind me.  Encouraging me every step of the way.  With tweets and messages.  IMs and emails. 

A social network made up of friendship…the new fashioned way.

Until the next time…I’ll be chatting with my friends!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

all aboard!

 

As days go…today was pretty low key.  I didn’t do much other than write. 

And I’ve decided revisions aren’t really so bad after all.

It was a lot like getting a new haircut.  I was nervous about chopping it, but excited to see what it would look like when I was done.  I don’t know what is harder, parting with my hair, or parting with words I created out of thin air.  It’s moments like this when I have to dig deep and find new inspiration.  Someone gave me very good advice once upon a time…they said, “Don’t be married to the words, just the ideas.”  Well, I followed that advice today, and I now have a very fashionable, newly revised Chapter One. 

Now I just have to move on to the rest of it.  One step at a time, I guess. 

I may even go to bed at a reasonable time tonight…well…maybe not.  I’m on a roll, and everyone knows you can’t interrupt creativity when you’re lucky enough to feel it.  So I’m putting the music on auto repeat, and I’m diving in.  It’s like I’m catching the twelve-thirty transport to imagination land.  I have a one way ticket, and no plans of coming back tonight. 

Who knows…maybe I’ll see you there.  I’ll be the one in the long shimmery ball gown, dancing with the dashing young guy…on roller skates. 

Well, it is my imagination, after all.

Until the next time…I’ll be boarding the train, hurry if you want a ride!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

hey katie

I am not boring.

I mean, just for the record, if someone asked you to use one work to describe me, the last word that should come to mind would be boring.

Clumsy, crazy, occasionally obsessive, controlling, colorful, perfect…ok maybe I just slipped that one in, but you get the point. 

The last thing I am is boring.

So for someone to call my writing boring was like telling me my children were unattractive (also not true).  It was like a slap! I’m all for constructive criticism, but ouch! 

So what does one do when something they have put their entire heart and soul into is categorized as boring? 

Revenge!

Ok, so not revenge.  But admit it, you thought about it too…for a second. 

No, instead I am re-evaluating my work.  Reassessing, if you will.  I definitely don’t think it’s boring.  If I did, I would scrap the whole thing now.  Instead I think I’m going to look at the overall picture, and the constructive criticism given out by people who actually like to read girlie fiction.  They are more my demographic anyway.  So I’m going to take their advice, and I’m going to revise, revise, revise.

Is it me or is it a coincidence that revise rhymes with despise?  I think not.

So my plan for the rest of the weekend is to revise my book, To Katie With Love.  Make some changes.  Just a few.

That’s how it works for writers.  Just when you think something is perfect…you realize it isn’t.  And trust me that came as a total shock to me. 

Because, as we all know…I AM perfect.

Ok…Ok, I’m not perfect.  But I was certain Katie was.   I put all of myself into “her” and her story.  I even had other people tell me she was perfect. 

The funny thing about perfect?  It doesn’t exist.

There is always room for improvement, even in the best story.  So back to the drawing board I go, so to speak.  And I’m going to reweave a little magic between the lines.   And if I’m good…and I know I am…I might end up with something even better than what I started with.  That’s how things are. 

In the midst of ashes, a flower grows…or something like that. 

Until the next time…I’ll be making changes!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

thunder rolls...

Well…it’s a Friday night (or Saturday morning depending on your point of view) and that means it’s a ShadowMe Dog Training blog!  And since I’ve had a headache, and therefore cannot think of a single witty thing to say, I think I’ll just let Monique take it from here! 

Atlanta.   July.   The weather forecast remains the same each day—ridiculously hot, miserably humid, and at least a 40% chance of thunderstorms.   For most of us, the thunderstorms present little more than a minor inconvenience—they might make the evening commute more difficult, or interrupt plans outdoors.  But for some of us, those afternoon thunderstorms represent something far more ominous—another torturous afternoon for our thunderstorm-phobic dogs. 

Despite years of research, we still do not know what causes thunderstorm phobias in dogs.  Some dogs seem to be genetically programmed to be fearful of thunderstorms.  According to the AAHA, herding breeds and hounds display thunderstorm distress more frequently than other types of dogs.  They may be responding to noise of the thunder, the flash of lightning, changes in pressure, or changes in the natural electrical field— we just don’t know.  Other dogs develop thunderstorm phobia as the result of a bad experiences, such as my Shelties, Bock and Shadow.

 Bock and Shadow did not develop a fear of thunderstorms until the middle of their lives.  We moved to coastal North Carolina in 1996.  During our time there we experienced hurricane after hurricane—Bertha, Fran, Bonnie, Floyd…and I may even be missing one or two.  Each hurricane brought with it hours of high winds and heavy rains.  The noise from the storms could be unbearable, leaving us worried for our safety.  The tall pines outside would whip violently with the winds, often breaking and causing tremendous damage to homes and property.  The storms would be followed by days of oppressive heat made worse by a lack of electricity.  Not having a generator, opening the windows was the best we could do to help cool the house. 

Those storms and their aftermath left us all shaky and frightened, including the dogs.  Bock and Shadow both developed severe cases of thunderstorm phobia following our first hurricane experience.    They were able to identify a storm approaching over an hour before its arrival.  Panting, pacing, whining, and hiding under the bed were all behaviors that preceded the arrival of a storm.  Once the storm was upon us, both Shelties would shake violently, pant, and huddle as close to us a possible.   As the storm passed, both dogs would fall into an exhausted sleep.  Their fear of storms also became associated with other normal events, however, such as the opening of windows. 

At the time, I knew few ways to comfort my dogs, other than to just be there for them.  Fortunately, our understanding of dog behavior has grown exponentially in the past fifteen years.  We now have many highly effective interventions for thunderstorm phobic dogs which help ease their fear and anxiety.

Help your dog by learning to recognize subtle cues to stressed behavior so that you can act quickly with fear-reducing interventions.  The first cues that your dog is becoming stressed may include whining, sweaty paws, lip licking, yawning, and overall restlessness.  As he becomes more stressed, you may notice unexpected house training mistakes—diarrhea is common, rapid/shallow breathing or panting, drooling, shaking, and hiding in closets, under furniture, or even in bathtubs or showers.  By intervening at the first signs of stress, you may prevent a major fear episode.

For dogs will mild thunderstorm phobia, food dispensing toys such as the Tug-A-Jug, Kibble Nibble, and Kong provide both mental and physical stimulation which helps reduce stress.   I know that when my stress levels peak, I head straight for the fridge.  Eating is a pleasant experience which helps alleviate my stress (at least until the next time I step on a scale…) Chewing provides similar stress relief for our dogs—but they don’t have access to the fridge like we do.  Providing one of these toys may help your dog through thunderstorms.   Eating the food released from the toy is a pleasant experience for the dog, which classically conditions the dog to view the storms in a more positive light.  Other chew toys may also provide relief. I prefer bully sticks as they are high in nutrients and fully digestible, unlike rawhide.  Hollow marrow bones are also effective, as the hollow center of the bone can be stuffed with human food items such as peanut butter or spray cheese. 

For dogs with more severe thunderstorm distress, prepare a safe room for your dog.  Identify the hiding spot your dog has chosen and adapt the space so that it provides even more comfort and safety.  Crate trained dogs may prefer the safety of their crate.  Covering the crate with a blanket may increase your dog’s comfort.  I never close the crate door of a dog with thunderstorm phobia!  If the dog panics, they may severely injure themselves by trying to escape the crate!

One of my favorite additions to a dog “safe-room” or crate area is Dog Appeasing Pheromone, marketed commonly as Comfort Zone or DAP.  DAP is similar chemically to the pheromones produced by lactating bitches.  It works because it reminds the dog of the security of being with mom and littermates.  DAP is available in a spray form and as a plug-in diffuser.  Adding DAP plug-in diffusers in the dog’s safe area may provide comfort.  DAP spray can also be applied to a bandana worn around the dog’s neck  or on your pant leg if he prefers to move around with you during a storm. 

Music, such as Through a Dog’s Ear, a CD available through DogWise, www.dogwise.com, can also lessen anxiety associated with thunderstorms.  We recommend Through a Dog’s Ear frequently, as the music was chosen specifically for its calming effect on dogs.  Playing this music in the dog’s safe room/crate area during thunderstorms, other stressful events, or even in the car for trips may have a positive calming effect for fearful animals.

My favorite intervention for thunderstorm phobic dogs, by far, is the Thundershirt.  Don’t be put-off by its appearance—yes, it does look like a doggy coat.  But, no, I am not encouraging you to dress your dog up in cute outfits.  The Thundershirt works by applying constant, gentle pressure on your dog’s body.  Think of it as swaddling a baby—remember how an inconsolable infant falls asleep after being snugly swaddled in a blanket?  The Thundershirt works the same way.  Using pressure to relieve anxiety has been used in many settings for many years—and it really does work.   Studies indicate that symptoms of anxiety are reduced in 80% of pets wearing a Thundershirt.  The Thundershirt is available online at www.thundershirt.com, as well as in progressive pet stores such as Pet Supermarket.    In a pinch, a tight-fitting t-shirt, or even an ace bandage wrapped around your dog’s abdominal area may provide similar relief as well.

Finally, drug intervention may be an appropriate choice to help your dog find relief during thunderstorm season.  Natural remedies such as Rescue Remedy and Melatonin may provide relief for dogs with mild anxiety.  For dogs with more extreme fear, Benadryl, Xanax, and Clomicalm may be necessary.   Discuss these options with your veterinarian to determine which is best for your dog.

I cannot stress safety for you thunderstorm phobic dog strongly enough.  Never leave a thunderstorm phobic dog outside unattended during thunderstorm season.  Their desire to escape the storm may lead them to dig out or go over a fence.  They quickly become lost and disoriented from their fear.  Don’t let your dog’s fear lead to another tragedy—losing his family.   All thunderstorm phobic dogs should be permanently identified by microchip, as well as always wearing collar ID tags. 

I hope this information helps keep all of your pooches safe during thunderstorm season!  If you have any questions on how to help your pet, please feel free to contact me, monique@shadowmedogtraining.com.  I would be more than happy to help!

Monique

 

Yay!  I wouldn’t mind a nice thunderstorm lulling me to sleep after that.  Lucky for me, my dogs have no fear of thunder, but I know many who do.  I hope this helps those of you who cringe at the mere thought of a storm in the forecast.

Until the next time…I’ll be pulling out my thunder and rain CD’s to sleep to!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

just grin and bear it!

It was my idea to blog every single day.  No one made me do it.  No one took me aside and said the earth would stop revolving if I skipped a day.  So why do I feel so completely compelled to blog even when my head wants to explode from the pressure?

Because I made a promise to myself, and if I break a promise to me, I will just keep breaking promises all over the place. 

So I blog when I’d rather sleep.

And I think…if I recycle something really old, will they even notice?  Will they?

Right now I’m busy trying to come up with something new and fresh for tonight’s post. I admit that I feel some degree of pressure after the great response I got from everyone on the last one. Pressure to entertain my growing fan base (how exciting it is for me to call you that!) Pressure to be witty…original…relevant…

I feel sort of like a kid in a school talent show—standing up on a stage under a bright spotlight—trying to come up with a spectacular act on a moment’s notice.

You know kids, we never plan ahead. We just jump in with both feet and hope things work out for the best. So I do my little tap dance…hum a few bars of my favorite song (the one I actually know most of the words to)…blow a familiar tune on a plastic horn and…wait for it…the grand flourish…the big finish…

TAH DAH…

And what do I hear after my big finale? 

The sound of crickets chirping in the audience. It’s like a bad nightmare! Then I remember that I can actually sing. I’m even pretty good at it. I could definitely hold my own on a stage! I do it frequently, in fact. But the stage I’m on now is not a karaoke stage. No, it’s the stage of public opinion. So here I am…the dancing bear…performing solely for your entertainment. I hope you are having as much fun as I am!

Until the next time…I’ll be dancing!!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

the adventures of twitter girl

“Have you ever felt as if you were saving the world, one reader at a time?”

I was asked that question this evening by a fellow writer, and after taking just a minute to think about it…yes, I think might feel that way.

Sort of.

In the real world (a place I am frequently forced to visit) I do get requests for insight and advice with some regularity.  Usually things like…”how do you spell (insert word here)” or “should pick the red or the pink polish for my toes?” And I rise to the occasion like the superhero I am… “Go for the pink, it’s more flattering to your skin,” and “the S is silent in Illinois.”

If you’ve been following my blog, you know I have recently become addicted to Twitter.  I have met several very nice, very eloquent writers there.  It really is like a trendy club where the cool kids get to hang out.  I might not be a cool kid yet, but I have definitely made the guest list for some pretty happening parties.  I even met a writer who has nicknamed me The Great Gazoo, after Fred Flintstone’s snarky Martian sidekick.  She said when she was stuck for ideas or ready to give up for the day, I was there with just the right encouragement, whether day or night…like Gazoo.  I like the comparison.  It makes me feel like a Martian superhero.  

As if I didn't already have delusions of grandeur, today I started a discussion group on the website for writers to share pages and critique each other.  The response has been amazing.  I now have my very own critique, or “critty” group.  I’m part of a club.  Just a bunch of cool kids hanging out to motivate and propel each other to greatness!  Yeah…superhero stuff right here.

So I tell my family how great I am, and how I need to go dig out that baby blanket the kids used to use as a cape and they just stare at me…mouths open like big fish…crickets chirping in the background, and ask me, “did you remember to wash my shirt?” 

I didn’t.

My cape is confiscated.  The big blue painter’s tape "T" is pulled from my shirt and I’m sent to the laundry room…back to the real world. 

It would seem they didn’t get the memo from Twitter.

Until the next time…I’ll be pulling out my cape once they’re all asleep!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

forgive me if my dreams are cramping your style

It was an ordinary Tuesday.

The dishes were piling up in the sink waiting for their turn in the dishwasher.  The laundry was still in the washer waiting to be moved to the dryer.  The floors needed to be vacuumed and the cats were complaining to be fed. 

And I was writing a new query letter for a long forgotten project. 

Going from unpublished to published is not for the weak of heart.  Or mind.  Or body for that matter.  This is a daunting task, and it requires a good bit of work.  And trust me; I have been putting in the work.

The problem is I have neglected the rest of the world to do it. 

Today was one of those days when the real world decided to fight back.  My husband asked me to step out of my protective bubble and wash a dish.  And do some laundry.  And feed the cats. 

Well, he fed the cats, but I’m sure you get the idea.  My dreams of being published were getting in the way of his desire to eat from clean plates.  And just maybe he wasn’t all that happy about it.

I guess it could be my fault.  Even though I have always had the dream…the desire…the drive to see my name in print, I have always deferred to the crowd.  My dreams were on the back burner while the needs of others were met.  Husbands, children, jobs…all taking precedence to my hopes and dreams. 

Well, I have just one thing to say to them now.  Get over it.  The box is open, the dreams are out, and they’re not going back in!  I’m not going to sit back and watch as my dreams wither and die. And I’m not going to let a few query rejections knock me off course.

However, I am going to need to wash more clothes…or stay in the house all day tomorrow.  I officially have no clean underwear. 

Until the next time…I’ll be going commando!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

I want my twitter back!

Someone just pulled the plug on an entire city.  My city.  The city that never sleeps. 

Twitter.

That was earlier tonight and it was only down for a minute…maybe five…but it made me realize yet again how dependent I have become on my social networks. 

Three years ago I was a social networking novice with barely a whisper thin thread of a presence online, and look at me now.  I have Facebook, Twitter,  Google + (the new social network) and four separate email addresses!  I also have a website with multiple pages that are perfect for social interaction with my readers. 

It’s a wonder I actually speak to three dimensional human beings at all anymore.

Speaking of human beings…

I had to call the cable company at five minutes past midnight to find out why my cable (internet and television) was abruptly disconnected right in the middle of a Twitter update.  I knew it wasn’t the bill…someone with the kind of internet addition I have is very meticulous about paying the bill…so why was my entire access to the World Wide Web suddenly severed? 

Just to remind me I’m an addict, it would appear. 

My entire neighborhood is experiencing an outage.  And I would wager a guess that I’m the only one who’s noticed.  Or at the very least, I’m the only one up in arms and experiencing horrible withdrawal symptoms. 

I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have my handy mobile device running off its cell tower internet connection! 

I know…time for an intervention. 

But after years of total submersion in the internet, feeding us knowledge, entertainment, and an endless bridge reaching out to friends, both new and old, who among us could walk away without lasting hunger pangs of remorse?

My husband said it’s coming…the day when the whole thing comes crashing down around us.  I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for that just yet.  I’m just going to use Twitter from my phone until the cable man gets here.

Until the next time…I’ll be connected…somehow.

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

in my pants

I have finally discovered the benefits of Twitter and I think I may need an intervention. 

One thing that has become abundantly clear to me over the past few weeks is how important self-promotion is to a writer.  Especially a writer trying to find an agent or publisher for a project.  This is a process that does not stop when your work in progress is finally finished.  In fact, that is just the beginning.  So how does one succeed in the world of publishing? 

Social networking!

While I realize this is just a small part of the process, it is nonetheless an important one.  A writer needs to build a following, make friends, and be interesting—all that in less than 140 characters!

Twitter seems to be the place to be for writers, publishers and agents alike.  It’s a cool club where everyone pops in and out throughout the day.   And I can be one of the cool kids…one of the witty ones at the lunch table causing milk to come out of noses. 

But there is one big problem…I can’t stop!

Tonight on Twitter the trending topic was a little game of adding “in my pants” to the end of movie titles.  It was addictive.  Think of the possibilities…Dirty Harry…Finding Nemo…Iron Man…yeah…in my pants! 

I think I may have spent more than three hours coming up with movie titles instead of working on my manuscript.  This is not helping my productivity!  I am in serious need of an intervention! 

All it took was another rejection letter to sober me up.  There aren’t enough hours in the day for “in your pants” fun when you have a manuscript that needs work.  So I’m up for a few more hours, and hopefully a few thousand well-chosen words before bed.  Monday morning will find me diving back in with a vengeance, because the road to success is paved with hard work, dedication, and maybe a few sprinkles of fairy dust for good measure!

Until the next time…I’ll be working my butt off…in my pants!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

it's ok...I'm just a writer

I often wonder what my neighbors must think of me. 

When I’m not carrying bodies wrapped in blankets from the house to the car, I am fencing phantoms in the dark. 

But really, it’s not as bad as it sounds. 

I don’t actually make a habit of carrying bodies to the car.  In fact, I would rather I had never carried a body to the car, but my dearly departed Labrador, Cybil had the horrible misfortune to die in my living room.  And in carrying her to the car, I found myself imagining the circumstances to be far more sinister than they were.  In my head, I was an assassin getting rid of evidence.  So I’m sure my neighbors found this disturbing.  And I’m certain they watch me with a bit more than casual curiosity now.

Which is why I am certain they are wondering what the hell I was doing at two o’clock in the morning as I appeared to be fencing phantoms on the front walk. 

Again, it’s not as bad as it sounds.

At two o’clock in the morning, I got a phone call from my son saying he needed to be picked up from work.  And at two o’clock in the morning as I stepped out the front door, I spied an orb weaver spider weaving his web across the walkway that led to the car.  Being a fairly typical woman, I wanted nothing to do with spider webs, especially ones with resident spiders in them, so I picked up a stick and waved it in front of me like Peter Pan battling invisible pirates.

All the way to the car!

I’m fairly certain the neighbors think I’m crazy.  And quite possibly dangerous. 

I just don’t live in the same world as everybody else.  Everything in my world has the possibility for adventure…the potential for make-believe. 

And go ahead and laugh next time you see me swinging a stick in the air like a Jedi Knight…the humor isn’t lost on me.  I laugh at myself practically every day!

What can I say…I’m a writer!

Until the next time…I’ll be checking in to my land of make-believe for a little writing tonight!

Copyright © 2000-2025, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.