Sniffing Out a Good Agent

            My office assistant is asleep, as usual. She can’t type, won’t make coffee, and my fax machine baffles her. But when I need to talk through a plot problem or a new story idea, my loyal dog Jewel is the right girl for the job.

            I decided to take my furry employee on a field trip today. I planned to spend time researching literary agents on the internet and I thought we could both use some time out of the office. Normally dogs and coffee shops don’t mix, but the enclosed patio here at The Backstory Cafe recently opened up to the canine crowd in an effort to bring in some new business. They are trying an “off leash” policy with an intriguing doggie dine-in concept. I’m happy for the Arizona sunshine today and find a spot near the small hydrant-shaped fountain so Jewel can get a drink easily.

            Ordering coffee is time consuming. Jewel thinks anyone within licking distance is here to rub her spotted tummy. Thankfully our waitress tolerates needy Springer spaniels well and is willing to accommodate my companion before reading us the patio specials. I’m sticking with a nonfat latte today and order a nice plate of dog cookies for Jewel.

            When I’m at my laptop, Jewel usually sleeps on my feet, keeping me warm and making sure I stay focused on my work. She’s good at keeping me on track. But today my little helper is overwhelmed by the new smells here, the assortment of dogs, and the prospect of someone new to share a bone with. I, too, am overwhelmed by what I find on my screen. Hundreds of agents represent the kind of book that I just finished. How will I find the right agent for me? Someone who will champion this project and the ones to follow?

            As I continue my search through cyber-space for a career companion, my dog walks over to join the furry group gathered near the potted plants. I’m tapping keys, she’s sniffing tails, but we’re doing the same thing—checking for the good ones. I wonder if either of us will make a connection today.

            Jewel studies the smiling brown boxer, the giant black poodle, and the shaking Chihuahua. They all look like potential dog buddies, but Jewel approaches them cautiously. She smells their tails again. I stare at my growing list of agents and sigh. It’s going to take weeks to research all of these names.

            Jewel returns to the table and sits beside my chair. I give her a cookie and a kiss on her furry head. I start to tell her about my list, but she’s distracted. The happy boxer takes a drink from the fountain and his lapping noise grabs my dog’s complete attention. Jewel cocks her head, listens closely, then walks over to join him. He scoots over to make room. They drink together.

            When Jewel returns to me again, the boxer comes, too. I set the plate of dog cookies down for Jewel and her new buddy. What was it about this dog that made Jewel decide to be his patio friend? Did he show good fountain manners or was it his congenial doggie scent? How will I decide the best match for me?

            I don’t know, I’ll have to go on instinct, like my dog.

Jane wants a new name. Any suggestions?

There is an amazing new barista at The Backstory Cafe this week. She’s a fictional character I’ve been working on for my next novel. This peticular woman was born when the lead of the  story stepped into a small coffee house in the mysterious little town of Cave Creek, and an etherial coffee goddess appeared from behind the counter.

“You named me Jane,” she reminds me with a smirk.

Yes, I did. And she’s not happy about it.

Her long mane of nearly white-blond hair looks impossibly thick, but it suits her. Jane has the glow of good health, even without makeup. I suspect she knows the name of every yoga pose.

Jane’s ability to create the perfect tasting espresso is only surpassed by the artistry she adds to each cup of coffee before it’s served. I watch her create a delicate chocolate flower pattern atop my thick layer of foam.

She reminds me in her warm hypnotic voice that her family has owned the same ranch near Cave Creek for three generations, so she knows why the library was moved  in 1943.  She knows everyone on the town council (and which of them actually have any say in the town’s politics), and why the American Legion club was broken into last Saturday night. Jane is a quiet listener, lulling people into her trust with her honeyed voice. She knows all the town’s secrets.

Jane hints (again) that an interesting character like herself should have a more fitting name. Jane is too plain, she says with that smirk again. I tell her that I like the name Jane.

She turns to show me the tatoo on her left shoulder–a spiraling circle. It reminds me of a petroglyph symbol I’ve seen in Arizona caves. Then another on her ankle, an elaborate mountain scene. Jane is a bigger part of the Cave Creek story than I thought. Maybe I should change her name.

Jane watches my face as I take the mocha from her hands. It’s almost too beautiful to drink, but I taste it anyway. Okay, I’m convinced.

Say hello to the new barista…any suggestions on her new name?

Excerpts From My 2008 Stalker Notebook

First, I want to thank my dear friend Lauren for the writerly gift that included a small journal which was immediately labeled “Stalker Notebook 2009.” It’s not that I actually stalk anyone, I am just observant and I have a pen, and well, nothing makes the basis for great fiction like real people and the crazy things they do. How can I resist?

I am often spying on strangers for ideas, but after reviewing my notes from last year, I have to admit that several of my entries were about my friends and family. Last year produced some great events worth pondering for upcoming short story material. Here are a few entries from my 2008 notebook:

A friend sitting beside me in a cab asked (loudly) if I thought the driver might be an axe murderer. You know who you are!!! I’m still laughing. The fiction writer in me is dying to write all of the things that could have happened next, but didn’t.

I went hiking with a friend last spring and we came upon a snake. It was pointed out to us by another hiker. I’m not a regular to the mountains, but it seemed like there was a general rule to the whole “hey, there’s a snake” thing. This nice hiker guy even had quiet hand signals that kept us a good distance back while he surveyed the scene. Before we had time to worry about snake venom or hospital bills, this much younger guy who had been hiking behind us sped past. He saw the hand signals, he knew the danger, but something in his brain told him to skitter by us very nice ladies on a narrow cliff-edged path to leap by the snake spotter and scurry down the mountain. All we saw was a trail of dust.

A friend and I got photo speeding tickets at the exact highway marker this year, even though it was nearly 100 miles from our neighborhood. First I was the driver, and she was my passenger. Six weeks later it was reversed. It was a noteworthy (and expensive) coincidence.

My notebook also contains a growing list of words my daughter informed me are “totally uncool” and therefore not to be used in public (list begins with the word “groovy” and continues to grow as I verbally embarass her). I’ll continue to add to that list while spying on the world in 2009. What will I find on the pages of my little journal a year from now? I can’t wait to find out!