Transitions

Transition is the word I most hate seeing in the editorial notes I receive

from my editor during the revision process.  Straddling the in-between and

finding a way to seamlessly bridge narrative scenes is where it seems I

most need to develop my skills as a writer.  

But transitions, I’ve discovered, are difficult for many writers.  Which makes

sense, because outside of the publishing world, transitions on every level

are challenging.  Over the past several weeks, I’ve worked on many

transitions of my own.  

Several years ago I transitioned from writing picture books to writing middle

grade novels, and now I have completed my very first YA novel, entitled

For Lamb, which will release in 2023.  (Look for an upcoming ARC

giveaway coming soon!)  

Last month I watched as my youngest daughter transitioned from a college

student at Emory University into her first job offer and moved into her very

first apartment.  

But the most challenging transition this year was watching my dear, sweet

foster dog fail Miles Morales, who was as active and energetic as a puppy,

begin to decline.  He’d received a bladder cancer diagnosis the month

after I’d signed his adoption papers.  It was terminal, the vet informed me,

but Miles seemed determined to defy the three-month prognosis he was

given.   

When I first met Miles, he had spent much of his nine years in the shelter

system.  He’d been used as a bait puppy, his teeth were intentionally

ground down, I suppose so he couldn’t defend himself against dogs who

were attacking him.  Yet, when I arrived at the shelter in 2021, he looked at

me with sheer, unblemished trust.  

Perhaps it was because he had spent so much time indoors in shelters for

much of his life, but he loved the outdoors.  He begged to spend long hours

outside, often dragging me along as he happily trotted on miles long walks. 

He loved basking in the sun, exploring the woods beyond our home,

sniffing flowers, napping in the grass.  His all-time favorite activity was

burying bones and toys in hiding spots that he would later unearth and

move to “safer,” more secure locations, away from our prying eyes.  

He arrived in winter but when the weather warmed, I put his water bowl out

on the deck where he’d hydrate after a busy spell of one of the

aforementioned activities. Each morning when I woke, I filled my tea kettle

and replenished his outdoor water bowl to ready us both for our busy days

ahead. 

But then, as his cancer spread, and my once active Miles slowed to a halt, I

had to make a difficult decision.    Last week, Miles transitioned just as I

imagine he would have loved. In a field of grass, under the shade of a tree,

with family by his side.

Transitions are hard.  But they are also a necessary part of writing, moving

forward, moving on, and can be a beautiful stage in straddling the lives we

lived and what lies beyond.