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I'm not writing today, I don't think; at least, not until I've settled what I'm doing in class tonight and Wednesday and have read my students' essays. But I got to read this, and reflect on awkwardness--sometimes I think, if it weren't for my awkward conversations, I wouldn't have any--and dogs. There were four dogs at Thanksgiving, none of them mine--one of these days, I will again--but all the dogs present were dogs of people who had had, and loved, previous dogs, and we had all known and loved the past dogs, too. Two mixes, a pitty, and a Cavalier. I got to pet them and have pie. And while grocery shopping this morning, one of my characters talked about recognizing, finally, that her house was just too big for her, by herself, a year after her partner's death. Yes, even with a new puppy. The realization was painful, and necessary, and I hope I can do that feeling justice when I write it. Her dog, Beanie, doesn't think she's awkward, and none of my dogs have ever thought so, either, bless them. Regards to Sid, and thanks for this.

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Nov 28, 2021Liked by Jami Attenberg

I love your writing and can relate to the awkwardness in everything I do. Thanks for this post.

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You have perfectly articulated why I feel so off on days when I don't write, one of those things that's so hard to understand myself, let alone explain to other people.

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