Novel may be dedicated to dog

Over at Tingle Alley, in an interesting post on writers and potchke, Carrie explains why her novel may be dedicated to her dog instead of to her parents or her husband:

She’s five pounds and sleeps in my lap as I work. When I try to get up from the chair, she stirs and groans and generally carries on (all of her complaints are backed by horrendous breath, which smells like an egg-salad sandwich crawled into her mouth to die). It seems like she’s fulfilling the most basic, yet most essential, function of a muse: To keep the writer’s ass sitting down in the chair.


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