Essays

My publisher recently sent a highly regarded photographer to take a few new book-jacket and publicity photos of me. No one said it was because in order to make me appear appealing, a photographer of extraordinary talent was needed, with special lighting, and sixteen image consultants. But I knew. I knew. No one said, “Oh, how cute,” when I sat down before the camera, but when my dog Anna entered, fresh from the groomer, the words “cute” and “adorable” and “enchanting” and fluffy” were each used like 7,000 times in half an hour, all in regard to her.

As you know, we writers are known for being without ego, among the humblest people on Earth, demure, and unassuming. So I just smiled and was happy that my sweet puppy was so admired, though in my heart, I hoped that, one day, even if years from now, at least one person would call me fluffy.