Be Brave Friday: Losing Gabby Dog

I posted this on social media and Medium last week. Shaun posted about it yesterday. And it still hurts to post it here, but here goes. . .

Most people post about their dogs doing one of a few things: 1) Being sick. 2) Being stupid. 3) Persevering and/or needing love or giving love.

Love, endurance, dorkiness are traits of most dogs. It’s part of why we love them so much. They are faithful companions and almost always give us love no matter how schmucky we are.

Gabby was a love guru despite being tied to a tree and starving for most of her first year. I picked her up from a rescue that dropped off, my Southern, rural girl on the cobbled streets of Cambridge, Massachusetts (right by Harvard). She was trembling, terrified by the cars and the noise and in pain from ear infections and her horrible lack of any muscle (part of the consequences of her abuse).

Em (my daughter) and I loved her instantly.

“Oh, my poor baby,” I said and Gabby’s tail wagged.

Gabby the dog

She leaned up right next to me, something she would do for the next ten years. She leaned. She hugged, pushing her chest into mine, her head on my shoulder. She was always there through heartbreak, through the loss of my parents, through everything.

According to sources every year over 3.3 million dogs are brought into animal shelters. Gabby was one of those dogs. Only 23 percent of those dogs are rescued. Mangy, broken, terrified, unable to grow correctly because she’d been chained and starved. She barked a lot. Had issues about protecting her food. And she and Scotty (our other rescue mixed Pyr) challenged each other a bit for alpha for awhile.

It didn’t matter.

Gabby had only two modes. Love and protection.

A few years ago, when Gabby had her knee operation, a vet’s assistant called me two hours before I was supposed to come pick her up.

“Please come get your dog,” she said.

“Is she alright?”

“She won’t stop howling.”

When I got to the vet’s office three minutes later, I heard Gabby’s bellows, sad and mournful — a calling and a hope. The vet personnel looked haunted and aggrieved and as they saw me they said, “She woke up before any dog has ever. And she’s been like this. We think she is lonely for you.”

“Oh, my poor puppy,” I said.

And the moment I spoke, the howling stopped.

“Apparently, she knows you’re here,” the assistant said and then yelled over her shoulder. “Someone get Gabby!” She turned back to me, gave me all the rules of Gabby’s healing and said, “Good luck with this.”

Gabby staggered out, loopy, but she came right to me, wagged her tail and leaned in. I lifted her seventy pounds into the car, looked at her big bandage, and said, “We can be broken together, baby.”

Gabby with her favorite mouse toy

There are a lot of sources that say that dogs decrease loneliness and anxiety by 60 percent. Gabby decreased it by 99 percent.

I was single when I first got Gabby, and her aftercare wasn’t easy, but we did it. Gabby is a Great Pyrenees and she only trusted our dogs; all others were potential threats. If someone visited who had a past history of cocaine use, she’d bark at them the entire time they were in the house. If they were male and had a certain aggressive energy, she’d bark at them the entire time they were in the house. If they wore a white baseball hat, she’d bark at them the entire time they were in the house.

If I was alone and taking a shower, she’d come upstairs with me and take watch out the bedroom window. Other than when we went to bed, it was the only time she went upstairs.

If Gabby was on walks and children stopped to see her, she would stand there as they pet her, gently wagging her tail, letting them love her. And they would. Gabby understood what love was and sadly she also understood what love wasn’t.

Gabby chilling on the back deck

Gabby was pretty sure her job was to keep her family, the other dogs and cats and people safe. She never stopped loving us. She never stopped being broken. And she never stopped being lonely for me. And she allowed me to be a better person. I wanted to help other people who were feeling down, the way I sometimes felt down, but I couldn’t just post self-affirming wisdom or thoughts in my own voice because I had a wicked amount of imposter syndrome.

Plus, I knew people respond well to images on social media as opposed to words. As an author, I needed to tweet or post, but I couldn’t bring myself to post photos of my food or my own thoughts or the minutiae of the day.

So, I posted daily photos of Gabby and Sparty (my other dog) and Scotty (my other dog who died) and the cats. I would give them thoughts and words that felt like them, but also felt like me. Gabby usually got the posts about love because Gabby was love.

Gabby by the ocean

A lot of times I’ve wanted to stop posting those week-daily animal motivation/inspiration, but then I’d get private message from people. One mom’s son looked forward to seeing Gabby and Sparty every day and shared her photos and messages in a children’s cancer ward. A man told me that sometimes seeing my animals was one of the few things he could hold onto when he thought he couldn’t make it through another day.

Gabby was a light. And she gave people hope. She gave me hope that no matter how badly you’ve suffered, no matter how much pain you have, you can still find great joys and great love in each damn moment that you have.

Gabby loved food. She loved cuddling. She loved the cats. She loved being brushed and then shedding everywhere. She loved barking, her low, rumbling bark. She loved running around despite her broken body, hopping like a bunny, wagging her tail so hard that she broke its tip against the wall of our house. And she loved us.

Gabby chilling with Cloud, her best cat friend.

A couple months ago, Gabby’s back legs stopped being strong. We took her to the vet and he said it was doggy arthritis and put her on some medicine. And two weeks ago, we went on vacation. The day before we did, Gabby romped around the house, back legs shaking a bit, cuddled with Cloud the cat and me, took a neighborhood walk, looked down the street. I posted her photo.

Big, fluffy dog in a sweater turning around rather than walking down a nasty, slushy road that has a car parked in the center of it.
Gabby looking down the wintery street

About nine days into our vacation, the vet called. All he did was say his name.

I said, “Oh no. This is terrible.”

“It is. It is terrible,” he said.

It turns out that Gabby had a doggy neurological disease and that she quickly took a turn for the worse while we were away. The vet said she was still smiling and lovely and not suffering, but there was no hope. We started to drive home — a trip of about twenty-six hours — and cancelled the rest of our vacation.

And Gabby died. Her body, her broken and beautiful body, gave up.

Love doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. You can be broken; you can be afraid of being lonely; but you can still love.




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Thanks to all of you who keep listening to our weirdness on the DOGS ARE SMARTER THAN PEOPLE podcast and our new LOVING THE STRANGE podcast.

We’re sorry we laugh so much… sort of. 

Please share it and subscribe if you can. Please rate and like us if you are feeling kind, because it matters somehow. There’s a new episode every Tuesday!

Thanks so much for being one of the 263,000 downloads if you’ve given us a listen!

One of our newest LOVING THE STRANGE podcasts is about the strange and adorably weird things people say?

And one of our newest DOGS ARE SMARTER THAN PEOPLE episode is about fear setting and how being swallowed by a whale is bad ass.

And Carrie has new books out! Yay!

You can order now! It’s an adult mystery/thriller that takes place in Bar Harbor, Maine. Read an excerpt here!

best thrillers The People Who Kill
The people who kill

It’s my book! It came out June 1! Boo-yah! Another one comes out July 1.

And that one is called  THOSE WHO SURVIVED, which is the first book in the the DUDE GOODFEATHER series.  I hope you’ll read it, like it, and buy it!

The Dude Goodfeather Series - YA mystery by NYT bestseller Carrie Jones
The Dude Goodfeather Series – YA mystery by NYT bestseller Carrie Jones



I do art stuff. You can find it and buy a print here. 

Poem About Gabby Dog

Carrie Does Poems
Carrie Does Poems
Poem About Gabby Dog

Hi! This year (2022), I’ve decided to share a poem on my blog and podcast and read it aloud. It’s all a part of my quest to be brave and apparently the things that I’m scared about still include:

  1. My spoken voice
  2. My raw poems.

Thanks for being here with me and cheering me on, and I hope that you can become braver this year, too!

Gabby Dog Poem

There can be no doubt,

her fluffy, furry, slobbery self

was meant to save us just not

the way she thought,

not from little gray squirrels

allegedly terrorizing the house,

standing on porch railings

as they stashed nuts

into their cheeks;

nor from Fed-Ex drivers,

obviously nefarious,

with those cardboard boxes

that could contain something awful

like ear cleaning solution or cats;

nor from the lumbering man

who drug oil lines through the snow,

hooking up house to car

like some cartoon villain ready to detonate explosives,

but from our own forever brokenness,

the way our hearts yearned

to just be loved by someone

despite all our flaws.

Hey, thanks for listening to Carrie Does Poems.

The music you hear is made available through the creative commons and it’s a bit of a shortened track from the fantastic Eric Van der Westen and the track is called “A Feather” and off the album The Crown Lobster Trilogy.

The man in my driveway and yes, I’ve lost two best friends

Recently one of my friends asked about the past best friends in my life and I told her how two of my last closest friends had died. She had a hard time with that.

One of those friends grew old enough for his big, ancient wool sweaters to hang off his scarecrow shoulders when I took him to doctor’s appointments. One died cooking breakfast for visitors at an inn, his gorgeous heart taking him away.

And this past Friday, another friend fell to the floor and never regained consciousness. She had done so much for me when we were Rotary International zone coordinators together and it still seems impossible that she’s gone.

I miss my friends all the time, but I always feel so lucky that I had them in my life. My friend cried about this. I didn’t. When I told my daughter about it she just said, “You’re resilient, Mommy. That’s okay.”

“I am?”

I’m not sure if she’s right, but I know those men, Grady and Don, are stories that I’ve pulled into my own heart, stories that I can pull out when I need them, remember, and bask in the warmth. Karen will be like that, too. But not all stories are quite like that. Not all of them have known endings.

About ten years ago for about a month, every night when I walked my dogs, there was this guy standing in front of my driveway. 

This would be okay, but he never spoke.


Like Scotty the dog would run right towards him and the guy just stood there….

And I would say, “Oh! Sorry! My dog likes people. Too much.”

The man? He just still stood there….

Then I’d say, “Yeah … Sorry! Have a good night.”

The man? He just kept standing there.

I tried to figure out if he was doing normal standing there outside man things such as:

1. Talking on his cell phone.
2. Smoking a cigarette.
3. Mumbling to himself about the zombie apocalypse.
4. Debating whether or not Dancing With The Stars or The Voice is fixed. 

But he wasn’t.

At all.

He was just standing there. He always turned and faced me too when I came out, but because it was so dark where I lived, I could never actually make out much of his face.

And then I blogged about him (on LiveJournal, it was awhile ago) and he never came back.

He became an unsolved mystery, a constant presence that just–poof!–disappeared.

There is more than logic at work at times like this. Our brains know the possibilities, the complexity of reasons why a man might be randomly standing at the end of a stranger’s driveway, might shirk away when she tries to communicate–how big, how far apart–realities can be. But there is also a beautiful kind of magic in the possibilities–the whispers of potential communication, the stages of a life, the stories of it.

I’ll never know. For some reason, a man stood at the end of my driveway every night, always when I walked my dogs, even when I varied the times. For some reason, my two best friends are not here, breathing, on this earth anymore. For some reason, I am resilient.

Night in rural Maine is dark and it’s hard to see people’s faces, but when tourists visit and they remember to look up, they see skies full of beauty, stars shining out, tiny bits of past lights, so many potential stories. You remember how little you can be and also how big, how the world can make you feel so isolated and also so connected. All at once.

Maybe everyone has a random man at the end of the driveway. If we notice him, maybe he notices us, too. If we see the outline of him and he doesn’t wave back, it doesn’t matter because he was there before he was gone. Just like we are. A story we might not never know the end of, but still a story that we can try to make big and beautiful.

The Places We Hide by Carrie Jones
The Places We Hide by Carrie Jones (That’s me. If you click the image, it will bring you to the Amazon page!)

The third book in Rosie and Seamus’s story of adventure, mystery, and death is here!

I hope you’ll support me, have a good read, and check it out!

great new mystery
romantic suspense set in Bar Harbor Maine

Sometimes the treasure is not worth the hunt . . . .

When a little boy goes missing on a large Maine island, the community is horrified especially almost-lovers Rosie Jones and Sergeant Seamus Kelley. The duo’s dealt with two gruesome serial killers during their short time together and are finally ready to focus on their romance despite their past history of murders and torment.

Things seem like they’ve gone terribly wrong. Again. Rosie wakes up in the middle of the woods. Is she sleepwalking or is something more sinister going on?

What at first seems like a fun treasure hunt soon turns into something much more terrifying . . . and they learn that things are not yet safe on their island or in their world. If they want to keep more people from going missing, Rosie and Seamus have to crack the puzzle before it’s too late.

To buy it, click here, and let me know! I might send you something!

Memory is a Special Magic

Last night, I attended my aunt’s Zoom remembrance/memorial/whatever you call these things now. And it was lovely because she was lovely. It was full of brilliant, funny stories and anecdotes and kindness.

But one person stood out among all the beautiful articulate people who spoke. It wasn’t the Congressmen who did a lovely job. It wasn’t the head of a nonprofit or the athletic director of UNH.

It was a five-year-old girl named Grace.

She sat on her mom’s lap, stared patiently at the computer, waiting her turn for well over an hour. Or at least it seemed like she did.

And when her turn came? She blew me away. You have to imagine Grace’s quote with this clear, articulate, pausing-between-most-words, five-year-old’s voice, absolutely convinced in the confidence of her statement and that confidence? It’s deserved.

Here’s what Grace said.

I’m here to tell you that Aunt Max is still alive. She’s in our memory. Memory is a special magic that survives in your whole life.


So many of my friends hurt today and so many days because they miss people, because they blame themselves for other’s deaths, because they long and grieve.

But here’s the thing that Grace knows and I want you to know.

Memory is a special magic that survives your whole life.

And that memory keeps people alive and it can keep the ideas of those people alive. What they loved. What they worked for. What they believed. Their intrinsic values.

That works for countries and communities too.

The job of the living is to embrace that special magic but also use it to shape ourselves, your own families, our communities and our futures.

Dog Tip for Wednesday

It’s easy sometimes to give everyone (especially cats) some side-eye, but giving back to your community, your world?

It’s more than writing a check. It’s about taking a chance, making a life connection, touching someone.

You don’t have to be perfect. Just reach out.


Sparty Dog

New Year’s Gifts and Open Hearts

Open Hearts at Grocery Store

Two years ago, on the last day of 2017 (the no-good, terrible year), I was in the grocery store line and the cashier said something nice about me making a good meal for my man and how cute we are together and then she said, “You’re best buddies. Best buddies forever. Me and my — ” Her voice caught on grief. “We were like that.”

And my heart broke right there.

And I said, “C–, you’re breaking my heart and you’re working and I can’t get over there on the other side of the grocery belt thingy and hug you because you’re working.”

The bagger girl at the end of the lane looked away. I don’t think she’s good with emotion.

But C– just smiled at me and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I have a new man in my life and he’s so sweet to me and he showed up just when I needed him and my J–, I think he sent him to me.”

Her J — is her long-time, forever buddy, her husband who died.

So, I basically emoted all over the place while she rung up my crackers and I was like, “C–! You are killing me. I’m crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m happy for you. I’m crying because you’re so beautiful. And this is all… it’s all so… It’s poignant.”

She laughed.

The bagger kept looking away.

And when I walked out of the grocery store, this person I don’t know, he touched my elbow to make me stop my mad-fast hustle to the car. It was -2 out. It was cold.

The guy who was all bundled up and wearing some Carhartt’s said, “You know. When you have a heart as open as yours, it’s going to hurt sometimes.”

And I said, brilliantly, “Oh.”

“It’s worth it,” he said. “Do good out there, Carrie. Do good.”

I was a little freaked out, but I thanked him, got to my car and sat there, and I just stared at this cold, Maine, parking lot and the people rushing through the grayness that seems to sometimes overwhelm everything during winter and my heart got so full that I started emoting everywhere again because that random Carhartt-wearing man took time out of his day to talk to me. He stopped in the cold to talk to me.

This guy knew my name somehow, but bigger than that? This guy knows about hearts.

Gifts Out There

So, here’s the thing – there are gifts out there (big gifts and little ones) and they can come from the weirdest places. They’re connections. They’re motivations. They are these tiny times where you get to see inside other people’s minds and hearts.

Savor them this year. Try to dwell on those good things as much as we all dwell on the bad.

And let both the good and the bad inspire you to make a difference in your own life and maybe even other people’s lives (big ways and little ways).

cat, cat wisdom, catandkitten, kitten, Maine cat, maine
cat, cat wisdom, catandkitten, kitten, Maine cat, maine

Thank You

Thank you all for everything you’ve done for me this year. You’ve listened to me worry about things like suddenly being a full-time mom again.  You’ve celebrated with me about book stuff and podcast stuff. You’ve mourned with me when Charlene died.

You haven’t mocked me too hard because Grover (the muppet) is my internal cheerleader and John Wayne (dead cowboy movie star) is my internal editor. You’ve been brave with me on Be Brave Fridays when I shared my art, which is still scary by the way.

Some of you have bought my books and become my patrons. On social media, so many of you have been so kind over and over. And you haven’t unsubscribed to my newsletter. That’s such a big deal to me.

Thank you.

I really appreciate how kind and giving you’ve all been and if I write any more I’ll start crying. And there’s no random stranger guy here to make me feel better.

But there is Gabby….

Gabby’s New Year Wisdom

Love is being right in the moment. It’s about enjoying everything around you. And really feeling it, being open to it.

This includes the couch.

It even includes squirrels.

It’s not giving or taking, but who you are in relationship to all else (especially the couch) at that moment.


Gabby Dog

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Continue reading “New Year’s Gifts and Open Hearts”

What I Did Before My Dad Died, Dealing With Grief Through Love

Lately, it feels like a lot of my friends are losing loved ones and family. Grief comes in big ways and small as we all adjust to such huge loss of friends, partners and loves. Sometimes accepting that loss becomes almost unbearable and even as we plan a funeral, a memorial service, we are still in denial. Because it seems so wrong that someone we love so much could suddenly not be there.

I’m a person who doesn’t have any parents or grandparents left and hardly any aunts or uncles. I went from a huge, outgoing family to a family with just a few stragglers. Sometimes it makes me feel terribly alone, so alone that it’s hard to breathe.

My dad died of a quick-moving cancer and lasted about two weeks from his diagnosis to his death, but before all of that, at one of his birthday parties, I wrote him this.

What I Wrote

When I was a little girl, I would sit on the golden sofa in our house and my dad would sit on the floor. I’d take a black plastic comb, the kind you can still buy for 10 cents. With that comb I would pick through his hair.

“Whatcha looking for Carriekins?” he’d ask.

“Bugs,” I’d say in my little three-year-old voice.

“Lice?” he’d ask.


Lice were far too icky and required shaving off your head. Even imaginary lice were too scary to be in my daddy’s hair. 

“Nits?” he’d guess.


“Find any?”

And I would take a pretend bug and show him.

“Oh…” he’d grab the imaginary, nasty bug, carefully look at it and then say, “Yummy.” 

He’d pretend to gobble it up. I’d giggle and giggle and keep finding more. He’d keep eating them. Night after night, he’d do this. Other dads would have rolled their eyes. Other dads may have sighed and gotten up to watch TV. Other dads would have grabbed that comb and said, “Enough.”

Not my dad.

My dad knows how to love.

He still does.

That was so many years ago.

 You’re 75 years old now, Dad. And I haven’t inspected your hair for bugs, but I think there may be a couple or two invisible nits in there right now.

You are 75 years old now and let me tell you and everyone here a few things I’ve learned about you.

I’ve made a list. Of things you aren’t good at. 

You are not a good liar. You always start to fidget and look away when you are supposed to fib. Uncle Kilton is like that too.

You are not a good cheater or pranksteM. Your eyes twinkle too much when you try to pull a fast one and we all know what’s coming.

You are no good at sitting still. You always seem to ache for the movement of your hands and feet, swaying into a purpose. There’s a lawn to fertilize, a chair to build, a person to see, a cat to feed.

You are no good at being selfish. Even though you guys are divorce when Mom needs a ride to the airport. You take her. When a friend is ill. You visit. When there is a presidential election. You volunteer.

You are no good at shirking. You stand up to your responsibilities. You stand up as the man you are, never pretending to be someone different, even if your pants keep falling down.

You are no good at lying, cheating, shirking, sitting still and being selfish. But you are good, you are so good at being Lew Barnard. You are so good at being a father, at being a friend, at being a man.

That’s why we are all here. You are easy to love and for 75 years you have blessed your friends and family with your goofy wit, genuine smile, toothpick eating, ever questioning mind, your forgivenessand your honesty. We love you for it. 

Why I’m Sharing This

There’s only one reason I’m sharing this with you. I wasn’t always a perfect daughter. At one point in my early twenties and I was taking seizure medicine, I barely knew what reality was because my body couldn’t metabolize the medication. I was a grouchy teen. I was bad at staying on the phone with him for hours. But in that one moment, I was so lucky, because I was able to tell my dad how much he meant to me.

And that matters.

And I want to somehow convince all of you to have that moment with the people and animals you love, to show them how much you love them even though you’re imperfect and their imperfect. Don’t be afraid to show them love.

Love isn’t always an easy choice, but it’s a choice to take, always the best choice. Always.

Choose love every day.



My next book, IN THE WOODS, appears in July with Steve Wedel. It’s scary and one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Buzz Books for Summer 2019. There’s an excerpt of it there and everything! But even cooler (for me) they’ve deemed it buzz worthy! Buzz worthy seems like an awesome thing to be deemed!

You can preorder this bad boy, which might make it have a sequel. The sequel would be amazing. Believe me, I know. It features caves and monsters and love. Because doesn’t every story?

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On February first, I launched my Patreon site where I’m reading chapters (in order) of a never-published teen fantasy novel, releasing deleted scenes and art from some of my more popular books. And so much more. Come hang out with me! Get cool things!

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A lot of you might be new to Patreon and not get how it works. That’s totally cool. New things can be scary, but there’s a cool primer HERE that explains how it works. The short of it is this: You give Patreon your paypal or credit card # and they charge you whatever you level you choose at the end of each month. That money supports me sharing my writing and art and podcasts and weirdness with you. 

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Thanks to all of you who keep listening to our weirdness on the DOGS ARE SMARTER THAN PEOPLE podcast as we talk about random thoughts, writing advice and life tips. We’re sorry we laugh so much… sort of. Please share it and subscribe if you can. Please rate and like us if you are feeling kind, because it matters somehow. There’s a new episode every Tuesday!


Hey! If you download the Anchor application, you can call into the podcast, record a question, or just say ‘hi,’ and we’ll answer. You can be heard on our podcast! Sa-sweet!

No question is too wild. But just like Shaun does, try not to swear, okay?

Here is the link to the mobile app. Our latest episode is above. It’s also on YouTube here.

I Miss My Mom – Tempura Vegetables

When I was little I decided to be a vegetarian. This was caused by:

  1. Reading Charlotte’s Web.
  2. Reading Where the Red Fern Grows.
  3. Thinking cows are cute.
  4. Not really actually liking meat.

My family was not cool with this decision. My mom would try to sneak meat in the spaghetti sauce. She would moan about me only eating the sides. She would bribe me with stuffing. And she would moan, “THERE ARE NO VEGETARIAN DISHES TO FEED YOU.”

Spoiler alert: My mom was not big on vegetables unless they had cheese on them.

By the time I went to high school, I was basically existing on carbs and apple juice. My boyfriend decided this was terribly wrong and bought my mom a Moosewood Cookbook, which was super sweet of him.

She sighed, flipped through it, read his inscription and said, “There is nothing in here I want to cook!”

But we made her try the tempura vegetables and the cheese bean pot.  It did not convert her from her canned-vegetables, meat-eating ways. But I did appreciate that she tried. I’ve been missing her a lot lately and she’s been showing up in my dreams, standing just a few paces ahead of me. There’s always this moment where I recognize the back of her head.

A lot of my friends have recently lost their moms, too. So, I think I’m mostly sharing this recipe out of mom love and mom missing.

This recipe is mostly influenced from the Moosewood book, but is also influenced by The Spruce Eats, which is a cooking blog you should definitely check out because it’s a real cooking blog, unlike this. 🙂

Tempura Vegetables of Mom Missing

This is taken from a very old copy of the Moosewood Cookbook, mixed a bit with the fantastic The Spruce Eats. And also I totally round-up on the calories. But also, I’m completely guessing on the calories. Shock! 

NOTE: If you use thick veggies like sweet potatoes, you might want to pre-steam them, because they take awhile to cook.

SECOND NOTE: You can add a dash of sesame oil in the oil if you want. 

THIRD NOTE: Try not to overmix the batter. 

  • 2.5 cups cake flour or sifted all purpose flour
  • 2 cups cold water
  • 3 individual egg yolks
  • .5 tsp salt
  • 3-4 cups oil
  • .5 tsp sugar
  • 3 cups vegetables
  1. Look at your beautiful vegetables. Cry at how cute they are.

    Realize the truth: You miss your mom.

    She might be alive. She might be dead. But you miss her. Unless she was a totally sucky mom and then you miss the mom that you should have had. 

    Moms are complicated. 

  2. Dads are complicated, too. Obviously. But we’re focusing on moms right now. No.

    Focus on the vegetables. Think about how you’d like them to look under the tempura batter. Make them into cool pieces. Tiny broccoli floweret trees. Onion slices. Carrot hunks. Cauliflower blossoms. Mushrooms of wholeness if they are little.  

  3. They are so pretty. Wish you could show your mom. Take a photo and show Instagram instead. 

  4. Make the batter. Think of how flour is messy. 

    Beat the egg yolks into water. Then when it is smooth add the flour, salt, and sugar. Keep stirring until the batter is all combined but do not stir forever! 

    Chill that flour for 15 minutes

  5. Heat the oil in a really large pot. Remember how your mom would not let you do this when you were little because she thought you’d burn yourself.

    Try not to burn yourself. 

  6. If you are me, you burn yourself. 

    Do not be me.

  7. Dip veggies in the batter (which is no longer in the fridge). Then drop them into the oil, which should be at least 325-degrees Fahrenheit. 

    Do not burn yourself again. Ban everyone from the kitchen because they will be gasping and telling you not to burn yourself and honest to God that is so distracting that you probably will burn yourself. 

  8. Have someone get the first-aid kit. 

  9. The veggies are done when they are puffy, brown, and have risen to the surface. Maybe we should call them Resurrection Vegetables? That would be cool, actually. Worry that this is offensive somehow. Decide not to call them that just in case. 

    Plop the on some paper towels to soak up extra oil.

  10. Eat those babies with rice and a tamara-ginger sauce. Or just clean and sauce free. 

Man Verdict: I love these. Thank you for not using tomatoes.

Dog Verdict: YES!

Carrie Verdict: My mom would still hate them.

Writing News

Next and Last Time Stoppers Book

It’s  out! You can order my middle grade fantasy novel Time Stoppers Escape From the Badlands here or anywhere.


People call it a cross between Harry Potter and Percy Jackson but it’s set in Maine. It’s full of adventure, quirkiness and heart.

Moe Berg

The Spy Who Played Baseball is a picture book biography about Moe Berg. And… there’s a movie out now about Moe Berg, a major league baseball player who became a spy. How cool is that?

You should totally buy Carrie’s book about Moe. It’s awesome and quirky and fun.


Thanks to all of you who keep listening to our weirdness as we talk about random thoughts, writing advice and life tips. We’re sorry we laugh so much… sort of. Please share it and subscribe if you can. Please rate and like us if you are feeling kind, because it matters somehow.

dogs are smarter than people carrie after dark being relentless to get published

Writing Coach

Carrie offers solo writing coach services. For more about Carrie’s individual coaching, click here.

Ebook on Sale for October! 

And finally, for the month of July, my book NEED is on sale in ebook version on Amazon. It’s a cheap way to have an awesome read in a book that’s basically about human-sized pixies trying to start an apocalypse.

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I am super psyched to be teaching the six-month long Write. Submit. Support. class at the Writing Barn!

Are you looking for a group to support you in your writing process and help set achievable goals? Are you looking for the feedback and connections that could potentially lead you to that book deal you’ve been working towards?

Our Write. Submit. Support. (WSS) six-month ONLINE course offers structure and support not only to your writing lives and the manuscripts at hand, but also to the roller coaster ride of submissions: whether that be submitting to agents or, if agented, weathering the submissions to editors.

Past Write. Submit. Support. students have gone on to receive representation from literary agents across the country. View one of our most recent success stories here

Apply Now!

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