One of the ways his loved ones coped was to fold origami cranes. Thousands of them. Their goal was to fold a symbolic 1,000 cranes, but they exceeded that number. At his memorial service, they handed out the extras.

I thought this was a beautiful idea and decided to learn how to fold cranes. For Christmas, I received a book on origami and a couple of packs of patterned paper. Last week, I opened them for the first time.

Cranes are not difficult to fold, but unless you have someone to show you in person, I recommend following along with a book, starting with the more basic shapes until you master the preliminary fold and the petal fold.

Here is my offering for the Weekly Photo Challenge: Pattern:

Monica Drake, author of The Stud Book, was joined by her Portland writer buddies Chuck Palahniuk and Chelsea Cain for a night of flashing devil horns, glow-in-the-dark beach balls, and R-rated bedtime stories.

That’s me, dead center, in red and blue. Photo: Bellingham Herald.

Everyone in attendance went home with a signed copy of The Stud Book, which I read over the weekend.

The book jacket had me at “Sarah studies animal behavior at the zoo.”

The Stud Book is a brilliantly written and totally engrossing exploration of breeding, mostly among a group of female friends in Portland, interspersed with fascinating details about animal husbandry.

Dark and absurdist in tone, the things that happen to these characters feel like they could really happen. I love it when an author really goes there. Even scenes I found off-putting (like Georgie’s husband at the bar while she struggles at home with a newborn) paid off in the end.

Generally, I’m weary of books that bounce between narratives about multiple characters. When you like some characters more than others, it’s frustrating to leave them behind for a less interesting storyline. In this book, I got wrapped up in all the characters, eager to see what would happen next.

As a rule, I like novels to have more resolution to their resolution than The Stud Book does. However, I will forgive Drake for this open-endedness because the book was so thought-provoking, I don’t mind filling in the blanks with what I think will happen next.

So smartly written. I look forward to reading more from Drake.

The idea behind World Book Night is to get books in the hands of people who don’t read much, or at all, or who don’t have the resources to buy books.

When I applied to be a World Book Night giver, I requested books that are appropriate for young people, because frankly, I consider all youth to be at-risk youth. I was delighted to be chosen to give away Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street.

I made prior arrangements to give half of my books to a youth program whose members “love to read,” but don’t necessarily have access to new books. The second half, I really wanted to share with kids who didn’t consider themselves readers. I drove down a street block usually crowded with juvenile delinquents. I’m not being bigoted here; I know for a fact that the regulars on these street corners have served time. Sadly, I didn’t see any of them at 6 pm on this Tuesday evening, so I headed for the skate park.

The House on Mango Street is appropriate for both genders, of course, but because the main character is a young girl, I approached three pierced skater girls.

“Do you want a free book?”

Skater Girl 1 shook her head. Why would anyone turn down a free book?

“It’s not religious or anything,” I offered, waving the brightly colored paperback in her face.

She shook her head again. I said, “You really have no interest in reading this book? It’s really good.”

Skater Girl 2 said somewhat snottily, “I don’t think this is the place to try to sell books.”

Exactly why I chose it. “I’m not selling them. They’re free.”

With an “Oh, in that case” shrug, Skater Girls 2 and 3 took books, and I guess peer pressure got the better of Skater Girl 1, because she took one too.

Jackpot, I thought, wondering whether I’d find the books later, lying at the bottom of the ramp with skateboard tracks across their covers. How can I avoid being like the cop who bought that homeless guy a pair of boots only to find the homeless guy barefoot again the next day?

I crossed the skate park, on my way to another group that included young women when a Skater Dude saw my cardboard box. “Is that ice cream?”

“No, it’s better. Free books!”

I gave copies to him and two other nearby dudes and overheard one say, “Since when do you read books?”

Yes, I was definitely in the right place.

After a novel has had tremendous success, readers often seek out the author’s first books, which for whatever reason, escaped notice when originally released.

More than a decade before The Art of Racing in the Rain became a New York Times Bestseller, Garth Stein published Raven Stole the Moon. The jacket summary intrigued me: a Seattle woman grieving the loss of her five-year-old son returns to her ancestral hometown in Alaska where she is confronted by Tlingit spirits. In the afterword, Stein confesses that when the book was reprinted in 2010, the only thing he wanted to change was the overuse of swear words.

I wanted to enjoy Raven Stole the Moon more than I did. I didn’t relate to main character Jenna as much as I related to the dog narrator of The Art of Racing in the Rain. I suspect this is due to a combination of Stein’s relative inexperience as novelist at the time and the fact that he’s a man. Sometimes male writers have trouble realistically creating female characters (and vice versa, I’m sure). In some ways, the plot was predictable and both Jenna and her husband’s choices irritated me. The supernatural aspects to the story didn’t quite work for me either.

I expected to be similarly underwhelmed by Sharp Objects, the first novel of Gillian Flynn, whose Gone Girl was the psychological thriller of 2012. Instead, I found Sharp Objects to be the more satisfying of the two. Another very dark thriller, Sharp Objects is about a second-rate newspaper reporter returning to her hometown in Missouri to write about the possible serial murders of two young girls. I didn’t exactly relate to the heroine, Camille Preaker, who has pretty disturbing secrets of her own, but found myself rooting for her even at her batshit craziest.

Both books contained one sentence too many on the jacket summaries, telling me more than I needed to know before beginning the books. This is why I hardly ever read back covers before starting a book anymore. For example, the first nine words of the summary for Sharp Objects give something away that isn’t revealed until page 60 of the book.

Leo reads Mia a story about a brave German shepherd named Maggie.

Just finished Suspect, Robert Crais’ best work!

Obviously, I’m biased, because it’s about a German shepherd.

My mom introduced me to Crais’ Elvis Cole detective novels many moons ago. I’ve read them all and the standalones as well. They’re terrific.

This one really spoke to me. Not just because it’s about a dog. I’ve read a loooot of books about dogs the past several years. I have extremely high standards for dog books.

Suspect is the yin to the yang of my memoir about Isis.

Remember the other day when I said I should be reading stuff that contributes to my growth as a writer? I was all set to read Dora: A Headcase when I got a box of books from my mom in the mail.

Both my mom and my stepmom told me I’d love Suspect, because it’s about a dog, so I thought I’d just whip through it before I got back to my “serious” reading.

Remember the other day when I said that whatever I’m reading is what I’m meant to be reading?

Suspect is about a cop who lost his partner in a shootout, and a military dog who lost her handler to an explosion in Afghanistan.

Some of the chapters are written from the dog’s point of view, but not in a cutesy way. Crais nails the way German shepherds feel about their people. (I know, because Isis told me.) He also depicts so accurately what it is like to live with a German shepherd, what it’s like to drive with one sitting astride the console between the seats, scanning the view out the front windshield.

Elvis Cole and Joe Pike are an extremely entertaining and compelling pair of detectives, but I can’t say that I relate to either of them. Cole is the self-proclaimed “World’s Greatest Detective,” after all.  He’s a trifle cocky. And as much as I love Pike, he’s kind of a sociopath. So it was refreshing to read about inexperienced K9 Officer Scott James.

I didn’t think this book would have anything to do with my work revising Bark and Lunge, but oh, how it does!

Do you ever read a book and think, “That character is so totally me, if I had superpowers”? Or “if I were a princess” … or “if I were a spy”?

Maggie, the German shepherd in Suspect, is so totally Isis if Isis had gone into the service. All of the things that Isis did that were scary, we see Maggie do as part of her job. I loved reading another author – a  suspense author – describe a German shepherd barking and lunging at a suspicious person, and how it feels to be on the human end of a German shepherd’s leash.

Crais also does a masterful job conveying Maggie’s body language and how she alerts to smells. Early on, I wished there were pictures. I wanted to see Maggie beyond the silhouette on the cover. Turned out, I didn’t need photos, because she is written so well. (Also, I just imagined her looking like a cross between Isis and Mia).

What a tribute to German shepherds. I hope this is the first in a series of Scott and Maggie books.

Sits-tahs! I’m very happy you’re here. Welcome to Rhymes with Safari, so named because way back in 2002, when my blog was an infant, a friend known to me only through the Internet asked how to pronounce my name, Kari.

If you read my recent post on the Possession read-along, you’ll see that I don’t know too much about poetry, so that explains the syllable discrepancy between Kari and Safari, but since I started using that comparison, as opposed to Sorry, Ferrari, or Atari (yeah, it’s been a long time since that last one was relevant), I’ve enjoyed the occasional nickname of Kari Safari.

Over the years, Rhymes with Safari has covered an eclectic bunch of topics, but during the past few years, it’s evolved into a dog blog. My dogs are my passion. I am currently seeking representation for my memoir, Bark and Lunge: The Isis Story, about my reactive German shepherd who died suddenly a few years ago.

My beau, Rob, and I are now the proud parents of Leo and Mia, also German shepherds.

I have other interests as well, notably pop culture. My top-visited post, actually, has very little to do with dogs. It’s called Spider-Man’s Balls. So, uh, enjoy that. And before you decide to click off this site forevermore, please have a look at some other more representative posts:

Movies that make you believe in God

My Awesome Saturday

Everybody Pees

My Take on the Dog Whisperer versus the Food Aggressive Dog

My very own Rez Dog

Leo’s Metaphoric Ladder of Success

Vampires should have fangs

I intended to hit the tulip fields today and take close-ups of individual tulips in different colors, then run them in a circle gallery like the above. But it’s so cold and windy, and I already was chilled to the bone from my earlier assignment. I didn’t feel like getting out of the car.

I decided to use last year’s pics instead. This year’s crop isn’t in full glory yet anyway. If this challenge were next week, I’d probably tell you a different story.

Happy Spring!

This week’s writing challenge felt like a photo challenge as well: Write about something iconic. I mulled over this assignment, asking myself, What is iconic to me? How to capture it visually? What to write about it?

Inspiration struck on Thursday as I drove from Bellingham to Olympia in the pouring rain. What could be more iconic than Seattle Rain? But again, how best to capture it visually? From the freeway, I recklessly snapped a few photos through my windshield with my phone. This after sitting out the month of Phoneography challenges, because as much as I enjoy my LG slider, it is no smart phone, and certainly nothing special as a camera phone.

I admit to taking my Canon DSLR out of my bag and trying to take a few photos with it when the car was nearly stopped in traffic. Then thought better of it.

What I really wanted to get a picture of, and write about, was my passenger on this drive. I’d been traveling more than an hour when a ladybug came out of nowhere and landed on the inside of my windshield. More sinister bugs are ushered quickly out of rolled-down windows, but what about the rain? Can ladybugs fly in the rain?

She flitted from the windshield to the steering wheel, landing with one of her wings partially out-tucked from her red and black carapace, a dark lacy prom dress sticking from a limousine door. I aimed my poor woman’s camera phone at the ladybug as she circumnavigated the steering wheel, but I was too close, she moved too fast, and I couldn’t get her in focus.

For a short time, she disappeared into the center of the wheel, then reappeared for another few laps before disappearing again and that was the last I saw of her.

My attention back to the assignment at hand. Wet weather in the Pacific Northwest. When I google-imaged “Seattle rain,” I found several lovely shots of the Space Needle through raindrop-spattered windows. Yes, that’s the picture in my head as well. But I wasn’t close enough to the Space Needle. On my drive back north on Friday, I think it was too gray to even see the landmark.

Sunshine is easy to capture. Snow is glorious. But rain? I had a harder time. The images on my memory card didn’t reflect what I thought I saw with my eyes.

I gave it a go. Here’s my collage.

First time using the Gallery feature. Didn’t even know it existed. Daily Post, you may have created a monster.

I was tempted to give up on my Possession read-along, but gave it one last push over the weekend, validating my own belief that whatever I’m doing (and therefore whatever I’m reading) is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing (or reading) at this exact moment. It all pays off in the end.

My friend Matej once relayed some advice he was given. To be a writer, you should read. All the time. And you should write. All the time. I like this advice, but sometimes feel pressured by it to make sure I’m reading things that contribute to my growth as a writer. Nothing strictly for pleasure. (Except it’s all for pleasure.)

At the end of last week, when I was very behind in my read-along, I considered setting Possession aside to read something that has more to do with my current writing life. A memoir. Something about dogs. Nothing on my Reading List felt like what I needed.

Taking this as a sign that I what I needed was to continue re-reading Possession, I threw myself into it, skimming (skipping) the poetry that vexed me.*

In Chapter 10, which consists entirely of letters between Randolph Ash and Christabel LaMotte, Ash confides:

I cannot bear not to know the end of a tale. I will read the most trivial things — once commenced — only out of a feverish greed to be able to swallow the ending — sweet or sour — and to be done with what I need never have embarked on.

The “need never have embarked on” part is what kills me. I’ve written before about whether to quit a book or stick with it. That line was another sign I should press on.

A few pages later, LaMotte writes:

I sent some of my smaller poems — a little sheaf — selected with trembling to a great Poet — who shall be nameless, I cannot write his name — asking — Are These Poems? Have I — a voice?

Poor LaMotte. To doubt her own talent and seek external confirmation. I don’t necessarily believe that To Be a Writer, One Only Need Write, but I will say that a writer ought to believe in her own work. Know what you are without having to ask.

I will follow up Matej’s advice with my own: Do the work. Write your book.

If the muse isn’t speaking to you: Take a nap. Eat a cookie.

And yet, to paraphrase Tom Robbins: I don’t wait for the muse. I’m a professional writer.

Speaking of muses, Ash confesses that LaMotte is his:

Well, you will say, you are too busy writing the poetry itself, to require employment as a Muse. I had not thought the two were incompatible — indeed they might even be thought to be complementary.

I love this line from both angles. On the one hand, I respect his image of LaMotte being too busy with her own work to be concerned with inspiring his. But he’s right, the two are not incompatible. She can be both his Muse, even knowingly so, and a Poet. It all goes back to my earlier statement. Everything she does is what she is meant to be doing. Time spent as his muse is not time spent away from being a poet. Time spent writing this blog is not time spent away from editing my memoir.

I am not capable of writing anything like Possession, but reading it energizes me as a writer.

*A final thought on poetry: I was on the verge of simply declaring that I don’t get poetry and that doesn’t make me a bad reader. But on Saturday morning, I caught the second half of Romeo + Juliet and was reminded how much I like Shakespeare. That’s poetry written about 250 years before the poetry in Possession is meant to have been written (although it actually was written by Byatt in the late 20th century). How is it that I get Shakespeare, but I don’t get the poetry in Possession? To properly appreciate the fictional poetry of Ash and LaMotte, I think I need to participate in a discussion led by an English professor. I tried reading it aloud to myself, but that did nothing for me. Then I tried reading it in Poet Voice, as heard by the folks at my local open mics. Nothing. I don’t think Victorian poetry is supposed to be read in Poet Voice.