Stuck on a writing project? Wearing her coach’s hat, Pat passes along writing advice for would-be authors who are stuck or can’t get started. It appears on the inaugural edition of a brand-new website for writers.

Pat’s excited to be a panelist at Humor Health and Happiness: A Laughing Matter, the 2011 conference of the Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor (AATH) April 7-10 in Orlando. She’s on a panel April 9 called “Good Grief,” on the role of humor in the grieving process.  Fellow panelists will be Allen Klein, author of the new book Learning To Laugh When You Feel Like Crying: Embracing Life After Loss and Ellie Marek, author of Eating Roses – Bites of Living Humor. Conference details here.

Pat’s essay, “Hand-Me-Down Funeral,” is in the latest Chicken Soup for the Soul book, Grieving and Recovery, available at bookstores and online February 1. The essay tells the story of her dad’s unconventional funeral procession – a parade of friends, relatives an strangers, who came to share their stories and fulfill his wish that his clothes not go to waste.

I’m excited to announce the winner of my “Your Dog Ate What?!” Contest: Joan Moos of Westerville, Ohio. Joan’s poem about a neighbor’s dog named Tipper and his thorny eating adventure wins her an autographed copy of my book, The Dog Ate My Planner, and a personalized dog bowl. Read on for Joan’s poem.

TIPPER

Have you ever heard of Tipper,
the little beagle out our way?
He was very well behaved un-
til his master left and said, “Stay”.

One day they went on vacation,
and Tipper became our charge.
We only had to feed him, and
at night put him in the garage.

Tipper was tied to a chain
attached to an overhead wire,
giving him room to explore
the yard in its entire.

We kept his bowl of water filled
so he could quench his thirst,
but as time went on, and boredom set in,
Tipper must have thought the worst.

One day as I looked out my window,
I could not believe my eyes.
Tipper had found a project
That might cause his demise.

Now Tipper’s owner had a garden.
that was his pride and joy.
His roses were his passion,
but now were Tipper’s toy.

With his mouth firmly placed at the base of each branch,
a snap with the turn of his jaw,
and with blood dripping down from the piercing throns,
he’d go right back for more.

I watched for a moment,
not believing my eyes,
as Tipper stacked rose branches
twelve inches high.

Methodical in his endeavors,
His stacks mounting, one, two, three,
You could almost hear him think of his owner,
“DON’T YOU EVER AGAIN LEAVE ME”!!!