Like most of my books and stories, I nurtured a small event for an opening, drew on people I knew to create interesting characters and put them into settings with which I grew acquainted and familiar over time. I believe in the power of story and teach that concept as “Writing from Life.” My first students of what has now developed into a series of writing lessons were incarcerated men housed in an island prison in Puget Sound. The prison has long since closed its main campus, but the power of story concept lingers.

            One of my published books focuses on that prison along with a women’s prison also in Washington State. Unlocking Minds in Lockup: Prison Education Opens Doors focuses on my work with incarcerated students as a family, parenting and social responsibility teacher. All of the courses I taught required students to write on myriad topics. At that time, I labeled that part of assignments as “Writing to Clarify Thinking.” Two of my published novels have children of incarcerated parents as protagonists. I remain an advocate for the rights of such children.

In Rain Shelters and Ghost Gods I chose to explore a sense of being guided in my work by the hands of my parents. How I used that to create the story matters less than the knowledge that it satisfied something in me. But that only came into play in my exploration of what happened when my husband and I encountered a dog in Lyon Arboretum on O`ahu, and followed where he led us when it was clear he wasn’t going to grant us any peace until we did so.

I had become a regular visitor to Windward O`ahu to help care for a relative whose health was in decline. I spent much of my time on those visits with her in an independent living residence, but I also explored the island and developed a lingering interest in the arboretum and various gardens. When my husband joined me on one of those trips, he agreed on seeing more than coral sands and turquoise sea. We found the Rain Shelter at the arboretum empty, and sat for a moment to study the map we’d gotten showing the layout of the Walking Road and assorted paths or trails.  I wanted him to see Fern Valley and Jackfruit and Breadfruit trees. We were about to set off when a barking dog appeared. Clearly, a dog didn’t appear and start barking, a barking dog was suddenly with us, leading us off the designated pathway. My husband followed the dog, so I did too, though I argued that we shouldn’t leave the path and tromp over vegetation. We are frequent visitors to national parks and respect paths and requests to stay on them, but the dog would have no part of that. If we didn’t keep up, he increased his barking and darting off on his own path.

The dog led us to woman who looked like she’d settled in the understory of trees and ferns to take a nap. In fact, that’s what she had done. She’d missed a turn in the path, gotten disoriented and tired, and chose to curl up for a rest until she’d regained her strength. She’d had radiation that morning as part of treatment for cancer, and wanted to be out in nature. She knew she was lost, uncertain she’d be found, nudged and sniffed at by the dog, but not ready to regain her feet. She said she was looking for Inspiration Point. My husband said he could help her find her way; he’d studied the map, she could lean on him while he found footing.

I chose to follow the dog, no longer barking, and said I’d meet that at Inspiration Point, a place I’d visited and would recognize. The dog left me once I’d regained the path. He was there, and then he wasn’t. The understory is dense, ferns the size of evergreen trees, some roots over a foot high. I’m not sure where the dog went. We never saw him again.

When I reached Inspiration Point the woman was sitting on a bench. My husband told me that she’d said she’d find her way from there and no longer needed our assistance. We went on our way without taking time to enjoy the view. The woman seemed to want us gone.

It was the dog leading us to the woman that started hatching a story, but I needed a human character a bit more endearing than that woman. The dog’s arrival and departure was a mystery that somehow seemed to involve my dad who was known for finding his way through forested areas. It wasn’t long before the sense of dad leading the dog that led us setting into my thinking about the matter. Thus, my story was born.