The internet was abuzz this week with word about the changes to Delta’s pet flying policy. And as tends to happen, people got about 75% of the way there before they took a sharp left turn and read it incorrectly. Here is what you need to know:
1. Headlines saying “Delta no longer allowing pets as cargo” are wrong.
As of March 1, 2016 pets will no longer be allowed as checked baggage. This does not mean pets over 30 pounds will be allowed in the cabin. It means they must fly as cargo, which is different than baggage. (More on that in a minute.) The exceptions to this rule will be active duty military travelling to new posts, and certified support animals.
2. The in-cabin policies have not changed.
Pets under 30 pounds have always been allowed to travel as carry-on in approved carriers. This policy does not affect that at all, nor does it allow animals into the cabin that it did not before.
3. Delta Cargo is probably going to be a lot safer for the pet than travelling as baggage.
When a pet is to travel, airlines require a health certificate signed by a veterinarian. One of the worst parts for me is when they require a “statement of acclimation“, stating that a pet is acclimated to temperatures above or below a certain range. I live in San Diego. Pets don’t get acclimated to 45 degrees here.
Even if you are flying a pet from San Diego to Miami, if there is a layover in Denver then the pet may be exposed to extreme temperatures during that period, and that is where trouble usually happens. No matter how you plan, delays and problems occur and most problems happen on the ground.
You would be surprised at the number of people who get upset when I say, “This isn’t safe for your pet. I can’t sign this statement.” Most do not agree to delay travel. They just find another vet willing to take on the liability. 74 pets died on Delta flights in the last ten years.
In cargo, pets will be in temperature controlled holds at all times in air and on the ground, not sitting on the tarmac in the rain and snow (it happens). They will also utilize professional kennel services if overnight stays become necessary. While airlines do temperature and pressure control luggage holds, cargo areas often have a separate controlled temperature area specifically for temperature sensitive cargo, and this is where pets will go.
4. It’s going to be a pain.
- There is no guarantee you and your pet will be on the same flight
- It’s probably going to be more expensive
- The pickup and drop off locations will probably be somewhere other than baggage claim
United has a similar plan in place already if you’re wondering how this will probably look. PetSafe costs in the $200-$2000 range and they have a long list of restrictions for breeds, most notably brachycephalic breeds. (But English Bulldogs shouldn’t be flying in cargo ever anyway.) In short, you’re going to have to REALLY want to travel with your pet.
5. Plan ahead.
Have your ducks in a row in terms of appropriate kennels, health requirements, and travel dates. International travel with pets can require a TON of work. To make it even more fun, domestic travel cannot be booked more than 14 days ahead of time. Those people who start thinking about this stuff a week before they’re supposed to depart are going to be in for a major surprise.
You can read the original Delta blog post here.
The liability of pets in luggage compartments has been a headache for veterinarians and airlines for many years, so I can’t complain about this. Whether this change is due to a genuine concern for pets, bad PR, or financial liability doesn’t really matter to me- all I care about is the fact that this is a good change for travelling pets.
So by now you’ve all seen the videos, right? A person places a cucumber behind a cat who’s blissfully chomping away on some food. The cat turns around, spots the sinister gourd, and jumps about five feet in the air.
The first thing that happened was that a bunch of people thought it was funny and shared it all over the internet.
The second thing that happened was a bunch of experts chimed in warning about how this wasn’t a benign thing, that cats could be permanently scarred, and that people should not do this to their own cats. The Huffington Post called on a cat behaviorist for advice. The AVMA put out a position statement on the controversial topic.
The third thing that happened was another group of people shared the second group’s warnings and began fighting with the first group of people who thought it was funny, and now we have CucumberGate.
Now granted, while I don’t think intentionally scaring other people or animals is a particularly nice thing to do, is it really worth getting all that upset about? Does one startle cause permanent psychological damage?
I unintentionally scare the crap out of my dog every day. Whether it’s a belt on the floor or the vacuum, he worries. Then he gets over it. My kids have been traumatized by Santa Claus from birth until age at least age 5. The first couple of times it was unintentional, then I knew what was coming and did it anyway because #tradition. They still say Christmas is their favorite holiday.
I didn’t have any cucumbers in the house this morning, so I took out a zucchini. I felt comfortable doing this for a couple reasons- first, Penelope is a fearless cat. Second, she’s been watching me cut up zucchini for months now and I thought it was an acceptable risk. As you can see, she didn’t give two hoots, which is exactly what I assumed would happen. If she did get startled, well, I guess I would be a horrible person, but it wouldn’t be the first time I made the wrong call.
- People who don’t think it’s funny aren’t humorless doofs. It’s good to care.
- People who do think it’s funny aren’t sadistic psychopaths.
Unless you’re saying world famous animal advocate and voice of Dory herself is a psychopath, then we’re all screwed:
Yeah, it’s not the kindest way to conduct yourself, but life goes on, right? While I have no problem with people voicing a little, “hey, maybe this isn’t the nicest thing,” I worry when people call something like this animal abuse because we animal lovers have a hard time getting taken seriously sometimes as it is.
I struggle with “that’s not nice” getting conflated with “abuse”, because if that’s where we’re drawing the line I have a few Christmas photos I need to burn before CPS sees them. And so do about 9000 people on Awkward Family Photos.
I was certain when I had kids that my motherhood chip would finally kick in, that I would finally start to react to babies the way I reacted to dogs and cats. Because surely that maternal instinct in my heart had merely been misdirected all these years, and was simply in need of a little oxytocin and fine-tuning to point it to the appropriate species upon which I should lavish my affection.
Now my kids are 11 and 9 and I can say this with absolute certainty: not so much.
Don’t get me wrong: I love my kids, I love being their mom, and I couldn’t imagine my life without them. Well, I could, especially on certain days when the attitude is dialed to 11, but I much prefer it the way things are.
My daughter was helping clean up after Emmett when she was 5. I’d say this reflects brilliantly on my parenting but her desire to help lasted till she was about 6. :)
As in, I don’t want more kiddos and never have. When my friends go into Babies R Us to pick out a shower gift, they sigh and say, “Don’t you miss those days?”
And I, inspecting the newest Diaper Genie version and wondering if it would work for cat litter, reply honestly: “No.” I was exhausted and overwhelmed the entire time from 2004-2011 or so.
When I see a pregnant woman waddling by and others remark on her glow, I think about how sweaty she must be, or if her bladder hurts as much as mine did, or if she has complete strangers lift their hands up in shock and go “WHOA!” when she turns around in her ninth month of pregnancy with a 9 pound son and they get a glimpse of the battleship of an abdomen.
Motherhood has changed me in some ways: I look at people’s new babies and I smile. But I don’t need to hold them. I am so, so, SOOOOOO much more compassionate about people with babies on planes. I hold doors for parents with strollers trying to get through. That sort of thing. And I look upon it with nostalgia, but not a lick of longing. No pun intended.
When I was getting my hair done a while back, a woman came in with a duckling. I lost my head at the cuteness and almost lost my hair too because I kept jumping out of the chair to squee. I went home and tried to get my husband, once more, to agree to raising a couple chickens (he said no.)
A woman at my gym brings her chihuahua in on occasion. I never get anything done when she does. (My husband has also said no to a chihuahua.)
The point is less that he said no to more animals and more the fact that I want them, the way I imagine some mothers must see a baby sleeping in a stroller and say to herself, “Oh, I wish I just had one more.”
This morning as I was walking by a cafe, I spotted a family with a black lab sitting at a table about 50 feet away. The dog and I locked eyes, and before I knew it I was on the ground laughing getting dog kisses as the family grinned. I don’t remember how many people there were or what they looked like but the dog was a boy, black labrador, about 50 pounds, with a blocky head and the tiniest bit of grey peeking around his muzzle. He is 9, his name is Brock, and he likes to lay down with his legs splayed behind him.
As I lamented about my hopelessness to my friend Jen, she remarked, “You just have a fuzzy heart is all.” And I think she’s right.
I’m also pretty sure it’s genetic.
Tending to Brody on the day of his pinnectomy.
I have a theory. I think that when we get a pet, they grab a piece of our heart and give us a bit of theirs in return. It’s how we will find them on the other side. And the older I get, the more pieces get replaced; my heart is getting furrier and furrier, and it’s made not only of my own pets but the clients I adore, my friends’ animals I have loved, the strangers like Brock who know just where to find it.
A special day calls for a special ear. And a poem, of course.
Trick or treat!
I lick feet.
Give me something that has meat!
If you don’t, just beware-
I’ll eat up your underwear!
Have a great day and be safe all! I get to go see Danny Elfman perform the Nightmare Before Christmas tonight at the Hollywood Bowl so I’ve got Jack Skellington on the mind 😀
Dear Amazing Veterinary Technicians of the World,
It’s sad that you only get one week to celebrate you and all that you do. The unsung heroes, the client counselors, absorbers of abuse, veterinary emotional support offerers, and in general people without whom these clinics would fall to pieces.
I’d like to offer to you this week an open apology for the transgressions of my past years.
- I ate the last M&M. I’m sorry. I know now you probably hadn’t eaten in 12 hours and really needed it. I also know you figured it out and let it slide.
- I actually wasn’t being helpful when I said I would clean that kennel. Thanks for being gracious. I saw you go back in later and do it correctly.
- When you couldn’t hit a vein and asked me to and I said “Try again! Practice makes perfect!” that was only because I knew if you couldn’t hit it, there was no way I could.
- I now know that your gentle suggestions are not really suggestions. I should have listened the first 15 times you were right.
- If it were not for you I would have walked into 45 exam rooms with my sunglasses on top of my head.
- When I left the room after that really hard euthanasia to “see my next appointment,” I went into the back to cry and left you alone with that sweet elderly lady because you were better at this stuff that me.
- For all the times you took care of me and looked out for my mental well-being, I rarely did the same for you. If I did, it wasn’t enough.
These days I work solo, and to be honest every day I head out I wonder to myself if I couldn’t come up with a business model that allows me to have you along. Because I need you. As I sit in a living room looking in horror at a vein that will not cooperate, I need you.
When I see a little kid making a beeline for the syringes and I only have two hands when I need three, I need you.
When there is a mess and I need to be graceful and take care of it with no one noticing instead of asking the owners if they have any paper towels, I need you.
When it’s been a rough afternoon and I could use a friend to talk to, I need you.
You all are the heartbeat of the clinic. Thank you.
In 2014, a young, vibrant woman named Brittany Maynard moved from the home in California she had known all her life so that she could die on her own terms in Oregon. Diagnosed with glioblastoma, arguably one of the most monstrous forms of cancer in this world, Maynard was willing to uproot her life, put her face out into the world, and share a most intimate decision with a universe of strangers in order to help people understand why someone might make the decision to hasten their death.
With little fanfare and no more than a small sidebar in the local newspaper, California has just become the fifth state to legalize assisted death for terminally ill patients. When I read it, on a plane on my way to deliver a talk on how we deal with death in our culture, I cried. I cried for Maynard, and for my mother (seen here on the left at last year’s Fourth of July bash), and for me.
Like so many others, I was transfixed with Maynard’s bravery in opening herself up to scrutiny and criticism. I put myself in her place and wondered what I would have done in the same situation. As a veterinarian who routinely helps people gently end the lives of pets suffering from terminal disease, the idea is not as challenging to me as it is to many. Especially with brain cancer- something that can rob you of the essence of who you are, turn you into someone else, snaking its way without order or reason through your control panel until your body can no longer hang on.
It is, to me, one of the most petrifying propositions out there.
So when my own young and vibrant mother was diagnosed with the very same cancer not five months after Maynard’s death, I fell to my knees and cried with grief, with anger, and above all with terror. For we, too, live in California, and my mother’s delicate health by the time she was diagnosed did not allow us the luxury of moving anywhere. Three weeks before her diagnosis, she was hiking though Red Rock. Three weeks after, she was bedbound. It happened that quickly.
My entire family was focused on my dear Aunt Michele’s mobility, and no one knew what was brewing with my Mom.
I found myself preoccupied with fear for my mother, and worry about what I might do if her pain and suffering were unable to be controlled. Hospice and palliative care is excellent, but even that has its limits. People I thought were my friends sent me all sorts of horror stories they have heard about this cancer, expressing remorse at the news and the hope that my mother, ever so dignified, would not be one who would lose it all in the fugue of neoplasia.
I am really good at delivering an easy death. I have access to drugs no one else can get, and they are remarkable. We can give them to dogs and cats and rats and horses, but not to people. People have to ride it out on cocktails with middling degrees of efficacy. Our own perceptions make it worse: more than half of palliative care professionals have been accused of “euthanasia or murder” by providing adequate palliation to dying people, because euthanasia for a pet is mercy but for a human is dastardly. We have a long way to go in how we think of these things.
Fearing the Loss of Control
Instead of concentrating on my time with my mother, I spent most of it worrying- what would I do if the meds stopped working? How would I respond if she asked me to help her die? How could I refuse? How could I say yes? I had no reassurance that the necessary tools to control the situation were in my toolbox, and that took away from so many little moments I wish I could have back.
In the end, my mother’s cancer took mercy on her. She died quickly, as she wished, and never once complained of pain. She forgot things, felt sleepy, and drifted off oh so gently into that good night. It was a blessing, strange as it sounds. She willed herself to progress the way she wanted.
Had we been given access to life ending drugs, she would likely have filled the prescription.
Had she filled the prescription, secure in the knowledge that she had some control, she would not have taken them. There is no doubt in my mind. She didn’t need them. It doesn’t change my mind one bit as to their necessity, doesn’t make me any less inclined to cheer this new law and fight any who would seek its appeal. It would not have changed the medicine, but it would have changed the emotion, the fear, and the terror.
Because it’s not the inevitability of the outcome that matters in these situations, it’s the little bits of control we are given in times where so much of it has been taken away.
And that would have changed so much.
The fire came in the night, a storm without warning.
At his home in Middletown, a small town of 1900 just north of California’s idyllic wine country, veterinarian Jeff Smith ventured outside after the worst had passed to find only 8 of the 20 homes in his neighborhood survived the firestorm. With communication centers down, there was no way to determine when help was coming.
He had no way of knowing what he was up against, or the fact that by this time only 40% of the structures in town would still be standing. All he knew was that his community was leveled. So Dr. Smith hopped in his truck and went to work.
The Middletown Animal Clinic, surrounded by gravel that resists catching fire, was miraculously intact. Dr. Smith pulled bales of hay from his feed storage and small buckets to place in his truck, dumping bales of hay and water wherever he could find live animals. The fencing was all gone, burned along with everything else.
Severe wildfires can create their own wind system, creating fingers of flame twirling up to the sky and blowing gales of cinders across roads to catch entire neighborhoods aflame. Dr. Grant Miller, another local veterinarian who serves as Unit Director of the California Veterinary Medical Reserve Corps, was finally allowed in to Middletown the following morning.
“It’s apocalyptic,” Miller said. “It dissolved the entire town of Middletown. The things we saw on the way in…” he pauses. “I can’t even tell you.” With the arrival of a generator and supplies, Smith opened the doors to his clinic and vowed to treat any animal who needed it, for free.
With hundreds of miles of power lines down and roads closed to all but essential emergency personnel for days, the animals were initially left to fend for themselves. Smith treated the many burned and injured animals brought to him, but with the arrival of more veterinary volunteers, teams were able to venture into the area to look for more.
With the small reprieve of rain one day, Miller is convinced it saved the lives of many animals the teams had yet to find. “By God’s good grace it rained an entire inch, and provided some water to these stranded animals. When they’re burned they have insensible losses through their skin. I am in awe of these animals.”
Eight days after the flames, “we’re still pulling animals in,” said Miller. “At first it was a lot of sheep and goats, then steady numbers of dogs and cats. Now we’re finding horses and cows. They’re still finding cats alive in melted cars.”
Teams from the nearby University of California Davis School of Veterinary Medicine assisted with the treatment and are taking the most severely injured animals in. “UC Davis has taken in over 70 burned animals- mostly cats,” Miller said. “They are functioning as a referral center. I just arranged transport for a puppy. They’ve been amazing.”
The Valley Fire now ranks in the top 3 worst fires in California history; at last tally, almost 2000 structures were destroyed. Lake County is California’s poorest county, says Miller, with an average income of about $35,000. “They were economically depressed to begin with,” Miller says, “and now they’ve lost everything.”
In the face of this disaster, Smith vowed to treat all these animals without cost for as long as their injuries require, an estimated 4-6 months.
“Burns are not easy injuries to manage,” says Miller. “His clinic is going to be the last option when everything else is gone.” When the camera crews leave and immediate disaster response withdraws, this community still will need all the support they can get.
Miller pauses again to reflect on the long road ahead, or maybe just from the exhaustion of four hours of sleep every night for a week. “You look at these animals, and you know how much they have suffered. You just want so badly to turn things around for them, and you would move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
A GoFundMe has been set up for donations to sustain the Middletown Animal Hospital during this period. In addition, Wells Fargo is accepting donations at any location nationwide to Wells Fargo Account, #2872526005.
All photos courtesy Dr. Grant Miller. Used with permission.
Dr. Jeff Smith, Middletown Animal Hospital
Some photos may be disturbing to sensitive viewers.
A mobile home reduced to rubble.
Trucks with much needed hay languish on the side of the highway due to road closure
With little fencing remaining, surviving animals were left to fend for themselves.
Middletown Veterinary Hospital treats all animals.
When I say “Cat Lady,” what do you picture?
The old tropes die hard. And while those types of cat ladies are still out there, I’m sure, those of you who have been paying attention are probably realizing there is a new breed of cat lady out there. The Kate Benjamins and the Dorian Wagners and the Taylor Swifts, the crazy (and cool) cat ladies of the world.
Though Jackson Galaxy may arguably be the most likely spokesperson for “Cat People Don’t Look Like What You Thought They Looked Like,” the trend of Cat Lady receding from the line of perjorative descriptor has been going on for a while. I have to say, and I mean this with the greatest of love, that we Dog Ladies actually have some catching up to do in this department. Exhibit A:
Straddling the razor’s edge between dog lady and cat lady like I do, I was super excited to see a new subscription box service that actually contained stuff I could use. Cat Lady Box, the brainchild of avowed cat lady and action-figure lookalike Dorian Wagner, is pretty darn awesome. Each month, Dorian hand-picks a bunch of unique, small-quantity produced items for cat ladies. Not for the cats, for the women who love them and also love style.
I was so flattered as a t-shirt wearing standard Dog Lady that I was able to review one that I could barely contain myself. And Brody is so used to packages arriving for him he immediately assumed this was all his.
Sensing something was off, he perched behind me to make sure I wasn’t tricking him and this was in fact a box full of dog toys. It wasn’t. A typical Cat Lady Box can contain various items such as jewelry, clothing, decor, and books.
If you have a cat who is as tenacious as my dog, there is an option with Cat Lady box to also get a few items for your cat included, like treats and toys. It’s called, you guess it, the CRAZY Cat Lady Box (wink wink) and it includes things like this adorable fortune cookie toy.
It was around this time that my review went off the rails. For you see, there is a cat lady in the house. Not me. My daughter. You see, I had been buying her clothing with pictures of puppies on it for years and she was always ambivalent and I couldn’t understand why, until she got older and was able to verbalize: KITTY!
She has a cat lunchbox and a cat messenger bag and dressed up as a cat for Halloween. As soon as she figured out what I was reviewing, she came downstairs from where she had been reading with Penelope and claimed this box for her own. I had no choice but to defer, because really, it’s PERFECT.
And she looks darn adorable in that shirt.
For more on Cat Lady Box and to sign up for your own, pop on over to CatLadyBox.com!
disclaimer: I received a Cat Lady Box for free to review, but every reiteration of its kick-assedness is my own genuine opinion.
While a local news station was out at a park reporting on the death of a bulldog from heat stroke the day before, they came across another dog who was very close to heat exhaustion, if not stroke. This is despite the warning signs at the park entrance.
Though you’d think people would get it by now, some people really don’t. To make matters worse, the reporter spent time talking to the ranger about the dog’s condition and showing them pouring water on him while neglecting to mention the number one thing they should have been doing: calling a veterinary ER. Once the clinical signs kick in, they can be very difficult to reverse without aggressive care and time is of the essence.
Once you’ve seen a dog die of heat stroke, you get really agro about this stuff. It’s horrible. You have my permission to lecture strangers if they’re doing something dangerous like walking their pug on a desert trail in 100 degree weather with no water. It happens every day. I hereby appoint you all members of the Heat Stroke Patrol. Feel free to share the infographic as you see fit.
Be safe out there.
Ever since I started this blog, and even moreso since writing All Dogs Go to Kevin, people write to tell me about their pets who are no longer with them.
They used to apologize for writing, or say they weren’t even sure why they were telling me about their pet, but most people don’t do that anymore. I think they know that they don’t need to explain.
As followers of the blog know, I love birthdays. Birthdays are fun, and I love love love that my birthday coincides with National Dog Day. I always celebrate. This year, though, I could barely be bothered. It was so bad that I got a card in the mail last week from a relative and it took me a full minute to figure out why, exactly, she was sending me one. It was more than not feeling like celebrating, it was as if my brain consciously turned it off.
Part of me wondered if it was because I was finally getting sick of getting older, if my rotten back and increasing-in-number doctor’s appointments were finally clueing me in that birthdays stink. I went about my routine for the day, ran some errands, and came home to scrounge up something to eat for lunch.
And then I understood.
I have never in my life spent my birthday day by myself. Mom never would have let that happen. With the kids in school and my husband at work, it would have been inconceivable to her that I would eat lunch by myself, and we would go out. Always. Today, however, I was alone, and in that moment all the little sadnesses that piled up just felt like more than I was ready to hold.
So when people asked me how my birthday was, I said, “meh,” because it was true, and then I said, “I really miss my mom.” It probably was not the answer they were expecting or really knew what to do with, but it was honest and I had to say it.
2008/03/12 Hot Potato by Jason Taellious under Creative Commons license
Because grief is like a hot potato burning in your hands. If you don’t toss it up in the air to give your hands a break every once in a while, they get burned, and then you drop it and then have to pick it up with blistered fingers. The need to let go of what you are holding onto, for just a second, is all that lets you continue to carry it around.
So when people write, I get it, I really do. Because while many people look at someone walking down the street tossing a hot potato in the air like they’re nuts, wondering why they can’t just put it down, I just nod. It is too terrible and precious to throw away; all you can do is wait for it to cool down. It will.
Our hero SuperBrode has been enjoying the relative peace and quiet of Muttropolis, lounging in semi-retirement.
However, evil was afoot! The Malevolent Mast Cell Maniac was on the loose, wreaking havoc on SuperBrode and the good citizens of Muttropolis!
When we last left our hero, he was recovering from their last vicious battle…
SuperBrode survived, but it cost him dearly. Or should I say….D’Early?
Nonetheless, he was well on the road to recovery-
Something seemed….different. Without his Super Fluffy Ears of Wonder working in concert, he felt a little deflated. Or just cold, maybe. So he put his sidekick Tenacious V to work on a Super Secret Project. He thought it was just a hat, but she had other ideas.
When he put it on, his Super Senses were heightened! Treats were falling from the sky!
And even crazier than that, his Bionic Ear seemed to lend certain…powers.
Can it be? Does his Hawaiian ear actually bring to others the spirit of…
He certainly seems to be spreading sunshine wherever he goes.
Tenacious V has built a prototype hat with interchangeable Bionic Ears. Who knows what the future will bring for Bionic Brode?
If you know and love reddit already, here’s the short short version:
Tomorrow (8/11/15) I will be on Reddit doing an AMA from 2-5 PST (5-8 EST) on /r/books. I’d love for you to join me!
If you don’t know reddit, you might need a more involved primer:
What is reddit?
Reddit is a website where people talk about, well, just about everything. Some people talk about football. Some people talk about cars. Others talk about knitting, politics, cat videos, just about anything under the sun.
As a massive catchall, it can understandably be very confusing to navigate. To help organize things, reddit is organized into topical categories, called subreddits. Some of them include:
I point this out because reddit
sometimes usually is getting attention for bad things really annoying people do, and that scares some people off. Those people are on reddit as well, but if you stick to the subreddits where there are decent people talking about things you enjoy, you can avoid the purulent underbelly of gangrenous misogyny that makes some people nervous to check the site out.
What is an AMA?
One of Reddit’s claims to fame is their “Ask Me Anything” posts, where people from all walks of life go on to discuss their work, or experiences, or latest projects. Sometimes it’s an airplane pilot talking about their job. Sometimes it’s Woody Harrelson, or perhaps Elizabeth Warren. Sometimes it’s some guy who lost a leg in a tragic crocodile incident.
In the books subreddit, they limit their AMAs to authors, and this is what I’ll be doing tomorrow.
This is an opportunity for anyone to ask me about the book, the writing process, my dog’s cancer, veterinary medicine, what type of wine I prefer, my shoe size, literally anything. (That doesn’t mean I have to answer, if anyone was wondering whether I would answer what my weight is. No.)
For an example of a typical author AMA, here’s one from Robin Hobbs just a few days ago.
How do I participate?
Step One. Create a reddit account. It’s free.
Step Two. Come on to reddit.com/r/books between 2-6 PM PST Tuesday and find the thread (I’ll link it here too.)
Now here is how you do things on reddit. Let’s use this example of a post discussing an adorable baby bunny photo:
- The post at the top is the topic everyone is discussing. Here it is a baby bunny; on Tuesday mine will be a description of the book. My username there, selected many years ago, is dogrelish. Get it? Because I relish dogs
- The box underneath is where you add your comment/question. After you do that, hit “save” to submit the question. (ie Hey Dr V, do you still own the Jimmy Poos? etc)
- If someone else has a comment you want to respond to, you do so by clicking “reply”
- See those little up/down arrows? Reddit thrives on these. Clicking the “up” arrow means more people will see my thread. Clicking the “down” arrow buries it further down in the bowels of the internet. Use the arrows. They help!
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