As I led the pony to the mounting block, ready for our ride, my mother yelled from the back porch. Her voice didn't carry, only the sharp tone of urgency. Mom-voice.
"Can't hear you!" I replied as I settled in the saddle and moved my fingers to their mirrored positions on each side of the reins.
"LIGHTNING!" She tried again, louder. "Lightning from the clouds to the ground! We're going inside!"
Were there other kinds of lightning? I wasn't sure. My parents, Floridians at heart, couldn't shake the habit of going into hiding whenever a storm hit. "The lightning can strike a mile on all sides of the storm," I remember Mom telling me during one winter in the South. This is Michigan, though, and I'm pretty sure our storms are underachievers, like just about everything else here. Except for the storms that involved Mr. Ohboy's grandpa, who was struck by lightning on two separate occasions as he sat in the same chair in the same house. That was clearly bad luck--it had nothing to do with the ferocity of the storm or taking proper cover. Or the fact that he was wearing his tinfoil hat. (Totally kidding about the tinfoil hat, but it sounded good).
But back to tonight...
Above me the sky reflected back a clear robin-egg blue. To either side, grey clouds pushed forward with a rumble. The pony didn't fret like an animal about to be deep-fried by a stray bolt of electricity, but something told me it might be part of her diabolical plan to be rid of me forever. As the wisps of clouds advanced, I sighed and dismounted. We waited out the blast of wind in the aisle of the pole barn, which struck me as probably more dangerous than being out in the open, but made me seem more responsible to anyone paying attention. I'm not widely viewed as responsible. I blame that on being the baby of the family. And on being irresponsible, but whatever.
Eventually the sun broke through the clouds, and I led the pony back to the arena. Our ride went well (in case you cared), though I cut it short because more thunder warned of another storm inching our way. Before I could finish cleaning up and securing the barn for the evening, the canopy of sky overhead darkened.
Because I had walked down to the barn, I walked home. The pasture stretched before me, the breeze tickling the tips of the grass, and all I could think of was my vulnerability. The blackness feathering above me like the wings of a dark angel reminded me of my mortality.
If I died on that very spot, pierced through by pure energy, would my life have meant something?
Yes? No? I don't know.
My 35th birthday was a few days back, and I joked that I wanted warning if this was the year of the mid-life crisis. To be honest, though, I felt like I've been in a mid-life crisis for twenty years. Nothing is as I thought it would turn out, and that's not a bad thing, necessarily. My younger self didn't dream, something I've grown to accept as the dreams have continued to elude me. All I ever wanted was to be a horse trainer, rock star, and hopelessly in love.
My marriage does not resemble a chick flick, and I wish that was different, but we do the best we can clinging to each other as we roll with the punches. Parents who have been dealt the challenging hand of children with special needs can probably understand. To those who can't understand what that means to a family, to a couple, to a person--I pray you never have to understand, personally, but that you will understand anyway because others need your compassion instead of judgement. Somehow, through it all, we're still here. I don't know why we've been so lucky that way. And I do know that we love each other, though it's not like 'The Notebook'.
Ryan Gosling. Mmm. Oh, sorry... But, for real. Ryan Gosling.
I'm not a horse trainer like I always wanted, though I train my horses every day. In a way, I guess that one's true, too. Sometimes it feels so pointless, especially when I try my hardest and there's still so much I don't know how to do. Or when I spend my life building a relationship with a horse only to have to say good-bye, and usually on such tragic terms. Every loss is a blow I can't quite put into words.
I'm only a rock star when I'm driving down the highway and belting out impossible notes along with Florence + the Machine. Seriously, I am not sure what that sounds like to people who drive next to me with their windows down. So, yeah. NOT a rock star.
Writing was always a dream, but something that felt so utterly out of reach I never put much thought to it. In this age of self-publishing and vanity houses, it's completely attainable now. If I died tonight, I wouldn't be published. For all I know, my manuscript is buried in an inbox somewhere important, awaiting a double-click that may never come. If I died tonight, I'd spend the rest of eternity wondering if I'd ever have been worthy of an audience.
In the end, I obviously made it to my home without being targeted by my very own lightning bolt, but the night is not over. There are countless other things in my life that feel stagnant, blanketed in dust, ignored. I've been quiet here because there hasn't been much to say, and that's how the inside of my head feels, too. Still. Holding. Waiting.
But for what?
For dreams. For direction. For someone to tell me I'm better at this whole life thing than I think I am. Is this what growing older is like? Questioning and analyzing how differently it has all gone down?
Monday, June 24, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
Memorial
Even if I close my eyes to the darkness, someone must stand watch.
Even if I shake my head in disapproval, someone must stand watch.
Even as I delight in warmth and comfort, someone must stand watch.
Though they deserve all we have and more, someone must stand watch.
To the men and women who have stepped forward to serve our country, and the families who endure so much to make it possible, thank you. 'Thank you' doesn't seem to be enough to repay you for your service, your bravery, and your sacrifice, but it's all I know to do. Bless each and every one of you!
Happy Memorial Day.
Even if I shake my head in disapproval, someone must stand watch.
Even as I delight in warmth and comfort, someone must stand watch.
Though they deserve all we have and more, someone must stand watch.
To the men and women who have stepped forward to serve our country, and the families who endure so much to make it possible, thank you. 'Thank you' doesn't seem to be enough to repay you for your service, your bravery, and your sacrifice, but it's all I know to do. Bless each and every one of you!
Happy Memorial Day.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
On the Mend
For those of you who may have missed it, my horse is feeling better. The antibiotics seem to have helped, and after two days her fever was gone. The vet checked up on her this morning and gave her a second shot of antibiotics, but he kind of shrugged his shoulders as to the cause of all of her worries. They drew blood initially, which I could ask them to run, but at another $100, I'm not sure it matters as long as she is improving.
He gave me the green light to start her back into light work this weekend. There's not much to say other than I am happy. :-)
He gave me the green light to start her back into light work this weekend. There's not much to say other than I am happy. :-)
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Back to the Drawing Board
And, in case you were wondering, I decided to pass on the opportunity to publish with the company that I mentioned a couple blog posts back. The individuals I spoke with at the company seemed nice enough, and I enjoyed our conversations, but the contract left a bad impression--like a crimson handprint radiating on my cheek.
Could it have worked? Maybe. I'd been speaking with another of their signed authors for a week or so prior to receiving the contract, and I guess he negotiated a lot of the things I took issue with to work in his favor. Probably I could have, too, but I didn't even wait for them to reply with a counter before I bid them adieu. In the end, I decided it was a divine hint that it was not the right timing or maybe not the right opportunity. I haven't even really tried to land an agent yet, so, in a sense, everything is a possibility. Well, except for that publishing company.
There'll be more doors to open and look inside, more lessons to be learned. This I know for sure, though: I will be published, one way or another. Mark my words.
Could it have worked? Maybe. I'd been speaking with another of their signed authors for a week or so prior to receiving the contract, and I guess he negotiated a lot of the things I took issue with to work in his favor. Probably I could have, too, but I didn't even wait for them to reply with a counter before I bid them adieu. In the end, I decided it was a divine hint that it was not the right timing or maybe not the right opportunity. I haven't even really tried to land an agent yet, so, in a sense, everything is a possibility. Well, except for that publishing company.
There'll be more doors to open and look inside, more lessons to be learned. This I know for sure, though: I will be published, one way or another. Mark my words.
She's Got a Fever, and the Only Cure Is More Cowbell....
Yesterday I walked down to the barn to ride... Not unusual for me, as I ride most days. It was colder than it should be in May, though, so the part of me wanting to ride battled the part of me wanting to crawl under a blanket or six. The sun did peek its head out from behind the clouds, thankfully, and my ride turned out warmer than expected.
The plan for the day was that I would ride and get cleaned up for a Mother's Day dinner with a couple of my siblings and the Mama. As I walked through the pasture toward the barn, I noticed my two mares, Trinity and Fansi, standing side-by-side with their rears pointed toward the fence row. Trinity, the alpha of our herd, stood with her head drooped low, her nose a handful of inches from the ground. When she noticed me walking past them, she raised her head to peer over Fansi's neck. Sensing no threat, she let her head hang once again. It struck me as a little odd, but I brushed the thought aside and caught Ellie, the new pony.
After riding Ellie, I had half an hour left before I needed to head up to the house to hose myself off. I glanced over at Trinity, now snoozing flat on her side out in the back of the pasture, and grabbed a bareback pad from the tack room. By the time I walked back out of the barn and headed toward her, clouds had rolled back in place, veiling the light. Trinity continued stretching out in the grass. I knew she was alive because her ear flicked and rotated in the breeze, but it comforted me very little. Something was wrong.
She was on her feet before I could reach her. I fed her a treat, which she weakly mashed in her teeth and then let fall to the grass in crumbles. I hadn't brought a halter or lead rope to the pasture with me, so I walked back toward the barn to get them. Before I was 10 yards away, she lowered herself to her knees and laid back down. Something was very wrong.
Like I said earlier, my mare is the alpha of the herd, and she takes her job very seriously. It is her responsibility to be on alert for threats to the safety of herself and the horses under her. To lay down with me so near made her vulnerable--literally a sitting target. My horse trusts me enough to realize I won't pounce on her and devour her innards, but in 10 years together, she has never allowed me to walk up to her while laying down. Not only did she allow me to walk back up to her with a halter and lead, but she let me put on her halter, and then I had to pull her onto her feet. Something was very, very wrong.
Once I coaxed her to standing, we went into the fenced area we use for a riding area and I walked her around. It was something I could never do with Moe when he fell ill--he was too far gone by the time I found him to keep him on his feet and walking. Determined not to let her slip down the same path, I walked for a few minutes, then I checked her gums, listened for the gurgling of her gut, and, finally, took her temperature. My thermometer read around 103.5. A horse's normal temp should be close to ours, preferably under 99 degrees Fahrenheit. 103-bleeping-five. Something was really wrong.
I called the vet, and, because it was the weekend, promptly received the answering service. The vet on call was the vet who came out first when Moe colicked--not our usual, beloved vet--and we unanimously decided we didn't care for him one bit. I made a few calls and finally secured another vet willing to come out to us despite not knowing a thing about us or our horses. Then we walked. And walked. And walked some more. Trinity didn't want to, and it was hard to blame her. It was cold and windy, and the rain blew in our eyes as we trudged along. She is a very energetic horse, usually ready to walk faster than my legs can keep up with. Burning with fever, she plodded behind on a loose lead. If I had been strong enough, she would have rather I or Mr. Ohboy carried her instead.
The vet made good time, and soon he was running the gamut of tests--rectal exam, blood drawing, antibiotic injections, injection of fever-reducer, and nasogastric tubing with oil and electrolytes to help lubricate and rehydrate her. His thermometer read 104.2. I've never heard of a fever that high in a horse, no wonder she was acting all zombified and stuff. Without running the bloodwork, something that can't be done until Monday if we choose to do so at all, we don't know what's wrong with her or if what we're doing will help. The suspicion is that she caught a bug from one of the two new horses, though it also sounds a little bit like Potomac Horse Fever to me (she has been vaccinated, but research says it's not terribly effective against the many strains in existence).
The horses spent the night inside--unusual for us, but necessary because of Trinity's illness and the freezing cold and dampness. Mr. Ohboy and I checked her temp again before midnight and she was at 101.5, which is still a fever, but not 104.2!
This morning she hadn't eaten much of her soaked hay and drank very little from her bucket, but there were a couple indications that her digestive system is functioning--at least a little bit. Her fever was still present at 9 a.m., running right around 102 degrees Fahrenheit, so we gave her another shot of Banamine. As I type this, she is grazing by herself in the riding arena.
In a couple of days we will have our vet out again to follow-up and administer more antibiotics. Our prayer is that she responds to treatment and recovers without incident. My heart can't bear the thought of losing another horse so soon. As we watch and wait, I am keeping a close eye on Fansi and taking her temp to make sure she is not the next in line for whatever this is.
Keep Trinity and my family in your thoughts and prayers. It's true that she is just a horse, just an animal, and maybe not that important in the scheme of things... But, to me, she is my sister, my daughter, my friend... Family.
The plan for the day was that I would ride and get cleaned up for a Mother's Day dinner with a couple of my siblings and the Mama. As I walked through the pasture toward the barn, I noticed my two mares, Trinity and Fansi, standing side-by-side with their rears pointed toward the fence row. Trinity, the alpha of our herd, stood with her head drooped low, her nose a handful of inches from the ground. When she noticed me walking past them, she raised her head to peer over Fansi's neck. Sensing no threat, she let her head hang once again. It struck me as a little odd, but I brushed the thought aside and caught Ellie, the new pony.
After riding Ellie, I had half an hour left before I needed to head up to the house to hose myself off. I glanced over at Trinity, now snoozing flat on her side out in the back of the pasture, and grabbed a bareback pad from the tack room. By the time I walked back out of the barn and headed toward her, clouds had rolled back in place, veiling the light. Trinity continued stretching out in the grass. I knew she was alive because her ear flicked and rotated in the breeze, but it comforted me very little. Something was wrong.
She was on her feet before I could reach her. I fed her a treat, which she weakly mashed in her teeth and then let fall to the grass in crumbles. I hadn't brought a halter or lead rope to the pasture with me, so I walked back toward the barn to get them. Before I was 10 yards away, she lowered herself to her knees and laid back down. Something was very wrong.
Like I said earlier, my mare is the alpha of the herd, and she takes her job very seriously. It is her responsibility to be on alert for threats to the safety of herself and the horses under her. To lay down with me so near made her vulnerable--literally a sitting target. My horse trusts me enough to realize I won't pounce on her and devour her innards, but in 10 years together, she has never allowed me to walk up to her while laying down. Not only did she allow me to walk back up to her with a halter and lead, but she let me put on her halter, and then I had to pull her onto her feet. Something was very, very wrong.
Once I coaxed her to standing, we went into the fenced area we use for a riding area and I walked her around. It was something I could never do with Moe when he fell ill--he was too far gone by the time I found him to keep him on his feet and walking. Determined not to let her slip down the same path, I walked for a few minutes, then I checked her gums, listened for the gurgling of her gut, and, finally, took her temperature. My thermometer read around 103.5. A horse's normal temp should be close to ours, preferably under 99 degrees Fahrenheit. 103-bleeping-five. Something was really wrong.
I called the vet, and, because it was the weekend, promptly received the answering service. The vet on call was the vet who came out first when Moe colicked--not our usual, beloved vet--and we unanimously decided we didn't care for him one bit. I made a few calls and finally secured another vet willing to come out to us despite not knowing a thing about us or our horses. Then we walked. And walked. And walked some more. Trinity didn't want to, and it was hard to blame her. It was cold and windy, and the rain blew in our eyes as we trudged along. She is a very energetic horse, usually ready to walk faster than my legs can keep up with. Burning with fever, she plodded behind on a loose lead. If I had been strong enough, she would have rather I or Mr. Ohboy carried her instead.
The vet made good time, and soon he was running the gamut of tests--rectal exam, blood drawing, antibiotic injections, injection of fever-reducer, and nasogastric tubing with oil and electrolytes to help lubricate and rehydrate her. His thermometer read 104.2. I've never heard of a fever that high in a horse, no wonder she was acting all zombified and stuff. Without running the bloodwork, something that can't be done until Monday if we choose to do so at all, we don't know what's wrong with her or if what we're doing will help. The suspicion is that she caught a bug from one of the two new horses, though it also sounds a little bit like Potomac Horse Fever to me (she has been vaccinated, but research says it's not terribly effective against the many strains in existence).
The horses spent the night inside--unusual for us, but necessary because of Trinity's illness and the freezing cold and dampness. Mr. Ohboy and I checked her temp again before midnight and she was at 101.5, which is still a fever, but not 104.2!
This morning she hadn't eaten much of her soaked hay and drank very little from her bucket, but there were a couple indications that her digestive system is functioning--at least a little bit. Her fever was still present at 9 a.m., running right around 102 degrees Fahrenheit, so we gave her another shot of Banamine. As I type this, she is grazing by herself in the riding arena.
In a couple of days we will have our vet out again to follow-up and administer more antibiotics. Our prayer is that she responds to treatment and recovers without incident. My heart can't bear the thought of losing another horse so soon. As we watch and wait, I am keeping a close eye on Fansi and taking her temp to make sure she is not the next in line for whatever this is.
Keep Trinity and my family in your thoughts and prayers. It's true that she is just a horse, just an animal, and maybe not that important in the scheme of things... But, to me, she is my sister, my daughter, my friend... Family.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
2 Legit, 2 Legit 2 Quit.
I need help. I need your help.
I need you to throw anything you have at me--prayers, good thoughts, jingles, spare coins, whatever.
It's an unholy time of the morning and I am up because my blistering shoulders told me to get up and rub the lotion into the skin (I really did NOT want the hose again). Once the lotion soaked in, though, my mind couldn't turn back off.
This publishing thing has me all sorts of conflicted, y'all. Reviewing the facts (or lack of facts) I have on my prospective publisher, I should continue on my merry little way. But here I am, pausing. It makes no sense.
A friend of a friend told me that if my goal was getting my book out there no matter what, even at the cost of my own legitimacy, to go ahead.
At the cost of my legitimacy?
Ouch.
My work--my status as a writer--could be construed as unworthy should I chose Publisher B over Publisher A? Or, in another example, self-publishing vs. traditional publishing? I presented this idea to my husband, who assured me that reasoning was flawed. "If you're on the worst baseball team in the division, that makes you less of a baseball player?" Some would say yes, but I understood what he was trying to get through my skull.
I get it. I wouldn't have asked this friend of a friend to drop some knowledge (or, at the very least, scathing opinion) on me unless I didn't really want to hear it. And I'm trying to be open to what is coming back to me--good and bad. The problem with this particular company is that it sounds so promising, but it is so new that that's all there is right now--promises. I'd sincerely hope that people would caution me about what I'm considering. I'd likely do the same in their shoes.
The answer to all of this seems so clear sometimes, and, at others, I can appreciate the views on the other side. Frustrating. Where is my Magic 8-Ball when I need it?
I'm obviously still weighing the plusses and minuses of this particular company and publishing traditionally at all, and I'm still on the fence. That being said, I'm supposed to talk with their contract guy later today to explain their process. I'll update when I know more, if I even know how to decipher any of the legal mumbo-jumbo into words any of us can wrap our brains around. In the meantime, I'd reallyreallyreally appreciate it if you could think of me and help me to receive clear direction as to whether I should proceed or not.
Thanks. You're a peach, I don't care what the others say about you.
I need you to throw anything you have at me--prayers, good thoughts, jingles, spare coins, whatever.
It's an unholy time of the morning and I am up because my blistering shoulders told me to get up and rub the lotion into the skin (I really did NOT want the hose again). Once the lotion soaked in, though, my mind couldn't turn back off.
This publishing thing has me all sorts of conflicted, y'all. Reviewing the facts (or lack of facts) I have on my prospective publisher, I should continue on my merry little way. But here I am, pausing. It makes no sense.
A friend of a friend told me that if my goal was getting my book out there no matter what, even at the cost of my own legitimacy, to go ahead.
At the cost of my legitimacy?
Ouch.
My work--my status as a writer--could be construed as unworthy should I chose Publisher B over Publisher A? Or, in another example, self-publishing vs. traditional publishing? I presented this idea to my husband, who assured me that reasoning was flawed. "If you're on the worst baseball team in the division, that makes you less of a baseball player?" Some would say yes, but I understood what he was trying to get through my skull.
I get it. I wouldn't have asked this friend of a friend to drop some knowledge (or, at the very least, scathing opinion) on me unless I didn't really want to hear it. And I'm trying to be open to what is coming back to me--good and bad. The problem with this particular company is that it sounds so promising, but it is so new that that's all there is right now--promises. I'd sincerely hope that people would caution me about what I'm considering. I'd likely do the same in their shoes.
The answer to all of this seems so clear sometimes, and, at others, I can appreciate the views on the other side. Frustrating. Where is my Magic 8-Ball when I need it?
I'm obviously still weighing the plusses and minuses of this particular company and publishing traditionally at all, and I'm still on the fence. That being said, I'm supposed to talk with their contract guy later today to explain their process. I'll update when I know more, if I even know how to decipher any of the legal mumbo-jumbo into words any of us can wrap our brains around. In the meantime, I'd reallyreallyreally appreciate it if you could think of me and help me to receive clear direction as to whether I should proceed or not.
Thanks. You're a peach, I don't care what the others say about you.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!
I haven't blogged in weeks. Maybe you noticed. Maybe you didn't. Maybe you never even knew I had a blog. Maybe you never cared to know the random things that pass through my brain. If you didn't care, then I guess you wouldn't be here reading this now, so nevermind that bit.
At any rate, I've not had a lot to say. A lot happened in April, but the words kept to themselves, mostly.
I lost a sweet horse, Mariah, to a heart-breaking decision I didn't want to have to make. Her weight was good through the winter, but her joints just seemed to give way. We spent the afternoon before the vet's visit brushing her and stuffing her full of the treats she loved so much... After I had to chase her back to my property when she turned tail and ran through the neighbor's hay field. That burst of spunk caused me to second-guess myself up until the moment she walked away from the barn for good. Really, there wasn't anything to second-guess. Even with her halting gait, she nearly bowled me over to go through the gate for the last time, never to return. My step-dad says I'm reading too much into it--she was just a horse, after all--but I think she knew her time had come. She was ready to be whole again in some other place.
Two days after we said good-bye to Mariah I began what I assumed would be the long process of horse-hunting and test-rides. That day we looked at two ponies and bought the second one, a grey draft pony named Ellie. She reminds me a lot of the pony I had when I was a kid, another horse I loved and lost. Thank goodness I can think of that pony and smile. The wounds are still a bit too fresh from losing my Moe and Mariah nine months from each other. Back to Ellie, though--she is talented and quick, so I've been working at slowing her down and getting her back in shape for the kids to ride. I've been riding a lot, for me, at over two hours a day in the saddle. I'm one tired muchacha, most days.
My step-dad decided the tack room in our barn was in need of a major overhaul, so they began that project around the time they purchased the grey pony. Now instead of dust, cobwebs, and mouse droppings, we have wood paneling, fluorescent lighting, and linoleum. There are cross-ties for three horses instead of only one. It's super-fancy. You know, I've been riding for the past 30+ years in squalor so I don't know how to behave in nice places. I might have to let the mice and birds into the tack room to relieve themselves, for old time's sake.
Yesterday my sister also bought a horse, a bay Tennessee Walker gelding. His name WAS Henry, but he has been renamed "Romeo". Despite my mare's (Trinity) best attempts to scare the bejeebies out of him with her crazy front legs and ear-splitting squeal, he is not very concerned with the goings-on of our barn.
The reintroduction of my family to the barn has been difficult. For decades it has been my safe haven, the place I go to escape everything. One by one, the horses are being replaced. Board by board, [beautiful] improvements erase the little bits that remain of my memories of horses past. The air is laced with the conversations of others instead of the whisper of the breeze. It is all changing. The changes are not all unpleasant, but, to me, they are all related--directly or indirectly--to losing a loved one. I'm still grieving. Not with the intensity I did when I lost Moe, but it's still there. I'm crying for all of them. There's little emotional leeway for much else.
Things have been happening in my non-horsey life, too. A while ago I entered a contest attempting to attract the interest of a literary agent. My submission didn't make it past the slushpile readers whose job it was to wade through all of the entries for the agents. At the conclusion of the contest we were given a second chance to submit a Twitter pitch so the agents could see what they'd missed. My Twitter pitch received requests from one agent and a brand new publishing company. The agent ended up passing once she read my query and first several pages, but the publishing company requested my full manuscript two weeks ago. Last night as Mr. Ohboy and I walked back from feeding the horses, I checked my e-mail and found a message from the publisher saying they were interested in signing me.
This afternoon I talked with the woman who runs the company, firing off questions and concerns and sharing our mutual disdain for "50 Shades of Grey" for over an hour. The premise of the company is promising: Treating writers with respect, fostering community amongst the authors in this house, allowing authors as much control as possible, and a lot of other things that made me feel comfortable about possibly letting this company help me bring my stories to the world. The biggest problem? They are so new their first round of acquisitions isn't set to publish for another month or so. They are a total unknown. On one hand, it's flattering to be considered for this fledgling company, getting in on the ground floor, so to speak. On the other hand, I worry that once things get moving they will discover that their nice ideals and flexibility aren't making them money and all of those "pros" will disappear. What if they don't survive? What if they take my reputation with them? I'm not sure if any of that makes any sense, but I've been processing it all day long.
The next step is to lay my eyeballs on their contract and figure out if it makes any sense to me. It won't. It's completely written in legal-ese. I barely speak redneck-tinged English.
And then I think of this publisher, someone who doesn't know me from anyone, who personally read my manuscript and saw something of value in it, and in me. Enough that she'd be willing to take a chance by bringing me in to be part of the building effort for her company. It's scary and humbling, all at the same time.
I've not signed anything or given a commitment of any kind because all I've had is a nice phone conversation with a stranger. Maybe I will wake up tomorrow and this will all be a weird dream, but tonight I will smile remembering her compliments. I don't get enough of those, do you?
Also on the writing front--In April, I participated in Camp NaNoWriMo. My hopes had been to add 30k words to a project I've been working on, a Young Adult thriller tentatively named "In the Middle". With everything else going on, I managed about 10k. This big "miss" did give me time to think about the plot a little, so look for more happening with that story in the near future.
What else? Oh, I have a new nephew! He's adorable and I need to visit him. Other than that, I haven't had time for much else. What about you? Anything big happening where you are?
At any rate, I've not had a lot to say. A lot happened in April, but the words kept to themselves, mostly.
I lost a sweet horse, Mariah, to a heart-breaking decision I didn't want to have to make. Her weight was good through the winter, but her joints just seemed to give way. We spent the afternoon before the vet's visit brushing her and stuffing her full of the treats she loved so much... After I had to chase her back to my property when she turned tail and ran through the neighbor's hay field. That burst of spunk caused me to second-guess myself up until the moment she walked away from the barn for good. Really, there wasn't anything to second-guess. Even with her halting gait, she nearly bowled me over to go through the gate for the last time, never to return. My step-dad says I'm reading too much into it--she was just a horse, after all--but I think she knew her time had come. She was ready to be whole again in some other place.
Two days after we said good-bye to Mariah I began what I assumed would be the long process of horse-hunting and test-rides. That day we looked at two ponies and bought the second one, a grey draft pony named Ellie. She reminds me a lot of the pony I had when I was a kid, another horse I loved and lost. Thank goodness I can think of that pony and smile. The wounds are still a bit too fresh from losing my Moe and Mariah nine months from each other. Back to Ellie, though--she is talented and quick, so I've been working at slowing her down and getting her back in shape for the kids to ride. I've been riding a lot, for me, at over two hours a day in the saddle. I'm one tired muchacha, most days.
My step-dad decided the tack room in our barn was in need of a major overhaul, so they began that project around the time they purchased the grey pony. Now instead of dust, cobwebs, and mouse droppings, we have wood paneling, fluorescent lighting, and linoleum. There are cross-ties for three horses instead of only one. It's super-fancy. You know, I've been riding for the past 30+ years in squalor so I don't know how to behave in nice places. I might have to let the mice and birds into the tack room to relieve themselves, for old time's sake.
Yesterday my sister also bought a horse, a bay Tennessee Walker gelding. His name WAS Henry, but he has been renamed "Romeo". Despite my mare's (Trinity) best attempts to scare the bejeebies out of him with her crazy front legs and ear-splitting squeal, he is not very concerned with the goings-on of our barn.
The reintroduction of my family to the barn has been difficult. For decades it has been my safe haven, the place I go to escape everything. One by one, the horses are being replaced. Board by board, [beautiful] improvements erase the little bits that remain of my memories of horses past. The air is laced with the conversations of others instead of the whisper of the breeze. It is all changing. The changes are not all unpleasant, but, to me, they are all related--directly or indirectly--to losing a loved one. I'm still grieving. Not with the intensity I did when I lost Moe, but it's still there. I'm crying for all of them. There's little emotional leeway for much else.
Things have been happening in my non-horsey life, too. A while ago I entered a contest attempting to attract the interest of a literary agent. My submission didn't make it past the slushpile readers whose job it was to wade through all of the entries for the agents. At the conclusion of the contest we were given a second chance to submit a Twitter pitch so the agents could see what they'd missed. My Twitter pitch received requests from one agent and a brand new publishing company. The agent ended up passing once she read my query and first several pages, but the publishing company requested my full manuscript two weeks ago. Last night as Mr. Ohboy and I walked back from feeding the horses, I checked my e-mail and found a message from the publisher saying they were interested in signing me.
This afternoon I talked with the woman who runs the company, firing off questions and concerns and sharing our mutual disdain for "50 Shades of Grey" for over an hour. The premise of the company is promising: Treating writers with respect, fostering community amongst the authors in this house, allowing authors as much control as possible, and a lot of other things that made me feel comfortable about possibly letting this company help me bring my stories to the world. The biggest problem? They are so new their first round of acquisitions isn't set to publish for another month or so. They are a total unknown. On one hand, it's flattering to be considered for this fledgling company, getting in on the ground floor, so to speak. On the other hand, I worry that once things get moving they will discover that their nice ideals and flexibility aren't making them money and all of those "pros" will disappear. What if they don't survive? What if they take my reputation with them? I'm not sure if any of that makes any sense, but I've been processing it all day long.
The next step is to lay my eyeballs on their contract and figure out if it makes any sense to me. It won't. It's completely written in legal-ese. I barely speak redneck-tinged English.
And then I think of this publisher, someone who doesn't know me from anyone, who personally read my manuscript and saw something of value in it, and in me. Enough that she'd be willing to take a chance by bringing me in to be part of the building effort for her company. It's scary and humbling, all at the same time.
I've not signed anything or given a commitment of any kind because all I've had is a nice phone conversation with a stranger. Maybe I will wake up tomorrow and this will all be a weird dream, but tonight I will smile remembering her compliments. I don't get enough of those, do you?
Also on the writing front--In April, I participated in Camp NaNoWriMo. My hopes had been to add 30k words to a project I've been working on, a Young Adult thriller tentatively named "In the Middle". With everything else going on, I managed about 10k. This big "miss" did give me time to think about the plot a little, so look for more happening with that story in the near future.
What else? Oh, I have a new nephew! He's adorable and I need to visit him. Other than that, I haven't had time for much else. What about you? Anything big happening where you are?
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