Y'all probably think that I stretch the horse riding/book writing metaphor to breaking point, but I'll never get over the similarities. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" No, "Why is a horse like a novel?" Writing and riding aren't that many letters off, after all.
Today's metaphor is: the moment you start swinging words like "always" and "every time" around, an exception is going to smack you in the face. Figuratively in the case of fiction. Literally, sometimes, when it comes to Kit Kat. In both cases, tailoring education yields more positive results.
In my tenure as barn manager, I worked with lots of little ones. Weanlings and yearlings, just like human children, need lots of education and hands-on work. Because horses are prey animals, those early years require lots of what we call desensitization. There's a boogey man in every doorway, and a monster lurking in the depths of each shadow. An empty shavings bag caught by the wind is a ghost, and a tipped-over bucket is going to eat them. Don't get me started on blankets: absolutely deadly. It's important to introduce them to all sorts of stimuli, from flags and balloons, to tarps, poles, fake flowers, umbrellas...anything they could conceivably encounter that might spook them. Not only does this build confidence and reduce the likelihood of spooks and bolts, but it builds the trust between horse and handler, too, and sets you up for future success.
Enter Kit Kat.
Some of it can be chalked up to having a Quarter Horse Brain™, but mostly she's just naturally fearless. Even at six months, I could tell she was going to grow up to be a Boss Mare. She's confident, thoughtful, and walks toward scary things rather than shying away from them. This is amazing! She's not afraid of fireworks, gunshots, tarps, poles, other animals, or plastic bags of all shapes and sizes. But it means my training approach has to be tailored for her needs. It's not one size fits all: the same approach won't work with every horse.
She's what you'd call a "pocket pony." She wants inside your pocket. Rather than trying to get free, she's usually trying to get on top of you, so our groundwork has been all about establishing and respecting boundaries, and yielding to pressure: laterally and backward. She's sharp, which means once she's done something, she gets bored with repeating it over and over, so I have to mix things up every day. Her default setting is a strong side-eye that just screams "why are we doing this again? How lame." This week, I introduced a little incentive with treats, and it's been a game changer. I know that there are old school cowboys who would say I should make her, rather than encouraging her with cookies, but so long as she's respectful about it, I'd much rather develop a positive working relationship than one built on force.
That's a long way of saying: it's important to assess the individual needs of a horse and adjust the work accordingly. I need to work on building Kit Kat's flexibility and topline strength, and don't need to focus on scary boogers as much.
Here's another for-instance: years ago, I was having a Coke at the picnic table after a ride and chatting with some of the boarders. One of them, a very sweet lady without much riding experience, asked me about my ride, which she'd watched from the barn. "How did you know to do a circle down here?" she asked.
I said, "After the extension down the long side, I could feel that he was getting too strung-out and hollow-backed, and I needed to pull him back, ask for the bend in the circle, and get him to slow down and come back under himself so he could sit down behind."
She said, "But how could you tell he was hollow?"
I don't remember my exact answer, but I do remember struggling for a beat or two, because for me, that had become as second-nature and effortless as knowing when to apply your foot to the brake pedal of a car: I could feel the change in my horse's gait and carriage and reacted accordingly to rebalance him so he was moving in a more positive way. Years of practice and education meant I knew how to rebalance him. But the boarder's knowledge was much more rudimentary, and it was clear that she would need lots of practice in developing a "feel" for her horse's movement before she would automatically know how to help him during a ride.
She and I couldn't have taken a joint lesson because we were working at different skill levels and had different training needs. A tailored approach wins the day.
I promise I'm getting to the book part of this (very) extended metaphor.
I was a member of RWA for only one year, from 2015 to 2016. I didn't renew my membership because there were several aspects of the organization I didn't care for. I know it's overgone a total overhaul, and I'd be curious to know what its environment is like now. It was too high school cafeteria, you-can't-sit-with-us when I was there. Someone at a meeting actually handed my bookmark (with my website and contact details) back to me when I said that I was self-published. She didn't want to be seen speaking with me.
But I was struck by something at one meeting. We were listening to a presentation about different character archetypes, and it was a good presentation. We had handouts and we were taking notes, and I was breaking down Ava's archetype on my worksheet. A member raised her hand with a question, and when she was called upon, she said, "I'm having trouble coming up with names for my characters." The speaker was visibly baffled. Other members chimed in with suggestions, and a side discussion broke out about character names, and the presentation stalled out for a little while before returning to topic.
The thing that struck me was how different the needs of the members were. I was in the middle of writing The Skeleton King at the time, and someone sitting two rows up was in the conceptualization stage of her very first story.
There were hundreds of members, each one in a different phase of authorhood. On one hand, this makes for a diverse and rich environment, and each member can contribute a new perspective on the unifying goal of writing professionally. But on the other hand, it meant that most of the monthly lecture topics were very middle of the road: generalized, without providing deep dives for those just starting, nor those at a more advanced stage who were working toward creating overarching series storylines or juggling strong secondary or tertiary storylines. This is of course not anyone's fault, but it left me wishing there were more resources, and that there was a broader range of resources so writers at every level could learn something valuable.
Wouldn't it be cool if there were more intimate writing education/mentorship groups within an organization like RWA? Wipe away all that close-to-the-vest competitiveness and offer real instruction. Groups where first-time authors could work from earliest concepts through brainstorming, story mapping, and prose writing with the help of a mentor? And groups where more seasoned writers could tackle more specific issues?
The answer to this, I'm sure, is to form friend groups within the larger group and help each other. This happens, and this is great, peer review is certainly helpful, but I'm thinking of a more structured course. Or courses. Something for writers who don't have the time or finances to enroll in college classes, but who still want to enhance their writing through literature study, writing exercises, and one-on-one work with mentors. Deep dive analyses, grammar and punctuation refreshers, and self-editing guidance.
I think it would be cool. Probably something like that does exist, but it would be wonderful to see it incorporated into a big organization.
Just some thoughts I had this evening while working with my girl.
