"Horses Taught Me Emotional Writing, and Seeing"

Howdy Friends!

An editor once told me I am an emotional writer. She explained it was easy to "feel" the emotions of my characters, and indeed my story. Many of the reviews on Amazon about my novel We'll Have The Summer, have commented on being able to feel the emotions of Mary and Sam, and all the characters.

Kessy's emotions run deep.

One negative I do get is that I don't describe my characters physically often, or deeply enough. And that is true. I don't invest a lot of words on that. I don't really see my characters as what they are as much as who they are. I drop hints as I feel and see them, enough so that the reader can see and understand them, but their aura that is them is what I really see and guides me in my description.

It's the same way, and always has been, for horses with me. I never really notice conformation; I would make a lousy judge! I see them, and their aura as who they are, their emotions, attitudes and personalities. I may not even notice if they have one white sock or three, or none. Physical characteristics are so much less important to me than the spirit. And that's how I write.

Horses taught me to see their spirit and who they are, not what they are. That's how they talk to me. That's what they taught me, and that's how I write. And of course that's how I see people, too. Who they are, not what they are. I see their spirit, aura, personalities, emotions, and that's how I remember—and write.

Here is one of my all time favorite character descriptions I ever wrote for Anaba in my novel We'll Have The Summer.  "First, Sam removed Bullet’s saddle and bridle then turned him free to pick at the wiry grass. Then he simply folded his legs and squatted next to the fire, facing the old Navajo. He sucked a deep breath from the pipe handed him, held the rank smoke long enough to burn his mouth, puckered his lips, and allowed it to drift out. Sam looked across the fire at his dear friend and studied the faded shirt covering shoulders made uneven by the many years, and the deeply furrowed skin sagging around Anaba’s still keen eyes. Such a man was Anaba, that it was necessary to study his worn-out body closely to notice the wear of it. The spirit living in those rich black eyes created a cloaking aura which prevented all but the most determined examiner from seeing the toll the years had taken on the mortal Navajo. But even in the quickest glance, that vibrant spirit was abundantly obvious."

I thank my teachers, horses I've met, for showing me how to be an emotional writer.

Gitty Up, Dutch Henry

"Understanding Characters While Writing A Novel -Vs- Understanding Your Horse"

Howdy Folks,

I've blogged in the past about how many times writing and horses have parallels. This weekend I was reviewing a scene in my novel, "Tom Named By Horse," which I'm hoping my publisher will pick up, and my mind drifted to my mare Kessy. I was reviewing a scene in which we slipped into just a bit of back-story. I like to weave in tidbits here and there to help the reader understand why a character feels and act the way they do.

Saturday and Kessy helping me understand my characters ...

For the reader to care about your character, they must know them. Writers create that bond with little baby steps of information. Huge information dumps are boring, and actually turn off readers. Sometimes permanently.

For your horse to care about you, and understand you, we must use those same baby steps of information sharing. Horses each have different levels of how much information they can absorb at any one time. Too much, pushing them beyond their comfort level, will make them uncomfortable and take their mind off you and your attempt at communication. Sometimes building doubt and mistrust.

Setting the stage for your reader with a combination of you character's action in the moment, and tiny slices of where they came from, combined with hints of where you're going to take them, all come together to create a strong, compelling character. Your reader will feel the connection and become invested in wanting to learn more.

It is exactly the same truth for your horse. Mixing in actions of the moment, or things she already knows, with tiny steps of new information, will open the door to where you want to go in a clear way that will keep her interested, involved.

Just as the reader will want to turn to the next page to follow your character on their quest, your horse will want to turn the page and follow you on your journey together.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Rusty Bucket"

Howdy Folks,

 

Our friend Jodi Lea Stewart wondered if I could, "bring a rusty bucket to life." So accepting her challenge I wrote the first part and posted it on Facebook Friday. Then the story kept talking to me and I had to finish it –So I wrote the second part this morning – Here they are together – Let me know if you think I gave life to "a rust bucket" – And please enjoy!

The Old Rusty Bucket 

The peg, the rusty bucket hung on, was weather-beaten and worn as the rotting pine siding the old man had driven it into decades ago. Not much remained of the old man's shack. Most of the back half had long ago collapsed and fallen away. The small, leaning porch still sheltered the battered bucket, and occasionally a raccoon, fox or bird would visit. But never the old man. Time had taken him away.

True to its calling, the ancient bucket, now dented and brown with scarcely a hint of the once shiny galvanized metal, hung patiently on the crooked peg, waiting quietly to do its duty, should the old man return. For many a year the proud bucket had held spring water. Its friend the dipper hung on the bucket's side. The dipper fell away and down through the broken boards, out of sight, many seasons ago.

The porch had been a gathering place for neighbors, and for hours on end the old man would entertain with stories of his youth. Some true, some fantastic. The porch, the chairs, the old man's stories and the cool water in the bucket had folks dropping in almost every day. But that was a long time ago. The chairs, like the dipper are long gone. Like the old man.

Still the rusty bucket waits, perched on its friend the peg. No one has passed by since the oak, now towering above the porch, was just a seedling. For several seasons now a family of 

Chickadees had found the bucket the perfect place to raise their brood. Their old nests still line the rusty bottom of the bucket. Perhaps they'll return in the spring.

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This was the end of the first part I wrote last week when I accepted Jodi's challenge – Then I had to write the second part this morning – Please enjoy the rest of "Rusty Bucket"

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The trail leading up the mountain was barely visible. It was obvious to the young woman and her horse the only thing keeping the trail alive at all was the deer and other wildlife who found its route the easiest to navigate. From the open fields at the mountain's feet to the beautiful high shelf among ancient, towering oaks and pines the trail meandered this way and that, avoiding steep areas, rock outcroppings, and dense thickets.

 She'd heard of the trail, and the cabin in stories since her youth. Stories about her great-granddaddy and his family told to her by her granddaddy. Funny, she thought, how she seemed to be the only one who cared about those old stories, or this old abandon, overgrown farm. Or the old man, an almost forgotten horseman from a different era. All the times she listened to her granddaddy she never imagined she'd ride the trail to the top … in search of that old relic of a homestead.

As they climbed higher and higher she imagined he was riding with her. Riding his mare, Bluebell. Many of the old stories focused on that wonderful horse. They say she's buried behind the old cabin next to a towering rock. Her granddaddy had chiseled her name in the rock. She patted her mare's neck, "We'll see if we can't find that big rock today, Bluebell."

Riding alone, climbing the mountainside, she wrestled with the sadness and the happiness this ride brought her, as she admired the beauty that surrounded them. Sadness for the loss of her granddaddy, and the happiness of thinking this long forgotten farm was still here, even if the fields had long since returned to dense forest.

The trail now level, she pulled the paper from her coat pocket, studied the sketch, then swung down to investigate the lay of the land. "I think we've made it Bluebell!" She hugged Bluebell's neck, then led the way toward what looked like a clearing. A clearing overgrown with briers and thickets, but it could be the spot. It just could be.

Then she saw it, ahead of them, posed in a brilliant sun spot was the leaning roof of the old cabin's porch. Following the faint trail blazed by raccoons, foxes and other critters she and Bluebell pushed through the brush to the porch.

Bluebell picked at the grass and weeds as she studied the porch and shack. From the stories she'd heard the shack seemed small, now that she stood on the porch. Her porch. Never once did her granddaddy ever tell her he still owned the old farm. Never once did he tell her he would will it to her. But he did, and now it was hers. She sat down on the edge of a broken beam, chewed on a blade of grass, and shed a tear for the sweet old man. "I found it Granddaddy, just where you said it would be." Her watery eyes fell on the old bucket hanging on the wall.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

Suddenly – Don't Use in Writing or Horsemanship

Howdy Folks,

 

I often think about, and write about, how living and working, or playing and learning with our horses, and writing have so many similarities. Such as my blog, "Horses and Writing, Similar POVs?" And "Building Confidence in a Horse and Building a Character in a Novel." Another time I wrote about "It's About Who They Are, not What They Are," this one is my favorites.

The other day I was reading a writer's blog about the overuse of the word, "suddenly" in a manuscript. Every word she said was exactly correct, and I'd hoped she would say more. I've always found the word "suddenly" to be a speed bump in a story or novel. Instead of propelling me with the action as the writer intends, it stops me dead in my reading tracks. Pushes me away. In fact most "ly" words have that effect on me. If the author replaces the "ly" word with the action she's trying to portray, we readers can be drawn in and feel the action. Instead of "hearing" about it. "Suddenly" for me is the worst of the "ly" words.

Here's a brief example. "Suddenly she burst into tears." Not much there, even if we knew why she had to cry. How about something like, "She needed to see him again. Where was he? Why can't she find him? Sucking short breaths she tried to be strong, but her burning eyes flooded, tears streamed down her face."

I've always found when I'm editing and re-writing if I re-write scenes or sentences with "ly" words the scene embraces me more. Adds depth, meaning and emotions. Yes it will add words, but I suggest they are words that build emotions and connection with the reader. And as writers aren't they the two most important things? Emotions and connection.

Kessy and me sharing a moment

In our relationship with our horses "emotions and connection" are most important as well. If we do anything, "suddenly" it's more than a speed bump to our horse. It's a "failure to communicate." And as "authors" of the moment, it's our job to "re-write the scene."

If we replace that "ly" word, or action, with a more descriptive series of words and actions our horse will follow us, feel the emotion, and the connection. And our relationship will deepen.

It makes no sense to the horse when we bark commands, jerk on the lead rope, or wave our hands and arms. Sure we get a reaction, and that's just what it is, a reaction. It's not a connection. It's best, even if the horse is making a mistake to follow through that mistake, see where it takes you, then build on it. Write the scene with easy to embrace description.

Engage your imagination, your intuitiveness, let your horse help write the scene in a way that embraces both of you. It'll add words, but those words make all the difference.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry