Sunday, November 25, 2012

It's Carline Christmas Photo Day!

We just celebrated Thanksgiving and you know what that means. It's time for the Carline Christmas Photo Day, held the Saturday after Thanksgiving. This year was no different than any other. We try to get all of the humans and animals in the same general area, while a friend stands by with a camera and clicks away. The hope is that we find one picture with everyone facing forward. Smiles are a bonus.

This year, we added a new member - Lady Spazzleton. She was found wandering around the ranch without tags, microchip, or any indication of a responsible owner. She looks a little like a golden retriever. Maybe not golden... maybe pyrite.

It doesn't really matter how many animals or humans are in the mix. We've got this down to a science, and usually end up with a good Christmas picture within twenty or so attempts.

Here we are, setting up the dogs first.

After I hand them off to Marcus, I rearrange them.

That's better.

Next, Dale steps in and takes one of the dogs, I hand the cat to Marcus and bring in the horses. My dream someday is to hold Frostie and let Dale hold Snoopy.

Like that will ever happen.

We ended up with two pretty good photos. Which one do you like?

We are smiling!

Not all smiling, but facing the camera!

Many thanks to our photographer, our friend Ernest Williams, who rides at the ranch with his wife, Tina. This is what happens when you are at the ranch during Carline Christmas Photo Day - you get roped into being a photographer!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Now the work begins

In hindsight, the writing of a book always seems easier than it was, and Snoopy's story was no exception. Although I wrote it incredibly fast (perhaps because he was telling me what to say?), the editing process was harder and I had to call for professional help.

Now that I have a manuscript, the hard part really starts. I spent a few moments wondering if I should query agents with this book, then realized that I had such a vision for the way this book will look, I would be a nightmare client for anyone who took me on. So Dancing Corgi Press (of whom I'm the CEO, CFO, editor-in-chief, bottle washer, and client) will be publishing Snoopy's tale.

I will be scheduling a photo session with the delightful and talented Lynne Glazer. She took the picture of Frostie and me that I use on many of my promotional materials and social media sites. I want a picture like this:

Only it needs to be better, of course.

I also need to write the jacket blurb. Although I've written the book in Snoopy's voice, I don't know if the jacket should also be in his voice, or in third person. My three go-to comparison books, Black Beauty, War Horse, and The Art of Racing in the Rain, all use third person for the jacket.

Here's the first attempt. I welcome comments.

* * *

Snoopy is an American Quarter horse. When he was three years old, he was a champion. He won the 2007 Trail Futurity, a multi-event contest held over several shows in southern and central California. Both his trainer and his owner had his career mapped out. He was natural show horse.

Then in the spring of 2008 he broke his left hind sesamoid, a small bone in the leg that can mean anything from surgery to euthanasia for a horse. The doctor recommended surgery and said Snoopy should be back to work in six months.

Two years later, he finally was.

This is Snoopy's story, told from his view, in his voice. The story of a young horse who was at the top of his game, only to be sidelined by injury. He tells the tale of his fight to return to the show arena, to prove he’s the same horse he always was, only different.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

What have I done?

After I finished writing Snoopy's book, I did my best to edit it, meaning I looked for all my normal over-used words (apparently I use apparently a lot), I read it aloud, and I read it into my digital voice recorder and played it back.

And I still didn't know what I had written. On the plus side, I had somehow organically managed to make his injury the exact middle of the book, so the arc was right where I wanted it. On the minus side, there was so much I wasn't sure of. Was it too detailed? Not detailed enough? Would non-horsey people understand it? Would horsey people be bored? Did the pacing work? Was Snoopy someone you learned to care about?

With my fiction, this is where I turn it over to beta readers, but this is kind of non-fiction fiction, and it's close to my heart, closer than I suspected when I started writing it.

Enter a friend of mine who is also an editor, Jennifer Silva Redmond. Last February, I was in her workshop (co-taught by the fabulous Marla Miller) when I pitched my idea for Snoopy's memoir -- "A young horse tells his story of becoming a champion, breaking his leg, then fighting to return to the show arena to prove he's the same horse, only different." Jennifer sounded intrigued by the premise, so much so that it encouraged me to actually write it.

Jenny and I are friends on Facebook and talk about various things. One of these various things led to another and before I knew it, I hired her to look at what I had and tell me whether it worked.

According to her very professional opinion, it does. She had suggestions, of course, which were all marvelous and I was happy to implement (who hires an editor and doesn't take their advice?) and today I feel like I've got something people will want to read.

There's still much to do, like arrange for the cover photo and figure out where to place the interior photos, marketing plan, etc, but I'm loving this particular journey.

Here's another excerpt:

* * * * *

When I was young, I spent every day in a big pen with Mom. It was on a hill and made of thick metal poles that kept us from going anywhere else. The ground was hard. Across the path from our pen was a pasture. It wasn’t very big, but there were trees and some green stuff on the ground that looked like it might be good to eat.

There were horses over there. Mostly, they wandered around the pasture. When it was hot out, I could see them on the hill, under the trees. Sometimes I watched them paw at the ground, then bite something.

At the bottom of the hill I could see four white barns and three arenas, a round wood pen, and two human barns. When I pointed them out, Mom corrected me.

“Those are houses. Humans live in houses. Horses live in barns, in stalls.”

Mom taught me a lot. For example, she taught me it wasn’t nice to chew half her tail hair off. I didn’t mean to do it, but once I started nibbling, I couldn’t stop. Afterward, she chewed some of my tail hair and half of my mane, then told me, “See? Not very nice, is it?”

I already looked kind of weird, according to Mom. From what she described, my hair had started out black, then changed to brownish-gray, then it started rubbing off in patches. And my bottom was growing bigger than my front end.

Of course, I didn’t care. I couldn’t see me.

When I was a few months old, Hilde the groom came to our pen. He put a halter on Mom and led her out. I waited for her forever, but she didn’t come back. I decided to call for her.

“Mom—where are you?”

I heard her call back to me right away. It sounded like she was down in one of the white barns. “I’m over in one of the stalls. Don’t worry, we’ll still see each other. And Hilde is going to bring a friend to keep you company.”

She was right. Soon Hilde came back with one of the horses from the pasture. He was a grey horse, and not very tall, not even as tall as me. Hilde walked this horse into my pen, took off his halter, and left him there.

I greeted him right away. “I’m Snoopy.”

“I have no doubt,” he said. “You will call me Uncle Snowy.”

The way he said it sounded like there was no choice. “Okay, Uncle Snowy. You are a very short horse. Why are you so short?”

“Because I’m not a horse, I’m a pony.”

I thought about this. I knew I was a horse, because Mom told me. She said I looked like her. I had four legs with hooves, a mane and tail, a long neck, and two pointed ears on top of a long face. I trotted around Uncle Snowy, checking him out. He had the same thing.

“So you’ll never grow bigger?” I asked.

“Pfft, you know nothing, do you? I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“What work? And how do you cut it?” I reached forward to run my teeth across his hip—just for fun—but he kicked at me and trotted off.

“I am the teacher. I am put into pens with young horses to teach them how to behave.”

“Oh. Mom said I was getting a friend to keep me company.”

“Not exactly.” He looked at me and laughed. “You look moth-eaten.”

I didn’t know what that meant. “What?”

“Like you’ve been chewed on by a flock of moths.”

“No, just Mom.”

Uncle Snowy rolled his eyes. “Well, at least you aren’t raising a fuss. Some of the young ones I teach are such babies when they’re taken from their moms. You only called after her once.”

“Well, sure. I asked her where she was and she said she was in a stall and would see me soon.”

“And you’re built downhill,” he added. “Your butt is enormous.”

I looked at my behind. It was true, my butt was pretty big. “So what?”

“Well, I suppose it’s a big enough engine that you could jump, but I don’t know how anyone’s going to ride you, and I hope your hind legs can carry all that extra weight.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Ride me? What’s that?”

“It’s when humans get on our backs and tell us to go here and do that. When I was a young pony, they told me to gallop to a fence and jump over it. It was fun and I won a lot of ribbons. Now that I am older, I teach children how to ride.” He turned and trotted away from me. “But it’s something you don’t need to worry about now. Built like that, you might never need to worry about it.” I followed him and pushed at him with my nose, but he kicked me again.

Uncle Snowy taught me a lot of manners. I couldn’t bump into him or nip at his butt like I did Mom.

“Get away from me,” he’d say. “You can’t just run over everyone all the time. I’ll tell you when you can come scratch my back.”

I’d have to back away or he’d kick or bite me. His feet and teeth weren’t big but they hurt. Sometimes he’d nod and I could scratch him, but I had to stand very still and scratch gently. If I bit or started chewing hair, I got a bite on my own bottom and a kick in my chest. Uncle Snowy was strict, but that was okay. I liked living with him.

* * * * *
And here's one of the pictures that will be included.

Oh, and the book's title is From the Horse's Mouth: The Memoir of One Lucky Horse. 

Friday, November 9, 2012

I wish

Subtitle: Niki Gets a Wild Hair.

The other day after Niki had schooled Snoopy, she said, "This horse is getting so broke, I bet I could ride him around the course with no bridle, just the reins around his neck." I never doubt Niki, so of course I thought she could.

A week later she did.

Of course, it started my little brain machine up, and all those little cogs and wheels flashed a picture, of me doing a book signing of Snoopy's book, while Niki does an entire trail course without the bridle. It would be fabulous.

Niki was not immediately on board with this, but who knows where one idea may lead?

In truth, I would like to be the one who does a bridleless trail pattern with my horse. I just need to get to the same level of skill as Niki.

Stop laughing.