OK, I admit it....
I’m terrible about blogging.
But I’ve been working really hard on my book, and I’ve got a lot of work done in the last few weeks. A LOT!
After some excellent and painfully honest critique from my P&P group, I’ve reworked my “blurb” about the book (the official word for it in the lingo is “logline”), and I’m now back revising, from the beginning, with a change in focus. I realized I had too many story lines going... or rather, that the focus wasn’t clear on just whose story it was. It’s not that there can’t be subplots--there can and must--but there can only be one main plot, and I was fuzzy on that point. So, I’m fine-tuning in that regard.
I don’t mind. I actually feel really good because I feel like I have a clear view now of where I’m going, what I have left to do, and so forth. No more muddy water. And the only real casualty was Elizabeth’s husband. Poor Ed had to die (not in the book, but before it started) of a heart attack while jogging--exchanged business in Japan for “The Big One,” he did, but it had to be. The rest of the scenes just needed rearranging, perhaps a change of emphasis, but otherwise they survived.
You can find the new logline (blurb) here.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
December 17, 2006: Bridle Woes Redux
The bridle issue continues...
The crescent dropped noseband bridle worked, but the Kavalkade quality was horrid--the metal started flaking after the third day of use, even though I had only cleaned it with clear water after each use. It was obvious that it would soon start wearing against Quila’s cheeks, causing irritation and/or injury, and that it was not going to hold-up. I returned it.
I was using it with a Passier Gemini bridle (sans the crank noseband and flash), so I simply put the missing pieces back together in the bridle. That’s working now, and actually, she behaves so well and is so comfortable with them, that they are both quite loose with a good bit of daylight visible around each. No tongue. I did find that the Myler bit didn’t work well with this set-up, though, so we’re back to her old Dewsbury double-broken snaffle. She’s got a nasty rub on her cheek right now that worries me a bit--but I’m not sure whether it’s from the Myler and if it heals, she’ll be good with her old Dewsbury again, or whether I’ll have to figure out something different bit-wise (maybe an Eggbutt?) She has chubby cheeks, and it looks like perhaps she’s getting pinched by the bit ring.
The mouth problems do appear to be solved, however, and that is a good thing. NOW, if only I can remember that I have legs and a seat and use them 100% of the time when I ride. Yesterday, she was a bit stiff and cranky--it was cold and windy--and I was so focussed on working on that that I forgot to to push her through to the bridle, so when she decided she could be the boss, she was having a great time for a good long while until I realized what the problem was and actually closed my legs. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It was an epiphany of sorts, though, because I realized that it is also what I do sometimes while riding a test. I get so involved in the test that I give her the aids, but I don’t use the same “you-will-do-this” power that I used in the warm-up or while riding at home. If she’s good, that’s fine. If not, well, she wins and we ride her test. I asked Jürgen to remind me to flip the power switch to the “ON” position before every test--I think it will help.
The crescent dropped noseband bridle worked, but the Kavalkade quality was horrid--the metal started flaking after the third day of use, even though I had only cleaned it with clear water after each use. It was obvious that it would soon start wearing against Quila’s cheeks, causing irritation and/or injury, and that it was not going to hold-up. I returned it.
I was using it with a Passier Gemini bridle (sans the crank noseband and flash), so I simply put the missing pieces back together in the bridle. That’s working now, and actually, she behaves so well and is so comfortable with them, that they are both quite loose with a good bit of daylight visible around each. No tongue. I did find that the Myler bit didn’t work well with this set-up, though, so we’re back to her old Dewsbury double-broken snaffle. She’s got a nasty rub on her cheek right now that worries me a bit--but I’m not sure whether it’s from the Myler and if it heals, she’ll be good with her old Dewsbury again, or whether I’ll have to figure out something different bit-wise (maybe an Eggbutt?) She has chubby cheeks, and it looks like perhaps she’s getting pinched by the bit ring.
The mouth problems do appear to be solved, however, and that is a good thing. NOW, if only I can remember that I have legs and a seat and use them 100% of the time when I ride. Yesterday, she was a bit stiff and cranky--it was cold and windy--and I was so focussed on working on that that I forgot to to push her through to the bridle, so when she decided she could be the boss, she was having a great time for a good long while until I realized what the problem was and actually closed my legs. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It was an epiphany of sorts, though, because I realized that it is also what I do sometimes while riding a test. I get so involved in the test that I give her the aids, but I don’t use the same “you-will-do-this” power that I used in the warm-up or while riding at home. If she’s good, that’s fine. If not, well, she wins and we ride her test. I asked Jürgen to remind me to flip the power switch to the “ON” position before every test--I think it will help.
December 11, 2006: New Website
Well, I’ve done it...
I’ve put up a web site entirely devoted to my writing. No blog there, yet (and maybe never--I have enough trouble adding to this one on a regular basis). But it’s up...
To visit it, go to: http://www.authorgaymwalker.com/Welcome.html or visit my writing blog here.
I’ve put up a web site entirely devoted to my writing. No blog there, yet (and maybe never--I have enough trouble adding to this one on a regular basis). But it’s up...
To visit it, go to: http://www.authorgaymwalker.com/Welcome.html or visit my writing blog here.
November 21, 2006: The Business of Writing
I went to the movies last Friday night with the family and friends--we saw, as you might have guessed, Stranger than Fiction. It was one of the best movies that I’ve seen in quite some time... and a not entirely inaccurate portrayal of the struggle that an author goes through with her characters. Now, I’m not suffering from Writer’s Block like Emma Thompson’s character, nor do I intend to kill my characters off (though I have one that I’d like to throttle a great deal of the time), but I do find that they often have minds of their own and that they don’t want to behave as I’ve suggested...
Let me explain the process of writing, as I see it:
I created a group of characters, and before I even began work on the book, I gave them histories--full biographies even. I imagined who they were, what their lives were like, how they spoke and dressed, their personality quirks, things like that. They became real to me. Then I set the plot in motion, introducing the characters to each other at the appropriate times, and watch the story unfold. I can control the circumstances and surroundings, by adding/subtracting people, objects or conveniences, but that’s about it. My characters must otherwise sort things out for themselves. My question, as a writer, is how (for example) will Elizabeth (my main character) react when she is confronted with a given situation given the life experiences she’s had thus far? And given those reactions, how will those around her respond?
My challenge is to share the answer with the reader in a manner that makes the reader care--care enough about Elizabeth, her friends, and about what will happen next to turn page after page until they reach the end of the book. That’s no small feat, especially since we’re following Elizabeth now as an adult interacting with her own teenaged daughter, while reliving those painful teenaged years herself. We want to know (or at least this is the idea): will Jenna stay out of trouble? will she end up with the right boy? and will Elizabeth finally give her high school boyfriend the what for, and in a way that is satisfying? and what about Elizabeth’s friends? what happens to them? I’ve worked hard to put humor, irony and suspense into the story so that it’s not just a story of teenage angst. I think I’ve succeeded, but I’m ready for some honest critique... I’ve signed up for a writer’s group where I hope I’ll get that and more, in addition to what I’m getting in class. Things are moving right along--now 2/3 of the way through the 2nd draft. My next class assignment: writing a summary of the book that makes the reader want to pick it up in the first place. Not easy. How do you distill 100,000 words with multiple plot/subplot lines into 1 or 2 paragraphs?
I’m finding that I can’t stop thinking about my characters and the plot lines while I’m awake, and that they sometimes intrude into my dreams, as well. Stephen King and a few other authors say that I’m not crazy... that they go to live in their characters’ world at this stage in the game, too. But perhaps they’re in denial, and I’m just in good company.
Let me explain the process of writing, as I see it:
I created a group of characters, and before I even began work on the book, I gave them histories--full biographies even. I imagined who they were, what their lives were like, how they spoke and dressed, their personality quirks, things like that. They became real to me. Then I set the plot in motion, introducing the characters to each other at the appropriate times, and watch the story unfold. I can control the circumstances and surroundings, by adding/subtracting people, objects or conveniences, but that’s about it. My characters must otherwise sort things out for themselves. My question, as a writer, is how (for example) will Elizabeth (my main character) react when she is confronted with a given situation given the life experiences she’s had thus far? And given those reactions, how will those around her respond?
My challenge is to share the answer with the reader in a manner that makes the reader care--care enough about Elizabeth, her friends, and about what will happen next to turn page after page until they reach the end of the book. That’s no small feat, especially since we’re following Elizabeth now as an adult interacting with her own teenaged daughter, while reliving those painful teenaged years herself. We want to know (or at least this is the idea): will Jenna stay out of trouble? will she end up with the right boy? and will Elizabeth finally give her high school boyfriend the what for, and in a way that is satisfying? and what about Elizabeth’s friends? what happens to them? I’ve worked hard to put humor, irony and suspense into the story so that it’s not just a story of teenage angst. I think I’ve succeeded, but I’m ready for some honest critique... I’ve signed up for a writer’s group where I hope I’ll get that and more, in addition to what I’m getting in class. Things are moving right along--now 2/3 of the way through the 2nd draft. My next class assignment: writing a summary of the book that makes the reader want to pick it up in the first place. Not easy. How do you distill 100,000 words with multiple plot/subplot lines into 1 or 2 paragraphs?
I’m finding that I can’t stop thinking about my characters and the plot lines while I’m awake, and that they sometimes intrude into my dreams, as well. Stephen King and a few other authors say that I’m not crazy... that they go to live in their characters’ world at this stage in the game, too. But perhaps they’re in denial, and I’m just in good company.
November 12, 2006: Back to School
I’m getting serious about my writing (not riding) now... I’m about halfway through the second draft of my novel, and I’m proud of myself for what I’ve accomplished, but I realize that I need help if I’m going to get the job finished. My friend Aimee has been invaluable at providing both critical feedback and encouragement, but I need more... Writing a novel is one field where being self-taught isn’t enough.
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
November 12, 2006: Back to School
I’m getting serious about my writing (not riding) now... I’m about halfway through the second draft of my novel, and I’m proud of myself for what I’ve accomplished, but I realize that I need help if I’m going to get the job finished. My friend Aimee has been invaluable at providing both critical feedback and encouragement, but I need more... Writing a novel is one field where being self-taught isn’t enough.
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
November 12, 2006: Bridle Woes, or Flash of Brilliance
Susan started in on me the minute Jürgen left for Europe on October 26... She and Birthe were convinced the reason I was having difficulty keeping Facet in the canter was that I was allowing my leg to come forward into a chair position, and that stemmed from the fact that a lack of flexibility in my hip flexors wasn’t allowing me to follow the horse’s motion. Like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, no matter which horse I rode (and due to a minor tweak that has had me off Facet for 2 weeks, it was mostly Quila) she was continually after me to put my leg back.
“But if doesn’t go back any further...”
“Sure it does. Put it back.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Finally in frustration, I lengthened my stirrups. At first, I found I was struggling not to lose them, and when I posted, I would sometimes bump the pommel, but then I hit upon warming up with my stirrups dropped, and focussing on actively stretching my legs backward and down the entire time. That did the trick! I haven’t lost a stirrup since, and suddenly, my leg is staying down and long where they were nagging at me to keep it. And (face reddening here), they were right.
I won’t get to try the results out on Facet until this week, but on Quila, the change has been remarkable. In trot, I can control her so much better, most notably in the bend. Moving my outside leg back from the hip forms an ever so much more effective barrier, so that in corners and voltés, she has to take the bend I’ve asked for (and my seatbones are automagically weighted correctly). No more losing the haunches! And if I keep my inside leg down and long,too, it is effective so that she can’t fall to the inside, and I can demand perfect roundness every time.
The change at canter is even more amazing. We can do very small voltés in both directions now (imagine--us, doing something even resembling a working pirouette!) because I can make a barrier with that long inside leg that she needs to turn around (WOW!), and I can also make her sit and carry herself. While (or perhaps because) the improvement in our canter work has been the most dramatic, it also has caused the most difficulty. After a few rounds of the good canter, Quila decided it was far too much work and started grasping for new evasions--I had effectively shut the door on the tried and true ones.
THUS, WE COME TO THE TITLE OF TODAY’S POST...
In a single day, Quila, after 17 years, learned how to put her tongue over the bit! On Day One, she did it once or twice to try it on for size. Hmmmmm! A little painful, but it discombobulates Mom and I get to stop cantering. There could be something here. I will have to think about this.
On Day Two, she tried it a few more times, and found that if she did, she could also move her back up and down and get a few swear words out of me. By Day Three, she spent most of the ride with her tongue over the bit and added a new twist: flying her tongue in the breeze like a flag, and even experimenting with it to see if she could wipe the sweat from her eyes!
I now understand the German logic behind always using a flash (loosely) with our young horses. We generally avoid flashes with Quila because she has a particular difficulty that I won’t go into, but I had no choice... out came the crank noseband and flash, since my current noseband could not be adjusted tighter.
I ordered one of the crescent dropped nosebands (above), but the first one that arrived was a size up from what I’d ordered... still waiting for the correct one. I think it will be better since it should keep her mouth shut without running into the problems the regular flash will eventually cause. Had to do something, though, because the tongue was a problem.
I know, by the way, that she was not acting out of pain. Two days in the flash, and she’s my usual merry content horse, happy in her work, without a pinned ear, swished tail or any other behavior to suggest otherwise. And she’s doing quite well at carrying herself behind, thank you. Her pattern has always been, however, that whenever I’ve upset our way of doing things, she’s felt the need to try to convince me that the old way was best. She’s never been a fan of change.
“But if doesn’t go back any further...”
“Sure it does. Put it back.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Finally in frustration, I lengthened my stirrups. At first, I found I was struggling not to lose them, and when I posted, I would sometimes bump the pommel, but then I hit upon warming up with my stirrups dropped, and focussing on actively stretching my legs backward and down the entire time. That did the trick! I haven’t lost a stirrup since, and suddenly, my leg is staying down and long where they were nagging at me to keep it. And (face reddening here), they were right.
I won’t get to try the results out on Facet until this week, but on Quila, the change has been remarkable. In trot, I can control her so much better, most notably in the bend. Moving my outside leg back from the hip forms an ever so much more effective barrier, so that in corners and voltés, she has to take the bend I’ve asked for (and my seatbones are automagically weighted correctly). No more losing the haunches! And if I keep my inside leg down and long,too, it is effective so that she can’t fall to the inside, and I can demand perfect roundness every time.
The change at canter is even more amazing. We can do very small voltés in both directions now (imagine--us, doing something even resembling a working pirouette!) because I can make a barrier with that long inside leg that she needs to turn around (WOW!), and I can also make her sit and carry herself. While (or perhaps because) the improvement in our canter work has been the most dramatic, it also has caused the most difficulty. After a few rounds of the good canter, Quila decided it was far too much work and started grasping for new evasions--I had effectively shut the door on the tried and true ones.
THUS, WE COME TO THE TITLE OF TODAY’S POST...
In a single day, Quila, after 17 years, learned how to put her tongue over the bit! On Day One, she did it once or twice to try it on for size. Hmmmmm! A little painful, but it discombobulates Mom and I get to stop cantering. There could be something here. I will have to think about this.
On Day Two, she tried it a few more times, and found that if she did, she could also move her back up and down and get a few swear words out of me. By Day Three, she spent most of the ride with her tongue over the bit and added a new twist: flying her tongue in the breeze like a flag, and even experimenting with it to see if she could wipe the sweat from her eyes!
I now understand the German logic behind always using a flash (loosely) with our young horses. We generally avoid flashes with Quila because she has a particular difficulty that I won’t go into, but I had no choice... out came the crank noseband and flash, since my current noseband could not be adjusted tighter.
I ordered one of the crescent dropped nosebands (above), but the first one that arrived was a size up from what I’d ordered... still waiting for the correct one. I think it will be better since it should keep her mouth shut without running into the problems the regular flash will eventually cause. Had to do something, though, because the tongue was a problem.
I know, by the way, that she was not acting out of pain. Two days in the flash, and she’s my usual merry content horse, happy in her work, without a pinned ear, swished tail or any other behavior to suggest otherwise. And she’s doing quite well at carrying herself behind, thank you. Her pattern has always been, however, that whenever I’ve upset our way of doing things, she’s felt the need to try to convince me that the old way was best. She’s never been a fan of change.
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