Blogging Interjection

We interrupt the Saga to bring you an out-of-schedule, mid-month, blogging commentary.

I hate John Scalzi.

Scalzi not only writes Hugo-nominated sf novels but has a kick-ass blog, Whatever. For 14 years, he’s been writing almost daily “about whatever John Scalzi feels like writing on”. The blog has spawned a Hugo-winning book of its own, Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded: A Decade of Whatever, 1998–2008 (Subterranean 2008), Hugo Award for Best Related Book in 2009.

This isn’t my usual measuring myself against the success of others, although there is an element of that. This arose specifically from his writing advice. I was having a Sorrows of Young Werther moment – the details of which I will spare you. Part of the wallowing was to splurge on a Kindle edition of Scalzi’s Redshirts (Tor 2012) instead of waiting for the paperback. I read it overnight, including during the thunderstorm while an 80-pound German Shepherd [Critters] tried to sit in my lap. What is it with dogs & storms? I’ve never had a cat freak out at thunder. But I digress.

As part of my blogging education, I keep lists of blogs & sites to follow, thus the Fellow Travelers page. [Feature discontinued. Too much updating. KTW] Reading Redshirts reminded me of the blog book, which lead me to check out Whatever, which lead me to one of his writing advice posts. He’s yaps on about the difference between writing for yourself/the Great American Novel/pursuit of art and writing professionally. He assumes a base level of competence,

“This is not the document in which I bolster your fragile ego and affirm your status as a real live writer. Go deal with that yourself. Somewhere else. Preferably away from me.”

Ability to string sentences together – have that. He emphasizes that writing is relatively low-paying – knew that – and a lot of work.

“I work, damn it. I work hard, I work a lot, and I do a lot of writing that’s not typically what you’d call ‘fun.’ ”

As I’m reading along, nodding my head, a suspicion begins to creep up on me. Am I working hard? Have I done everything I could for riding, writing, housekeeping, {insert project here}? For writing, I can’t control whether the The New Yorker ever employs me. I can’t control the amount of talent I have. The one thing – the only thing – I can control is how much effort I put in. Repeat for the other areas of my life. Am I working hard? Pretty sure I know the answer to that one.

From now on, before I start whining, I will engage in the following conversation:

Have I given this project as much effort as I am capable of?
No?
Then shut up.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to get some work done.

Thpppft to you, Mr. Scalzi.

(Personal sanity note: I do not reject the need for downtime. Sitting on my tuchus all day yesterday indubitably helped me feel better today. It’s a little about changing the amount of work I do and a lot about restricting my whining license. Work? Not work? Cool. However, no work = no whinging allowed.)
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Gratuitous Kitten Pics

I think I see it …

… were you looking for this?

Dog Walks

Exercise sucks. Four years at a jock school did not change my opinion. Under protest, I bike, I swim, I stretch. I have yet to come in contact with an endorphin. I know I must persevere if I do not wish to be stove up.

Exercise is easier under the influence of an external agency, hence the popularity of personal trainers. In the past, I motivated myself to walk around the pasture with the excuse that Mathilda needed exercise [My Two Horses]. Since spring, she hasn’t been walking, so neither have I.

Another activity that fell off the schedule was barn time for the dog [Barn Dogs]. The only time our uber-beta dog doesn’t mind me is when there are horses to chase. Therefore, she is not allowed near the barn if Mathilda is out or being walked. The dog annoys the horses so much that Mathilda will try to kick or lunge even on a rope. So the dog has been in the custom-fenced dog pen that is our front yard. Despite the space, her summer hasn’t been any more fun than the rest of ours.

Combining the above, I have recently started taking the dog for walks around the pasture after the horses are done and Mathilda is put up for the might. She runs. I get weight-bearing exercise. My slothful side gets distracted.

If you will excuse me, I have to go walk the dog.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

The first of the junior cats gets big enough to invade a senior cat spot. Arthur will not be pleased.

Happy Trails

Sam & I discuss the upcoming lesson.
Sam does not appear to be impressed.
Photo by Courtney Huguley

Saddleseat lesson #3 lesson gets an A for confidence-boosting and a C for progress. Five-gaited Buster stayed in the stall & I rode the less exciting but more relaxing Sam. Mild-mannered trots and lots of breaking at the canter. I’ve figured out that the familiar hunter/jumper buttons don’t work but am having trouble finding the saddleseat buttons. Naturally, Sam was thrilled to motor around at half-speed and have an easy day. I could feel him listening but his reply was, Nope, she ain’t got it yet. All of which is ironic because I’m normally better at go than whoa. I have better luck motivating horses with my electric seat than calming down bottle rockets.

The best part was the trail ride after. I think I miss that most of all, more than showing, more than jumping, just strolling along. Previous Horse was not one for trail rides. Every so often we’d say Darn it, we have horses. We are going on a trail ride. At which point, PH would be such a pig that we wouldn’t try again for months. PH & I did, however, spend much time ambling around the edge of the pasture for warm-up, cool-down, cold-weather riding, and so on.

A friend commented that she was happy that I was riding again. She’s right, of course. Riding is better than not riding. However, a lesson a week on a school horse is a handful of carob chips when what I crave is a pound of Fassbender & Rausch. Robin McKinney said it well in her blog (which is why she has published 17 books):

“… I couldn’t ride regularly, week after week … and there’s no frelling point to riding any other way than regularly. At least not at my age and when I’ve done enough riding and hanging out with horses in years past that I’m not interested in anything less than a relationship, and preferably a training relationship, with an individual horse, in which one or the other of you and probably both are learning stuff you didn’t know before.”

Mind you, I do like getting on a horse. I’m sure I am much more amenable on Friday afternoons than I am the rest of the week. The plan is to stay with the saddleseat even if/when I am riding my own horse(s) again. Still, it does little to stem the tide of frustration and angst that Rodney can inspire.

Are you go or whoa?

List of previous saddleseat posts, Saddleseat lessons from Stepping Stone Farm.

Day Off Philosophy

I gave the horses the morning off yesterday. I tried not to feel guilty about it.

The idea is to dial back the barn time. Since I am not training for the Olympics, or the regionals, or much of anything, why am I logging marathon-training amounts of time? Now that both horses are at a comfortable status quo, I need to find a more sensible way forward. Putting more into an activity than you get out is a sure way to burn-out. The amount of time does not matter, 6 hours a day is great if you are getting huge amounts of life energy back out of riding, gardening, or tiddlywinks. Five minutes a day is too much if it shrivels your soul. So, this is me walking away, when I can.

Declaring a day off easy when it’s part of the schedule, say the day after a show, or when it’s raining cats & dogs and poodles are forming in one’s riding arena.

A legitimate day off is harder to determine when the schedule is amorphous. Obviously, there are activities of daily living that need to be done: feeding, medication, etc. What about the rest of it? Mathilda needs to be groomed, but does she need a 30-minute head-to-toe every day? I’m sure she would enjoy it, but her hair won’t fall out if I skip a day. I should work with Rodney (see Tracey & Amy’s suggestions), but it’s hard to rally for seven days a week when the outcome is unclear. What is a good compromise between possible progress and sanity? Five days? Three days?

“Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.”
Desiderata, Max Ehrmann

Sure, fine, whatever. At what point does being gentle with one’s self slide in to sloth & self-indulgence? I have a liberal arts degree and lawyers in my genetic heritage, I can rationalize myself into a Harry Potter movie marathon quicker than you can find the remote. That’s why I like having a plan. If I make it up day-by-day, I’m suspicious of my own motives. I know myself. I’m a lazy sod.

What is your day off policy?
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Gratuitous Kitten Cat Pic

Our tortoiseshell being scenic in the leaves.