Mahogany Bay Arabian For Sale

The Nikster is thinking of biting me. There's a hankering for human flesh in his big brown eyes.

Can't say I blame him. I've been struggling with his right front hoof for at least ten minutes. It hasn't rained in months and everything is either mummified or petrified with his hooves being the latter. The nippers aren't making so much as a dent in his granite hard hooves.

I feel his attention on my posterior. "No biting!" I growl. He turns away, his sigh long and deep. A few seconds later, he's chomping on the metal gate, big teeth ringing against metal. This isn't new. The sky blue paint has long been scraped off the metal.

The Nikster is not a patient animal. Neither am I. Sweat is starting to run down my nose and I'm muttering something about "glue factory." He stamps at non-existent flies even though he's dripping with fly repellent. His hoof squirms in my grasp and the nippers nip my flesh. My cursing wilts what little plantlife is still alive on our property.

Five minutes later, I finish the hoof and call it a day. Trimming Nikster's hooves is like writing; you take the smallest victories.

Writing...
Cranked out the requisite 1000 words yesterday. I've really reached the point where I can't go any farther without dealing with the dark sucking plot-hole issues. Must brainstorm.

Have a happy weekend. May your chores be few and less odious than hoof trimming.
Pat K.

Critters Writing Workshop Props

Because I don't want to give the impression that I'm running down Critters Online Workshop....

I was asked if I thought it was worth joining: YES.

Some of the advantages.
*A broad spectrum of writers (and readers). Beginners to pros; hard SF types to epic fantasy to horror. With horror being the least represented, but still present.

*A resource for those of us who don't play well with others (in person). I.e., critiques via email can provide an emotional distance. Even if a critique pisses you off--if you're a grownup--you can put it aside and let it simmer. Chances are you'll find something of worth in the comments. If not, no big deal. It's not as though you've made any sort of commitment to exchange more critiques with that person.

*The ability to create a "shit list." Okay, this is my invention. I've found something of value in all my critiques save for three. I remember those peoples' names; if I get a critique from them, I simply hit Delete. They still get credit; I avoid further aggravation. Easy-peasy.

*In time, you do make some critique "acquaintances." These are folks who repeat your stories repeatedly and vice versa.

*Gives you an interesting insight into what the average editor deals with when reading slush. (Empathy for editors.)

*Because of the variety of readers/writers, I sometimes use Critters as a means of determining "audience."

*Very well-automated. Easy to submit manuscripts and critiques.

*Numbers vary, but my submissions typically get the 20-plus average critiques. Honestly, anything above 15 starts to get wearying.

Disadvantages
The broad spectrum means critiques of wildly fluctuating quality. Hard SF-ers that just don't "get" contemporary fantasy, for example. Critique-by-the-numbers type who seem to run off a list of rules: "No 'ly' words."

The inability to read the critiquer's reactions as you might in person. Frankly, I think disagreements are just as likely in person, especially if you're working with the wrong person...but...some prefer the personal touch.

And, yeah, sometimes the endless procession of the same old mistakes (hubris, much?), story-after-story is tiring. Hence, my snotty diary a few posts back.

****

Anyway, if you're a writer of science fiction (Sc-fi, sci-fi, sci-fi), fantasy or horror, give Critters a try.

Writing...
Actually cranked out two critiques yesterday. Cheated and went with names I recognized. But...two, nonetheless.

1000 words on Book Two, me thinks. Jumping around from place to place in manuscript. Lost count.

Happy Weekend,

Pat Kirby

Un-Peaceable Kingdom

It's July and the Rufous Hummingbirds, thugs of the bird world, have rolled into town. The morning air is filled with indignant squeaks, as the Black-chinned Hummingbirds discover their favourite feeder has been taken over by a coppery menace.

Going outside isn't safe. The tiny birds are so consumed with their aerial dogfights they don't notice much else around them. They rip by my head, tiny wings buzzing, like Tom Cruise's tower flybys in "Top Gun."



This morning, the last Black-chinned stronghold--the stand of licorice mint--fell to the invading Rufous army.

The Gambel and Scaled quails, on the other hand, seem to be much kinder. In fact they are quite open to racial integration, with hybrid Gambel/Scaled offspring popping up everywhere. This morning a huge covey showed up to clean up spilled seed under the feeder. And...they cheerfully chased away all the other birds.

Can't they all just get along...?

For Any Western Gardeners...
I get many of my perennials from High Country Gardens , both directly from the store and through mail order. Sign up for a free catalogue. It's filled with gorgeous photos and more info than most gardening books. (No, I don't have stock in the company.)

Writing...
Not as much as I'd like, yesterday. Slept most of the afternoon. Must get butt in gear today.

P.K.

Diary of a Critters Critiquer

MONTH ONE:
Oh, this is so much fun. Last week I critiqued three stories. This week I'm going for four.

MONTH TWO:
I've critiqued at least three stories a week. The experience is helping me look at my work with a critical eye. V. helpful. Looking over this week's offerings. Maybe I'll do an RFDR (novel reading). Here's one. This looks promising.

MONTH FOUR:
Oh, dear. First chapter of novel RFDR I chose was great, but the rest...goodness was this even written by the same writer? Still keeping up the three critiques a week rate, however.

MONTH FIVE:
Finished RFDR. Um, yay me. It was longish to say the least. A real challenge but I think I found a way to politely and diplomatically say that it needed a lot of work.

After note: Writer has written back a long, very polite explanation of why novel is long, why nothing happens for the first 200 pages, etc. Hmmm. Am I supposed to change my assessment? Don't understand.

MONTH SIX:
Just read a horror story where nasty guy slaughters a bunch of people in the first scene. Gory, but really dull. Open up a Stephen King novel/short story. What's King's trick? Character, yep. Makes me either care about the victims or gets me deep in nasty guy's head. This story does neither. Now to express that di-plo-ma-tic-lly.

MONTH SEVEN:
Read a horror story where nasty guy slaughters a bunch of people in the first scene. Er, didn't I critique something just like this a while ago? Don't know what to say...except exactly the same thing I said last time.

Look for a different story on Critters' queue.

Still critiquing an average of three stories a week.

MONTH EIGHT:
Reading one of this week's stories. Ho-hum. Weird dialogue.

"Mary. What are you doing?" he asked.

"You are a jerk, Bob. A jerk! I hate you! I'm leaving," yelled Mary.

Whoa, whoa. Where did that outburst come from? Dear Writer, perhaps the dialogue could have a few contractions. Does Mary have to be so shrill? Story is also all "tell" with very little "show," for example...

MONTH NINE:
Have a group of regulars, whose work I critique and vice versa. But I like to expand my horizons, critique outside the box. Pick a name I don't recognize. Story features a female protagonist, young, pretty, thin. Protag is being victimized by a cruel slave owner/father/brother/dragon/INSERT VILLAIN HERE. Loads of bad things happen to her. She suffers and suffers.

Hmm. Why am I not moved? Do much thinking. Oh. Because she really isn't a character, just a suffering blob. And she isn't doing much to get herself out of the situation.

After note: Writer politely notes that that is the point of the story/novel excerpt. She is supposed to be the helpless victim. But in Chapter Twelve she will start to take control of her life.

Er, okay, whatever.

MONTH TEN:
Have just completed another RFDR. Again, it started out as one kind of story, meandered for 400 pages and ended as another story altogether. Pen very polite and nice critique.

Still doing at least three critiques a week.

After note: Writer has written back a long, very polite explanation of why novel is long, why nothing happens for the first 200 pages, etc. If writer didn't want my opinion, if novel is sooo shiny perfect, why the hell did he/she send it out for critique? Hmmm. Perhaps his/her Mom would be a better audience?

MONTH ELEVEN:
On the "trying new writers" kick, read another story about a hapless young girl/woman (is it just me, or is there a Lolita thing happening?). Same sich as before, lots of misery and angst, but protagonist is milquetoast bland.

After note: Writer politely notes that that is the point of the story/excerpt. She is supposed to be the helpless victim. But in Chapter Twelve she will start to take control of her life. I think, Well, yeah, but I need a reason to read to Chapter Twelve.

MONTH TWELVE:
Hmmm. Written several more of my own stories and getting going on two novels. Seem to be down to two critiques a week. Sign up for another RFDR to amp up percentage.

MONTH THIRTEEN:
Crap, has it been another week already?

MONTH FOURTEEN:
Hmmm. Haven't I critiqued this guy/gal's work before? Looks familiar. Same God-awful dialogue.

"Mary. Here is your birthday present."

"But, Bob. I do not want a new necklace. You do not understand me at all."

Yipes. Here's a quarter. Go buy some contractions. And the story is all "tell" and no "show." I feel like a broken record. Crap. Can't say that. How to be polite, polite. Argh.

MONTH FIFTEEN:
Finish RFDR and pen polite, yawn, critique. Receive, predictably, looong explanation as to why nothing happens in first 200 pages, etc. O-kay, Mr./Ms. Writer. Prove me wrong. Sell that bad boy to anyplace that isn't a vanity press.

MONTH SIXTEEN:
Another sweet little thing in peril story. She's little, frail, and oh-so-tiny. Why the hell are they always "tiny?" Why can't big girls be in peril? Give her a meal and she might be able to stand up for herself.

Still at one critique a week.

MONTH EIGHTEEN:
Ugh, another week. Scanning queue. Oh, thank, God, there's someone I know. At least I know his/her story won't make my eyes bleed. At one critique a week, barely. Percentage is getting low, cruising on the dregs of RFDR credits.

MONTH TWENTY-ONE:
Stupidly, try a new writer. Surprise, surprise, another girl in danger story.
Fuck diplomacy. Here's my credit card. Take frail, dainty little heroine out for a meal at an all-you-can-eat steakhouse. Sign her up for karate lessons. Buy her some mace and a taser.

MONTH TWENTY-TWO:
Critiques. Oops. Crap now I have to do ten to catch up.

MONTH TWENTY-THREE:
Fuck it.

MONTH TWENTY-FOUR:
Huh? Critters?

(Of all the stories [100+] and RFDR novels read, most have belonged to very sane, not-whiny writers. Critters is a great resource. But...I'm burned out. Smell the smoke?)

Happy Wednesday,
Pat Kirby

World On Fire

Look around, leaves are brown (because it hasn't rained in months) and the sky is a hazy shade of smoky (thanks to brush fires). With apologies to Simon and Garfunkel.



One of three fires in the Albuquerque area yesterday.

Slate gray, roiling clouds, lightning, but no rain. In God's big book of disaster recipes, those are the ingredients for brush fire. Summer sucks. It's like living in a shiny bright oven. Heat radiates off every surface. Dry heat...gah.

Yesterday evening, all that smoke settled in a murky, sick-making blanket over the area. The swamp cooler sucked all that stuff into the house, and by morning I felt like I had black, er brown lung. I went to work smelling like a campfire.

Yep, me whiny. Need a nap.

Reading...
Gasa-Gasa Girl by Naomi Hirahara. Hope to get it done before the, sigh, arrival of the boy wizard tomorrow. I'll do the review thing, but at more than half-way through, I'm inclined toward liking it...much.

Apres Potter...eyeing the Hambly books lent to me by Kristin. The Silent Tower, perhaps? I just realized I have read a Hambly, although long ago. Dragonsbane. Yep.

Still have a Charlaine Harris, Greg Keyes and Kim Harrison in library TBR pile. So many books...

Writing...
Got in 1000 new words. Also did the copy/paste thing from scraps file and added another 2500 words to manuscript (Book Two). Coming up on approx the first third on both manuscripts (about 30K). They're sort of racing, neck and neck. Which will I finish first?

Last week I did a detailed critique, the sort I used to do. That pretty much depleted my critiquing reserves. Feeling unenthusiastic about critiquing this week.

Nap time before I get brattier.

Stupid Horse Trick

There are god blogs, sex blogs, poker blogs, and knitting blogs. But I've yet to run into any horse blogs.

So here's another contribution to the void.
(BTW, "stupid"=me, not Nikster.)

I'm teaching the Nikster to play fetch. Why? I dunno. Because I can? Because it's the only thing to do when it's hot enough to cook an entire meal on the sidewalk?

Regarding the nuts and bolts of training: I use a hodgepodge of natural horsemanship methods from the likes of John Lyons, Pat Parelli,* et al. And I oonch it up a notch with clicker training. Info here and here.

*As with writing, there are no miracle cures, nothing will guarantee success, no matter what any trainer claims.

Unlike golden retrievers, horses aren't known for their desire to manically chase balls. But Nikster is an Arabian, with a surplus of energy, and he likes having a job to do.

I've broken the behavior into smaller behaviors.

The first, "Go away; come back," he already does. I can point to a target (orange pylon) and he will move to it, touch it with his nose and return. Next is getting him to pick up his stall ball. Although the ads for these toys show horses happily carrying them about, Nikster bites, kicks and shoves his, but won't pick it up.

Step one: get him to bite the handle. Nikster is mouthy, so this is easy. He chomps on the handle and click, he gets a treat. I let him do this three more times rewarding each time. Then no more clicking.

"Huh?" he seems to say. "No clicks? What the hell?" But Nikster knows this game and being smarter than the average bear, starts to experiment. He pushes the ball, bites the side. Nothing He resorts to his "Be nice," posture, neck arched, chin tucked toward his chest. Nothing.

Frustrated, he bites the ball handle again, and accidentally lifts it an inch. Click! I can see the gears turning in his big bony head. He fiddles again, getting to the lifting part a little quicker this time. Click! Horse-sized light bulb shines over his head. Big yellowy teeth chomp on the handle and he lifts it again. Click

Since I like to stop at a good point, I put the ball away.

The next day, he gets to lifting quickly. But, irritating human that I am, I stop rewarding for that. I want him to lift it higher. This time, it only takes a couple of tries and he's lifting it a few feet off the ground. Click! He seems rather pleased with himself. Almost smug.

Next. Get him to hang onto the thing longer than a second or two.

Probability that he will discover the joy of bashing me in the face with the ball = HIGH

Writing...
Work on revisions of story that was rejected with "happy to see this again if..." comment. Got some good ideas via the writing chat with Kristin.

Continue on Book Two. At the "dead body on the floor," Now what? point. Need to brainstorm a little to get past this particular hurdle.

Probably going to see Batman this P.M. J-man took the week off before starting new job and needs to be entertained. So...got get writing now.

Happy Thursday,
P.K.

Things Horse

Nikster shows off the latest in bank robbing attire for equines.

He survived the Fourth of July, scary exploding things and all, quite nicely. None of the usual terrified racing around his paddock every time a firecracker went off. Of course, I had to hang out with him during the worst of it, but the view of the big shows is good from his paddock.

Here's a moving editorial about a much braver horse, sent to me by neighbor Lynne Pomeranz.

Lynne is a terrific photographer and an advocate for wild horses. Pic, pic, and pic. She recently signed a deal for a photography book about the wild horses of Pryor ranch.

Whaat? You were expecting stories about kittens? Really, now. I'm not that kind of writer.

Pat Kirby