I'm getting ready to feed the horses.
Again.
They need fed every morning, and every morning I dread it. Don't get me wrong, I love the horses, and I'd never let them go hungry.
But getting dressed, pulling on sweats, gloves, hat, coat and the pair of muddy boots from the day before, it all seems to be such a chore. Opening the door to the freezing cold, hefting 10 eighty- pound bales into the truck and over fences, breaking ice and draining hoses, it all seems too much.
But once I'm out there, I enjoy myself. The cold and hard work melt away. The horses snort welcome. Sundae, my daughter's old gymkhana horse, nickers low and soft. Our little pony filly, Flower, bucks and plays because she's so excited to have her breakfast. And, the horses in field race up to the fence to watch us load their meal.
What does any of this have to do with writing?
It's kind of the same.
Starting the computer, going into that barren, frozen tundra of my brain , it's difficult to make myself work. I dread stepping into the cold. The first words are like the mud outside, hard to go into.
But once I begin, the words are like the horses. Once I'm among them, I'm home. The hard part falls away, and the enjoyment take over. Characters welcome me back, and the fun part begins. I remember why I write. I love it.
I really should go feed....I can hear the horses calling.
Again.
They need fed every morning, and every morning I dread it. Don't get me wrong, I love the horses, and I'd never let them go hungry.
But getting dressed, pulling on sweats, gloves, hat, coat and the pair of muddy boots from the day before, it all seems to be such a chore. Opening the door to the freezing cold, hefting 10 eighty- pound bales into the truck and over fences, breaking ice and draining hoses, it all seems too much.
But once I'm out there, I enjoy myself. The cold and hard work melt away. The horses snort welcome. Sundae, my daughter's old gymkhana horse, nickers low and soft. Our little pony filly, Flower, bucks and plays because she's so excited to have her breakfast. And, the horses in field race up to the fence to watch us load their meal.
What does any of this have to do with writing?
It's kind of the same.
Starting the computer, going into that barren, frozen tundra of my brain , it's difficult to make myself work. I dread stepping into the cold. The first words are like the mud outside, hard to go into.
But once I begin, the words are like the horses. Once I'm among them, I'm home. The hard part falls away, and the enjoyment take over. Characters welcome me back, and the fun part begins. I remember why I write. I love it.
I really should go feed....I can hear the horses calling.
I don't have to feed horses, but on the really cold mornings when there is front on the windows, I dread just getting out of bed and my little comforter-cocoon I create every night! :)
ReplyDeleteYou've captured the heart of the matter. I remember those days fondly. The warms smells of fresh cedar shavings, timothy hay, and molasses sweet feed. Nothing says love in' like a nicker or a push from a velvety nose.
ReplyDeleteA lovely post... as always..
Nan
I feel the same way about going to the gym - dread it, and only happy once its over!
ReplyDeletesix or seven years ago, my hearts dream was to own a place in the country and farm alpacas. :) The military screwed that up for me, but now I realize I'm getting past the desire to get up at 5:30 a.m. to feed and water animals. As for the cold, I actually wrote more when we lived on the Prairies and had -45C days. Guess it gave me an excuse not to do anything else! I always enjoy hearing about your daily ranch life, D'Ann. Keep'em coming!
ReplyDeleteD'Ann, you've made a lovely connection between writing and "ordinary" life. So many tasks feel like work, drudgery even, yet we'd be lost without them. Thanks for reminding us to be grateful for small pleasures - including writing.
ReplyDeleteA really nice post, D'Ann. Sitting down to write is always my reward for doing all the other stuff that's required: the day job, the laundry, etc.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comments, everyone! I appreciate them. I love the horses, just not the mud and snow this winter!
ReplyDeleteGood post D'Ann. I feel the same way. Sometimes it's a chore the just put my fingers to the keyboard.
ReplyDeleteD'Ann -
ReplyDeleteYou are so right (write) about this. Why is it that we sometimes dread sitting down so much? It's not like we're truly enjoying whatever else we're doing because we're thinking about the writing (or feeding the horses). It's a very strange procrastination.
K-
Thanks, everyone, for coming by!
ReplyDeleteLovely post, D'Ann. Very evocative, and very true.
ReplyDeleteI agree with roxanne about the sameness/mundaneness but as Scarlett O'Hara said, "I'll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day." Sometimes I think we just push too hard. I know I do and then I seem more stuck than ever. Check out www.ripplesinastream.blogspot.com to see how we can use the mundaneness of life for stories.
ReplyDelete