If you’ve checked my blog lately, you’ve probably noticed that I wrote my last post some time ago, right after I lost my best friend

'Wenways Brat' - by Lisa Rosenthal

– my horse. You see, I couldn’t bear to turn on my computer and not see her photo on the desktop. That would mean moving on with my life – the life that doesn’t include her – for the first time in more than three decades.

Be sure to stop by J. King Artworks, at 48 South Park Square in Marietta – above the Australian Bakery – to visit Lisa Rosenthal and see the amazing works she has for sale.

The things that inspire the most also often hurt the most. The greatest loss comes from having received the greatest gift, from having loved so deeply that it is hard to determine where the heart and soul of one ends and the other begins. It is impossible to experience the depth of love without risking the pain of deep loss. Such is the cost of true love.

In 1980, I had been taking horseback riding lessons at a little barn in Medford, NY (on Long Island), when a mare and her foal came into the barn. The mare was beautiful, but the foal was stunning. Both were a gleaming sorrel – the color of a copper penny – and the foal was strong-willed, somewhat foul-tempered and I was smitten from the minute I saw her.

Wenways Brat and I were destined to be together from the moment we laid eyes on one another. I had no idea she liked to kick people who came into her stall, and she had no desire to harm me. Thus was the beginning of our nearly 32-year love story.

On Long Island, Brat’s incredible conformation made her a champion in the show ring at halter, and her willingness to please (and show off, I believe) earned her accolades in Showmanship in her first year.

When my family moved to Georgia in 1981, Brat came with me. As an unbroken filly, large already for a Quarter Horse, she was a handful, but our bond was unbreakable.

Stubborn as she was, when I broke her to saddle, we backed around the riding arena for several weeks before she submitted to moving forward. When she did, the motion was fluid, the sensation like flying. Everyone who ever rode her said it was unlike any other horse they had ridden.

In 1985, Brat gave birth to a filly, Southern Cross, who lived for a mere 24 hours before her under-developed lungs took her from us. Another attempt at breeding was unsuccessful, and I opted not to put Brat – or me – through it again.

When I had my own children, my time with her was more limited. There was a time when someone wanted to buy her, but Brat fractured her ankle and the buyers changed their minds. To this day I believe it was Brat’s way of coming home to me and staying there.

She had an affinity for children, and we could perch little ones on her back with an adult or by themselves without fear. My daughter was just two months old when she trotted up and down the long dirt driveway in the saddle with me. Brat served as an instruction horse at two different YMCA camps, and at 16.1 hands, was among the largest riding horses at both.

The second camp was located on very rocky terrain, and her constant stone bruises prompted me to find a new place for her to stay. A friend I had met through work had a farm a few miles from my home and I asked her if she knew of a boarding facility. As it happened, she was looking for a pasture boarder, and we moved Brat there in the summer of 1997.

The farm had a run-in shelter and one stall, but Brat lived in the pasture, making friends with Donna’s Thoroughbred gelding named Fizzer. Over the 15 years that followed, Brat and Fizzer were the mainstays, and had a close bond.

I would ride on occasion, but Brat was more my companion than a riding horse. She had done well in the show ring, and probably could have done a lot more. Sometimes I thought I should have allowed her that career, but maybe we wouldn’t have had such an easy relationship. She enjoyed retirement, as her main “job” was keeping me happy.

Brat would stand, dozing contentedly in the pasture as I groomed her. I could pick up her feet, comb her tail, even duck under her belly, and she would stand still until I finished. The only thing she didn’t enjoy was a bath, but she tolerated those on occasion – then would find the nearest patch of dirt and roll, grunting in ecstasy as she looked at me and shook – the horse equivalent of thumbing her nose at my idea of cleanliness.

She never bucked while I was riding her. Despite riding often over the years – daily before I had children – she was always a pleasure and I never fell off. To my knowledge, no one ever fell from her back. If the reins fell to the ground, she would stop in her tracks. But I didn’t need reins to ride her. She responded to the slightest touch of my leg on her flank, and at times all I did was turn my head and she would follow that lead.

In the early 1990s, I kept her at a farm in Woodstock where I was responsible for her daily care. I would take her out to the pasture in the morning on my way to work, then spend time cleaning her stall and riding before feeding her dinner in the evenings. Bringing her in meant leading her from the paddock to stand next to the fence while I climbed up – bareback with only a halter – and gallop to the barn.

When Brat turned 30, we celebrated together with a ride. Both of us were a little arthritic, so we kept it short, but I believe she enjoyed it as much as I did.

Brat & Fizzer

In the last two years, she struggled to keep her weight on during the winter. I changed her feed, added a supplement and was thrilled when she rallied each spring. Silly as it sounds, she had the wide back-end of a Quarter Horse, and maintaining the bus-back tush was a sign robust health.

Last October, on a whim, I rode her around the yard. She was healthy and sound and when I lifted the reins she lowered her head as if she was competing in a show. I touched my heel to her flank and we cantered around the lawn like we used to when we were young. She had a gleam in her eye when I took her in and groomed her, like she enjoyed the ride as much as I did.

I thought the weather this year would be a blessing, that the warmer temperatures would keep her healthy. But in mid-January she began to drop weight and I felt her unease with the daily routine. She surprised me one afternoon when I went out to feed her and she followed me at a trot up the hill toward the barn. I thought that perhaps her body would fill out again once spring came and the grass began to grow in.

But it wasn’t meant to be. She was tired, and she needed permission from me to go. The weather was beautiful over the weekend, and the other horses all stretched out on the grass, bathing in the warmth of the sun, but Brat just watched them as if she was afraid to lay down and be unable to get back up.

I called the vet. It was time.

The vet warned me what it was like to put a horse down – that it was done while they were standing, that horses fall, sometimes kick, sometimes lose control of their bodies…

But Brat wasn’t just a horse.

Brat’s life was so beautiful, and she maintained her dignity and beauty and perfection right until the end. The vet administered a mild sedative and Brat glanced around then lay down. I went to her and held her head against my chest as the vet administered the dose that would take her from me, and Brat went peacefully, breathing her final breath as I held her close.

For nearly 32 years, Wenways Brat has shared her beauty and perfection with me, and I am so grateful for that gift. It was my responsibility to give her the rest she deserved, and she was beautiful and perfect and peaceful until her very last breath.

My heart broke into a million tiny pieces Sunday afternoon, and have fit themselves back together awkwardly, with a giant piece missing that was once filled by Brat. True love is like that. And I accept this pain as the price for the decades of love and memories.

Bless you, Brat. I love you now and for always. And I am grateful to have had you in my life.

Bob (photo by Renee Gable)

neighbor you’re bound to run into, and appreciating the little things that make us slow down and take notice.

Last year, I wrote about how the bridge was out beside our subdivision, forcing me to drive a different route to practically everywhere I went. Each morning I was greeted with something that made me smile – a family of deer, a pair of red foxes, purple grass blooming on the side of the road, and wild turkeys.

While not domesticated, Bob the Turkey wasn’t exactly what I’d call “wild” either. Although his Facebook page touted him as “Serenade’s Mascot,” he truly was a mascot for all of Woodstock, and a Bob sighting always resulted in a smile.

Getting a Better View (photo by Wesley Matthews)

Sure, he tied up traffic from time to time, but where are we going in such a hurry, anyway? The speed limit along that end of Main Street is posted as 25 MPH, and I almost think Bob was planted by the Woodstock Police Department as a gift to help people avoid a speeding ticket.

He was nowhere to be found during the hubbub of the Christmas Jubilee Parade in December, but I have no doubt he was perched on a rooftop nearby, wondering about all the noise and commotion on “his” stretch of road.

Bob even garnered television time for our growing town, allowing for a feel-good story on the nightly news a few times last fall.

Folks who heard about but hadn’t seen Bob slowed down just past Woodstock Flowers & Gifts, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bird chasing a car or preening in the reflection of the electrical box near the railroad tracks.

Kids and grown-ups alike loved Bob. They shared photos and stories about the bird who was as familiar as the old Welcome to Woodstock sign once was.

You never know what will drive inspiration – the inspiration to create stories voiced by a quirky bird, start a conversation with someone you’ve never met, slow down and take notice of the things that usually pass by too quickly – but Bob inspired all of those things.

Bob is gone, but the kindness he inspired in the residents of our little town should be his legacy.

photo by Ashley Wilson

Enjoy these Words of Encouragement brought to you by WritersRelief.com

I’m a rebel. I tell my students I don’t believe in “writer’s block” – not as some amorphous mass that envelops the writer’s idea bank, anyway.

Perhaps it’s the idea of writer’s block that causes that momentary panic, which morphs into something that renders us unable to conjure a thought, complete an assignment, even hunt-and-peck a simple sentence about our chosen topic.

Why is it that so many blame “writer’s block” for their lapses, then? Confidence – or lack thereof.

I was sitting in a coffee shop not long ago, in a meeting with a client, when a writing friend of mine appeared from the “comfy couches” in one part of the cafe and set up shop at one of the hard tables near an electrical outlet so she could plug in her laptop.

She said she was on deadline for an assignment and asked if I had a cure for “writer’s block.”

My client smiled as I asked my friend to tell me about her subject, which she was able to do with much enthusiasm. I smiled back and said, “that sounds great! Now, go write it down that way!” (She did, met her deadline, and the article is – as always – wonderful).

There’s a point to this story, as it pertains to writer’s block. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

Just last week, I attended an all-day workshop during which we took an assessment designed to inform us about what kind of team player we are. There weren’t “good” players or “bad” players – all were equal, and the assessment was designed to help us recognize our strengths (thus, our weaknesses as well) and embrace them, knowing that we brought value to the team through our unique abilities.

As social as I am (I’m the “Network Goddess” in my other life, after all!), I was an Intuitive “Loner.” Me? A loner? I scoffed until the facilitator asked a few questions:

Facilitator: “What do you do?”

Me: “I’m a writer.”

Facilitator: “How many people are in the room when you write?”

Ah. There it is. Yes, writers live very solitary lives while they’re working. The interviews, the interacting with people, the classes full of students, all help us build the stories we tell. In a nutshell, we observe, we’re introspective and – yes – we’re “Loners.”

But we’re Storytelling Loners. We love for people to listen. And sometimes when we feel “stuck,” all we need to do is talk it out. Even if we’re just talking to ourselves.

There’s no such thing as “writer’s block.” There’s just Writer’s Laryngitis.

Whether you agree or disagree with the commercialization of the holidays or the price of Postage stamps, holiday cards are a tradition that would be a shame to lose.

For personal greetings, many families have opted for the “Christmas Letter” in which they share everything from children’s academic accomplishments to employment changes and more. To make this easier, you may want to compile a list of your Facebook posts and organize them in a letter – throwing in a few photos to break up the monotony.

Christmas letters are great for close friends and family, but be sure you don’t make them too long or too detailed (if you wouldn’t read it yourself, why do you expect it of Great-Aunt Ethel?). A great idea is one (short!) paragraph for each family member, accompanied by a photo. Keep them short and sweet – one-sided, whenever possible. You may want to do a condensed version on the back of a traditional family photo card for those whom you consider “close” but don’t see that often. And just a simple card will do for others, like former neighbors or co-workers with whom you still keep in touch.

For business contacts, a traditional card is preferred. But there are a lot of options available so you can customize your card with a photo or custom greeting. Be careful about using logos or text that sounds like a sales pitch. Greeting cards are a time to thank our customers and clients; they’ll be turned off by a card that doubles as a direct-mail ad.

I’m all for hand-signing cards whenever possible, even if you’ve had your name pre-printed in the card. Depending on the size of your list, you also should hand-write the name of the recipient, rather than leaving the top of the card blank – the lack of personalization leaves it feeling like bulk mail.

Business orders of greeting cards usually are ordered earlier in the year, but there are still some great options for smaller quantities or cards for personal use.

There’s just something about receiving a card in the mail that makes me spend a few extra minutes thinking about the sender – and isn’t that what the holiday season is all about?

Happy writing!

Earn one of these when you finish 50,000 words

It’s the lament of everyone who has ever sat down with a pen or a laptop and attempted to create a memoir, a poem, a short story or a full-fledged novel.

Excuses begone! Stretch your writing fingers, pull your best characters and storylines out of the deepest, darkest regions of your brain and get ready to begin writing at midnight on Tuesday, November 1 – the beginning of the 13^th Annual NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), during which writers pen a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. (For those of you who don’t like number-crunching – and what writer truly does? – that’s roughly 1,666 words a day!)

FoxTale Book Shoppe in Woodstock has been kind enough to open their doors to us crazy writers for six evenings for 1 ½ hours at a time – every Monday in November, and the the first and third Thursdays (Nov. 3 and 17) from 6 until 7:30 pm.

Depending on the number of people who participate, there’s no guarantee of a chair or an electrical outlet. So make sure you bring a pillow or blanket to stretch out on the floor, and make sure the battery in the laptop is fully charged.

For more information about National Novel Writing Month, visit www.NaNoWriMo.org and sign up to begin logging your daily word counts on November 1.

For more information about the Write-Ins at FoxTale, contact writing workshop facilitator Beth Hermes at 678-524-7518 or Beth@eIRISMarketing.com.

Happy Writing!

Writers know how hard it is to present an authentic voice in a piece of work. Readers know how essential it is – even if they’re not aware that’s what “it” is.

The “voice” is the style that captures – and keeps – a reader’s attention, that speaks to your preference, and conveys the personality of the topic – and often of the writer.

Just as each human has his or her own distinct voice, each story has one as well, giving it the personality it needs to attract a reader, bring the characters to life and make the reader either fall in love with a piece or put it aside.

Many writers use the same voice from story to story, even if the topic and characters change. Voice is often what attracts readers to a particular writer. When writers change their regular voice (think John Grisham in “A Painted House”), they often leave their readers scratching their heads. The new voice may help them attract a new audience. (“A Painted House” is my favorite Grisham novel, by the way).

Funny thing is, your story’s voice has as much to do with who your reader is as who you – the writer – are. One of the writing “rules” is “write what you know,” but that would be a scary prospect, given the number of thriller authors and crime novelists out there. And how would an historical fiction writer “write what they know”? Sure, there’s research, but that can only take your writing voice so far.

Writers and readers both have a comfort zone. But to grow as a writer, you may have to stretch outside your zone and try on new voices.

One of my recent assignments for my writing students was to create a persona using a character’s name, then change the character’s name and see if the persona still fit. For this piece, we wrote a personal ad, and we had some funny, interesting characters who grew out of the exercise. Dialect that was appropriate for diner waitress Emmy Lou Purdy, for example, was awkward for financial analyst Alexandria Welbourne.

The writers grew from this exercise as well. It’s amazing how much we can mature as writers, if we only stretch outside of our comfort zones and test the range of our voice.

every writer should have this on their book shelf

Omit needless words.
Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.
~ The Elements of Style, by William Strunk, Jr. and E.B. White

It’s hard not to be busy this time of year, with the kids back in school, festivals nearly every weekend, and cooler weather that makes yard work and house cleaning more appealing than just a few weeks ago when you’d break a sweat just walking to the fridge.

But busy doesn’t have to mean frenzied (also an adjective, and whose definition includes “violently agitated, frantic, wild”), which is what we tend to become when we take on too much “busy.”

For writers, “busy” often means “not writing,” which creates even more chaos in our lives. For those of you who live with writers, please understand that words are like oxygen to us. If we’re not scribbling a few thoughts or ideas into a notebook – or onto the closest scrap of paper we can find – we do, indeed, become frothing-at-the-mouth frenzied.

Perhaps, as the title of this post implies, writing is an addiction that we must tuck into the appropriate compartment of our calendars, like doing the laundry, shopping for groceries or dead-heading flowers. The only issue with this idea is that we’re not thinking about laundry, groceries or flowers while we’re writing, but we are thinking about writing while we’re doing just about anything else.

Be honest: How many of you have watched a distraught mother dealing with a tantrum-throwing child in the grocery story and infused the scene with a crazy theory about how the child doesn’t belong to the woman but no one wants to get involved? Or have you ever seen someone wandering aimlessly along the side of the road and given him some sort of “back story” that you can use in your writing?

IT Guy or Super Hero?

Of course you have! That’s what makes being a writer so interesting.

And for those of you who live with us, it’s what makes your lives more exciting because, to us, you’re not a banker or a lawyer or a bus driver or a teacher; you’re a spy or a special agent or a super hero or a knight whose true identity comes to life when we’re not too busy to scribble in our journals!