susanlarsonauthor

The pretty good books of Susan Larson


Leave a comment

How People Talk in “Sam (a pastoral)”

“They All Sound So Real!”

 

Several of my readers have remarked to me that the conversations in “Sam (a pastoral)” sound as if ‘real people were talking.’  I am really flattered when they say that! And I think it’s true.

 

I spent a lot of time listening to my neighbors Upstate in Sam-Land.  These good folks had a huge repertory of epic tales about farming, hunting, and the crazy things that they or other people had done. Their language was rich and antique, their comic timing was gorgeous, and if they repeated themselves over the years, that was just fine with me.

 

The characters in “Sam” are based on many of these fine folks. I am especially indebted to a venerable patriarch, a tart-tongued farmer’s wife, an elfin farm child, and a series of Zen Master farriers.

 

 I have their wonderful styles of talking stuck firmly in my mind’s ear, and I did my best to write them down in “Sam.” The book, with a few exceptions, is fiction, but the flavor and the savor of the talk is true as true.

 

I was also familiar with the wise and foolish sayings of my poor parents, as they struggled to make sense of their lives and of their children. I adopted their style of verbal flailing at their mulishly ungovernable offspring, and used it for my Mom and Dad characters; but I firmly state that, except for a few instances, my actual parents are innocent of any of the wild doings in “Sam.”

 

Sam himself has many things to say, which I have translated into English for the reader. He was extremely communicative and had lots of opinions. He expressed himself in pantomime, and also with grunts or moans of bliss, sighs of resignation, and his own patented lip-popping, which he used to express his frustration at not being allowed to gallop. We called this phenomenon “Mupping,” and still make the sound ourselves when we are annoyed beyond words.       

 

 

 

 


Leave a comment

“I Wish you were Somebody Else”

These words may be the  most murderous message one can deliver to another human being.  In “Sam (a pastoral)” my novel about horses and humans, those words are never said. But the protagonist, Ruthie gets a the unspoken signal from her Dad: he would have liked a better kid than the one he got.

When I was young, many folks thought that being harsh and judgmental with your children was something you did ‘for their own good.’ Belittling your kids was supposed to toughen them up for the inevitable hard knocks awaiting them in the real world.  Cuddling them produced adults who were soft, gay, dependent on food stamps, whatever. Today, at least among liberal thinkers, what was once a popular child-rearing method is called ‘abuse.’

In “Sam” there is a quiet, bucolic chapter called ‘At the Horse Show.’ In this chapter Ruthie, having bought the homely, cranky horse Sam, leaves him snoozing in the barn and goes to see a local horse show.  She is happy because she  is no longer jealous of kids who own horses – she has a horse now too, and he is wonderful in so many ways.

She forgets all those wonderful ways the moment she sees the pretty, graceful, shiny ponies the other kids have: their braided manes, dainty feet and sleek clipped coats. The ponies she used to dream about; just better in every way than hers.

She goes home and tries to pretty Sam up. She trims the mops of hair off his fetlocks. She cuts off his beard and whiskers. She braids his mane and hacks off half the hair on his tail, trying desperately to turn him into some other horse; but Sam is still Sam.  By the end of this fruitless makeover session, which Sam enjoys immensely, she figures something out: Sam is OK just the way he is.

Later in the book, there is a deeper echo of this story, as Ruthie and Bea Pilcher sit in Bea’s kitchen talking about the breakup of Ruthie’s family, and the terrible rage that has devoured her life ever since.  Bea reaches over and pats Ruthie’s hair and tells her she wished she had a kid like her.

This is the beginning of Ruthie’s return to herself. Somebody has said to her,  ‘you may be in a bad place right now, but you, as a person, are OK just they way you are.’


Leave a comment

The Joinup Begins: Sam Changes his Mind

In this vignette from “Sam (a pastoral),” both Ruthie and Sam forgo their first impulses, namely to fight; they stop a moment and re-consider each other and decide to try a little trust.

 

‘Sam sauntered down the barn lane like an old moo cow, his head bobbing between Evvie and me, his ears waggling back and forth in time with his strides. My heart was thumping about three beats per waggle. I led Sam close to the stave bench, then stood on it and slowly looped the reins over his neck.

Sam tensed up and rolled a spooky-blue left eye around to glare at me. He whuffed out hard through his nose as I undid the halter and lifted the crownpiece of the bridle up in front of his face…

Hmpf!” he said, and flung his nose straight up. How could he? After I had been so nice to him.

“Should I smack him?” I asked Evvie.

“I dunno, is be being bad?”

Was he? Or was he just expecting to get yarned around? We stood there another minute. The nose stayed up, the eye stared at me. Finally I took the bridle down and reached out nice and slow with my empty hand. I stroked Sam’s neck.

“Don’t worry, Sam.” My voice was shaking. “I won’t yarn you around, ever. Ever. I promise.”

That eye glowered down at me and I looked up at it. I kept stroking his neck. It was as hard as stone. Another long minute went by.

The eye closed. Sam smacked his lips and made a sound like a sigh. Did I hear him say,

“Tsk. Oh, all right, if it means that much to you.” Sam lowered his head. I held up the bridle again and he took the bit. I eased the crown piece over his ears, off side, near side. Sam sighed again while I did up the buckles; then the eye opened and looked at me. Not glaring…

Sam lifted his nose up close to my face. He sniffed my hair and my mouth and touched my cheek with his whiskers. I sighed and shut my eyes…’


1 Comment

Horses are smarter than you think!

Some folks think horses are dumb; after all, they let us take their freedom and boss them around. While it’s true no horse has written a major symphony or discovered a comet, it is evident they can solve problems, communicate, and figure out ways to take advantage of the people who think they are dumb.

For instance, last month I saw several horses using tools to do something. Only a few animals like higher primates and some clever birds are credited with the ability to do this, but I witnessed my favorite animal turning trash into a handy device.

Two horses of my acquaintance were picking up the woody stalks of weeds in their recently-mowed pasture, and using the  fan-shaped panicles of seed pods to swat flies off their bellies behind their forelegs.  This is a hard area for them to reach with either their heads or their hind legs, so they improvised fly-swatters! How’s that for innovative and smart?


1 Comment

Tips on How to Write a Girl & Horse Book

Let me share my wisdom, gained through long years of struggle, with all you young writers out there!

Tip#1. Don’t do it unless you absolutely have to. If you must, put zombies in it.

Tip#2. Do not write while riding a horse. Ditto a bicycle.

Tip # 3Do not write while asleep.

Tip#4. If you can’t think of a plot turn, call the vet. Colic is always popular.

Tip#5. Seriously now, if you are stuck with your story, clear your head with deep meditation. Or go riding on a horse. Ditto a bicycle.

Tip#6. Don’t take anybody’s advice.