Dealing with rejection.

I knew getting into print wasn’t going to be easy. I watched my mum struggling to get her writing published and so I know how difficult it is. But it was still quite a blow to receive my first rejection from an agent even if it was phrased in a positive way:
Dear Ms. Hearle,

Many thanks for sending me your manuscript.

I thought that there was much to admire here, in particular your prose style, but I’m afraid I don’t look after any books in this sort of genre and as such I do not feel that I would be the right agent for you, but please do not give up.

With best wishes and good luck in your future endeavours….
Being my first, I found it hard to tell if this was a standard rejection or not, but I’m learning to read the positives within the negatives; in so doing, I am choosing to take solace in the fact that he ‘admired’ my ‘prose style’ and am certainly not going to give up just yet. In fact I’m half way through my manuscript and will persevere in my pursuit of representation despite having already received a second, less positive rejection.
People keep reminding me about J K Rowling’s struggle to find belief in Harry Potter; whilst I don’t live under any illusions of harbouring a similarly global phenomenon on my hard drive, such thoughts do help to keep those flames of hope burning. I will strive to write more powerful, poignant and popular prose.
I’ve also suffered rejection with Bow; we didn’t make it onto the short list for the 2* team. The reason? Our show jumping hasn’t been consistent enough. Pragmatically I saw it coming; we haven’t had the greatest season, Bow isn’t the most careful jumper in the world and there are a lot of very good horses on the list. What's more important is that he's making a good recovery from his mystery virus. And whilst I was obviously disappointed, I’m not going to let it ruin next season for us; if anything it’s made me more determined.
We’ve nothing to lose and everything to prove. I learnt a lot from my mistakes last year and will use that learning curve to my advantage. Now that I’m riding more horses, more often, I know that I am riding a whole lot better. Whilst I would have loved to represent my country, I now have the freedom to choose where I compete and who knows, without the added pressure, how far we’ll go.
Tomorrow is after all, a New Year; for me it's also a new decade. I’m turning my negatives from 2010 into positives for 2011. My aim? To make it a good one.

A change for the better

Marcus recently pointed out to me that I don’t do change very well. I’ve decided that he’s right – he usually is - just like my mother used to be. I put it down to the fact that as a teenager I went through an unsettled time when the family fortune was squandered by my father, my parents divorced and we were forced to leave my childhood home; consequently we ended up moving about five times in the space of five years. It was an unsettling time which I think may have had a lasting impact upon me; I have become a creature of habit, routine and regularity. It’s perhaps the reason that I don’t really like the thought of going on holiday; the fear of abandoning my everyday life unnerves me and makes me irrationally anxious.

Let’s face it, it took me twelve years to leave the school where I began my teaching career. I used to travel over an hour to revisit my childhood dentist because I couldn’t face finding a new one; ridiculous I know. When I have dared to embrace change things have often gone horribly wrong; there was the new dentist who tried to ‘sell’ me a root canal filling that I didn’t need and the vet who fatally misdiagnosed a horse. Such happenings have inevitably compounded my hate of change.

I struggle to change hairdressers let alone cope with the potential stress of moving my horses from the yard where we spent the last eight years happily together. And yet move we have. This time the change is definitely for the better; in pretty much every way. The horses are happily installed in their cobbled stable yard with acres of grass to graze or roam. The riding takes us through stunningly picturesque, Cotswold countryside and for schooling, or if it’s raining, we have an indoor school. Luxuriously I no longer have to face the political tension inherent in most livery yards because it’s just me and the owner muddling harmoniously along. I’m just keeping everything crossed that my bubble doesn’t burst.

One old lady locked in the lavatory....

When we stopped for diesel on the way to Little Downham and I managed to get locked in the loo, I suppose I should have recognized it as a sign of how the day would pan out…….. Fairly desperate, having been on the road for two hours, I saw the sign outside the shop and made a dash for it whilst Marcus filled up and Chris went to pay. Only as I was in mid flow did I hear voices outside and a key rattle in the lock. Despite my embarrassment I had enough voice to say feebly ‘There’s someone in here…’ followed by a slightly louder plea, ‘Please don’t lock me in!’ As I heard the key rattle again. I knew it was a vain request as I saw the lock slide across…they obviously hadn’t heard me. I swore loudly as I tried the handle and realized that I was indeed locked into the airless, soundproof lavatory.
Although I hoped that I would be missed soon enough, being slightly claustrophobic, I immediately began to ensure my own escape. But it was only after several elongated minutes of knuckle bruising banging on the door combined with my repeated, increasingly desperate cries of ‘Help!’ did one of the attendants (who I swear saw me go in) come and let me out. I’m not sure who was laughing the most, the aforementioned attendant or my travelling companions. The latter confessed to denying all knowledge when asked if they were missing someone who might be locked in the smallest room. ‘Sorry.’ They said between fits of laughter, ‘We just thought you must be really nervous!’
That first misadventure was quickly followed the second as I managed to upset my freshly brewed latte which was balanced precariously in the door of the lorry as I climbed hastily back in to the cab. It missed Marcus by millimeters…rather more luck than judgment… not an act of revenge I promise…The third misfortune happened a little later on in the journey as we found ourselves lost for half an hour in the flat Cambridge shire landscape searching for the event… ‘Oh well’ we agreed as we finally reached our destination, ‘That’s three things. Hopefully now rest of the day should be okay…’
The whole occasion felt rather unreal. The incessant rain over the preceding few days had capped my nerves - I had convinced myself it would probably be cancelled. Subsequently I was feeling uncharacteristically rational. On arrival the small number of lorries parked in the muddy field were shrouded in a heavy mist, giving the event a rather surreal atmosphere. It felt strangely more like a pony club rally than my first advanced! This low key feeling diffused my anxiety even further – a good thing as Bow and I hadn’t been jumping very well at home the previous week and I was quite prepared for the mud to exacerbate the situation. I was feeling quite pragmatic; I was going to ride him as well as I could and if we too many show jumps down then I wouldn’t beat myself up. The calm approach worked as following a fairly good dressage test he rose to the occasion and tried his hardest around the up-to-height track to get out of the mud for a respectable 8 faults.But my bubble soon burst. Our day really wasn’t meant to go to plan…jumping off to make a fuss of Bow I soon noticed that he had a nose bleed…only a trickle but enough to warn me all he was not right. Sadly I decided not to run him x-country. Years of plans going awry have made me realise that sometimes things just aren't meant to be, but try explaining that to a horse - he made some very grumpy faces at me as I un-tacked him. I’m not sure who was more cross about being sent home early from the party, me or him.
The disappointment I felt at not being able to complete our first advanced was counterbalanced when the next day his blood results showed that he was definitely under par….an early holiday for him and a lesson for me…it’s no good dwelling upon what could have been. When it’s not your day, there’s no point wishing it was. But I’ve saved him for another time, when hopefully we'll have our moment…

Practicing what I preach...

Throughout my teaching career I’ve gone on and on and on about the importance of planning in creating a really good piece of writing. Insisted upon it despite the moans and groans of indifferent teenagers who hate planning…. Just want to get on with it…are just going to start writing regardless. Despite all this I’ve stuck pedantically to my guns, indifferent to the pleading and have insisted upon the scared PLAN! So why, when it comes to the most important piece of planning that I’ll probably ever do, can I not practice what I preach?
Knowing that all good books begin with a sound synopsis, where did I begin? With the first few chapters. When Marcus originally asked me if I had a plan I reeled out the well known excuse ...I know what I want to write…it’s all in my head…I don’t need to write it down...
Thus inevitably, as soon as I sent my initial ideas off to a friend in publishing, my poorly laid plans fell apart. I vaguely knew what I wanted to include and had thought that I only needed, or could get away with, a succinct one side synopsis. I was wrong. She advised me that I needed a chapter by chapter break down of the entire book. The sinking sense of disappointment was overwhelming; the kind of childish frustration you may've experienced when you thought that you’d finished a particularly tiresome task, only to realize that it needed to be done all over again because you hadn’t done it properly the first time. Not, I imagine - being very much a novice, unlike completing an intricate piece of knitting, only to see it unravel before your eyes…
Addressing the issue was painful. I struggled to get past the first five chapters and practically had to force myself to sit down and spin out my narrative. Think how Repunzel must have felt when faced with the impossible task of turning straw into gold; I felt something similar. It took me about three hours of nail biting and finger tapping, before with the flourish of a final full stop, I finally completed the task. Or so I thought...
Seeking feedback before I sent it back to the publishing friend, I emailed it to my extremely patient husband….. his response? I don’t think it quite works…what about x, y and z? You haven’t included …..why don’t you try…? My beautifully completed jigsaw puzzle lay in front of me. Blinking away tears, I pulled it apart for the third time. This time the pieces didn’t seem to want to fit back together and I really struggled to solve my plot problem. I found every possible excuse to evade my conundrum…. Housework, exercising the dogs, even outside chores have never been more appealing….Never having believed in writer’s block, there it was; solid, impenetrable and apparently impassable.
So how did I rebuild my shattered sandcastle? With quite a bit of help from Marcus; he’s a fantastic sounding board. If it weren’t for the fact that one of us needs to be earning real money, I’d have him at home 24/7. A large dose of tenacity from me ensured that all the talking actually transferred to the page. If I do return to teaching, I may just show a little more empathy to my reluctant students than I ever did in the past….

Flexibility is the way forward...

So how am I enjoying my more flexible existence? Well although I’m still not quite in the groove, I’ve already done several things that I wouldn’t have been able to do if I were still teaching….
Last Friday I rode at Blenheim with five other members of the long-listed two star team. We performed a training demonstration of the team dressage test in the main arena; a brilliant and enjoyable experience. We had two sets of instructions to follow; Jonathan Chapman directed us as Richard Waygood commentated upon our performance and explained the format of the European Two Star competition. He introduced us and our horses as we demonstrated some of the movements before running through the team test. As part of the demonstration he gave us instruction whilst encouraging the audience to clap at every opportune interval; in this way he generated the kind of electric atmosphere that you usually only experience at a championship and so it became a really good test of the horses’ temperament. Whilst a couple of the more highly strung characters did struggle to contain themselves - we had one dancing around in front of us and another prancing behind - Bow kept his cool and we maintained our all important rhythm.
Performing dressage as a team is much harder than it looks; you have to concentrate fully on where your horse is in relation to the others, whilst also listening for the commands. Movements and transitions have to be executed at exactly the right time, making the preparation of your horse for the movement crucial, ‘ride prepare to half circle left…’ and to be poised for the command ‘NOW’ upon which we all aim to perform the movement in perfect synchronicity. All these factors make it difficult to think about riding your own horse; you have to compromise your individual performance for the overall picture. The judges award a significant proportion of marks for ‘dressing’ – not, as I first thought (being new to this) how well coordinated our outfits are, but rather the harmony of the horses in each movement as well the regularity of the spacing between them – so this is an aspect that we’ve really worked on in training. Although by no means a perfect performance, the practice seemed to pay off as our display at Blenheim was rated as ‘good’ by Richard. Although he also informed the audience that we did have nearly a year to perfect it! Reading between the lines, it’s still early days….
On Wednesday I was able to squeeze in another Two Star training day to our busy schedule. I gained some valuable individual training advice from both Richard and Jonathan; I learnt a lot about doing less on the flat – I need to keep my legs and hands still and let it happen. The jumping exercises were clever and complicated – doing their job of getting us to think more quickly about the next fence. I find watching others to be as valuable as performing myself, although going first, the others had the advantage of learning from my mistakes! Two things I need to remember; shoulders back and soft hands. Not radically new advice, but both make a huge difference to Bow’s jumping.
On Friday we headed to Gatcombe for our first run since Blair. We completed a reasonable test and we show jumped well despite two fences down - I got him too deep to an upright and he was a little careless behind over a parallel. I was riding him in a Waterford for the first time as he decided to run away in his double at Somerford; I felt that I ‘had him’ more securely and was riding more proactively. The training is definitely helping and my nerve is definitely improving so we’re going in the right direction. He was brilliant x-country despite my slightly tentative approach over the first few fences and through the water; unlike me, he had obviously forgotten my unscheduled dip at Blair. I will also put it firmly behind me as we’re now focused upon preparing for our first advanced at Little Downham – two weeks on Monday – thanks again to my new flexible life…

Footloose but not quite fancy free....

Last week I couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that I should have been somewhere else…..Schools around here have had a staggered start to the new school year and so I was almost able to pretend that I wasn’t missing anything. Bumping into some of my recent GCSE students at Moreton show last week end reminded me quite gently. They told me how brilliantly well they’d done in their English exams, which as I still haven’t managed to get hold of a copy of their results, was fantastic news. Every student needs their magic grade ‘C’ in English in order to progress to college, sixth form, university and beyond…. One of the best things about teaching is helping students to achieve those results that they need to progress. For me, learning of a less academic student achieving a grade ‘C’ has always given me a greater sense of achievement than the high fliers achieving their ‘A*s’. It’s often been a much harder climb, especially having nagged the less motivated students every step of the way, but when they do reach their goals, it seems somehow all the more amazing. Those moments sharing the students’ successes and seeing them move on to greater things, are aspects of the job that I’m really going to miss.
Although one student told me she was going back to the sixth form, others were moving on which made me feel a little less isolated in my departure. I also bumped into a retired colleague from Prince Henry’s on Saturday night; a vivacious blast from the past she was warm and generous in her greeting and animated proof that ‘life outside’ can bring happiness and fulfillment. She told me a funny story about one of my recent GCSE students; he’d been to see her for help with an audition for college, apparently he wanted to be a stunt man.It just shows that teachers only see one side of their students.I’d always had him down as the shy, retiring, quiet one who was lacking in confidence! She told me that not only did he achieve his magic ‘C’grade in English but he was also accepted onto his drama course; brilliant news. After a week end of such uplifting chance encounters I felt quite buoyant about moving on; positive, upbeat and a little less like Cinderella than I had on September 1st.
That elation soon evaporated when my P45 arrived in the post on Monday morning; weird how a piece of paper could leave me feeling like I’d been slapped in the face. Although I’d sort of adjusted to not going back to school it was still a shock. A rude reminder that I’m footloose but not quite fancy free; although I now have the time to pursue my dreams, I still need to find a way of funding them. I have begun working for my trainer which is great as it was always part of the plan; riding more horses is definitely helping to improve my technique. But the writing hasn’t quite taken off yet. I’ve done some and am waiting for feedback. I can empathize with students waiting for their results; wondering if what I’ve done is good enough to help me onto the next stage of my life…..

Down to earth with a splash....

Before I set off to Blair my biggest fear was that it would prove to be a quagmire; various people fed this fear - telling me that it was forecast to rain all week, that it had been a mud-bath the previous year and that they were glad not to be going themselves. So it was with this added trepidation about the weather that I set out upon my solitary eight hour journey northwards. Little did I know that the weather would prove to be the least of my worries or just what kind of bath awaited me.
The weather worsened as we got further north, deepening my sense of foreboding; we drove through howling gales and squally showers which lashed against the sides of the lorry and buffeted us around the carriageway. At times Bow must have felt like he was aboard a ship crossing the channel. Pulling into the Castle gates, I was informed that we would have to be towed onto the show ground due to an earlier deluge. ‘Great’ I thought – ‘Day one and it’s already extremely soggy…not the best start.’ Yet despite the wet beginning, the ground dried out remarkably well; the occasional showers throughout the week did make it a bit muddy at times but nothing comparable to the quagmire of my nightmares.
I’d asked for Friday dressage so that I would have my loyal husband to provide back up; Bow seemed quite chilled and produced what I thought was a nice test. The judges however thought differently and awarded us a mark of 58 which placed us about half way after that phase. Although disappointed, having seen the course, I knew that it wasn’t going to be a dressage competition; the course was bold and asked some challenging questions – several big skinnies which would require committed riding from me and focused jumping efforts from Bow – these combined with the undulating terrain created a tough track.
Saturday dawned fairly dry but we had to wait all day as the other three classes were scheduled before the 2*. I managed to control my nerves; I watched some show jumping, did some retail therapy, re-walked my course and even managed a short nap. We warmed up well over the useful skinny fences and set off with purpose and conviction. I’d already heard about several problems on the course which had caused falls and stops but I had my plan and was determined to follow it. We tackled the early questions easily and began our long climb up the hill; we successfully navigated the first water complex – a stiff eyelash into the first crossing followed by a drop in, step up to a skinny – Bow helped me out over the last element, cleverly adding an extra stride. The crowd’s applause urged us on to the next question – two big, island skinny fences, which we also cleared easily. Next it was the step down to the angled skinny hedge – technical and up to height it had caused me the most sleep deprivation – we jumped it well although looking back it may have surprised him a little. Then it was down to the Malcom water complex – a big hedge in, followed by a skinny salmon in the water. Bow jumped in boldly and it I was sure he’d left a leg because we landed with a jolt and I was flicked out of the saddle.
With the loud bang of the air canister echoing in my ears, I found myself sitting in the water immobilized by my air jacket; grateful only that the water wasn’t deep enough to make me float like a beached whale – there has to be a positive somewhere - I swore to myself under my breath as I unclipped its suffocating embrace. To add to the insult Bow was looking bemusedly down at me as if to say ‘what the hell are you doing down there?’ Mercifully I still had the reins, so I led him out, peaty water streaming out of my clothing and boots; this time the applause only amplified my shame faced, soggy disappointment. FEI rules meant elimination; game over.
Watching the replay it was clear that Bow hadn’t actually put a foot wrong, he’d just jumped in too well. So it was my fault for not sitting up quite enough. In a way that makes it better as he is not at fault; in a way it’s worse as I’ve only myself to blame. The eight hour journey home gave me a chance to reflect upon it; Scotland is a very long way to go for a swimming lesson!