How Do You Keep Blogging?

This is such a bizarre situation.

I have finally realized what happened to me and my blog. The blog, which in many ways, I value so much.

They finally got to me.

The haters.
The trolls.
The crazy stalker.
The whiners and bullies.

In spite of the fact the majority of the people I meet on this blog are interesting, curious, love horses-- whether they have them or not-- and writing, and are willing to put up with my long winded opinions and way too long training posts. I am aware and flattered  most of  you come for the stories and are polite enough to read the rest of my ramblings, but there are a few who have stomped all over my desire to write in this form. Even when they consider themselves "fans," they'll still stick their spur in my sides at the weirdest times.

It's showed up in me with my bizarre unwillingness to finish the story about Tally.

Part of it would come from two specific comments. I can only give you approximations, I don't remember the exact words and I have no interest in looking them up..

One said: Blogs, on average, last approx. 4 years before petering out. So why don't you finish telling us about Tally and get out?
This wasn't friendly advice BTW, it was kinda nasty and demanding.
The second referred to a piece I wrote about a conversation between my daughter and I. It was about the power of horses to heal and make the weak stronger.
The comment went kind of like this: Great sharing of a moment with your daughter and her rehab, now could you get on with writing about Tally?

Gotta tell you, my heels dug in so hard it buried my rowels.

It took me a while to sort this out, but I finally realized what was going on.

I would have a training moment and think, I need to blog this, then I'd think, I really need to write a Tally post, then my mind would skitter off to, Wonder what I should make for dinner? That would be the end of my blogging moment.

I have stories I want to write about some of the new and interesting horse people I've met lately, thoughts I've had about old time training methods vs. new, safety around our horses, where we go as riders as we age and become debilitated and how to balance our horse life with our family when it becomes overwhelming at home.

But Tally stops me every time.

Then there is a vague uneasiness, maybe we should call it jumping at shadows, that has affected my willingness to share much. See, some of these shadows carry BB Guns, the little pellets only sting, but hell, if you're willing to pop me in the eye with a BB, then when will it be OK to move up to a shotgun?

It began with an uncomfortable situation that turned into an unsettling obsession, and now is classified, legally and by definition, as cyber-stalking. Nice huh?

I've been dealing with that one for going on four years, it should be like an old friend by now, and is easy enough to ignore, but of course it adds into my blog block.

I think the biggest mistake I've made with this forum was trying to write for FHOTD. SnarkyRider is doing an incredible job of keeping it going and my hat is off to her.

Personally, I found that place scary, sad and annoying, all rolled into one nasty little wad of mouse fur, hacked up by a rabid, one-eyed, stray barn cat. You know the one I mean, it's a big old Tom, he showed up in your hay barn. He's starved, you feel bad for him and think you should feed him, look at his ribs! Except, when you see him, he hisses at you. It's clear if he weighed just 100 pounds more he's happily eat you... and pus keeps leaking out of that empty eye socket. You can't help but hope he'll just move along.

I learned a lot over there. I learned about social prejudice, bigotry, ignorance covered up with hostility, trolls, spelling, and sentence structure. Not one damn thing about horses, but mucho much about some of the people who are involved in them. I learned I just can't start my day researching horse tragedies, bad writing, starving animals and making fun of other riders.

It also made me very aware of the freedom offered by the anonymity of cyberspace. Those nasty, rotten, garbage- induced-diarrhea-of-an-old-cattle-dog type people, who want to hurt others. What a dangerous place this can be.

Did I write that last sentence correctly? How about my spelling? Did you get my point? Good enough then.

I came back to the Chronicles shaken.

Then I read about a 15-year-old girl who killed herself, because of unearned, non-stop harassment, mainly on FB, which hounded her through changes of both schools and the towns she lived in. This poor kid killed herself because she felt the Internet caused hell would never stop finding her and ruining her life.

Trust me, I'm nothing like that girl, my experience has mainly been positive, and most of the people who share my little piece of the blog-o-sphere are great. Plus, I'm a grown-up and understand that some people suck. It's just that I also understand how she felt. I really wish I had never seen this side of people, that I had stayed in my naive little bubble of horsey fairies and flowers and didn't know this bile existed.

On my own side of things, I've also decided I'm much too secretive about much of my life. It's not that big of a thing, yet somehow, a threat of "exposing the truth" made me realize it seemed more interesting than it is. So I've decided to cough it up and lay that particular thorn in my side to rest.

Plus, it will give me more to write about.

You see, when I started my blog, I wanted only to be seen as  horse trainer. To be judged on my successes and failures as a horseman and only that. So I kept the extras out of it.

But I've come to realize, through writing, lots of therapy and more experience with this bumpy road, that many of the things I keep secret make up a huge part of my training philosophy and who I am as a horse person.

Plus, developing a kick ass friendship with Becky Bean (Blog of Becky) hasn't hurt. Hell, if the story is funny enough,she'll tell you what her favorite brand of tampon is and why, and she's still doing fine. So what makes me so special? Not a damn thing, that's what. My secrets kept screwing up my time line too, and you guys are too sharp not to have figured it out eventually.

So here goes folks, take me or leave me.

My beginnings with horses are pretty much an open book, if you read the Mort stories.

When I was in my late twenties, I got to play with the Big C. Yep, cancer. A nasty Fibrosarcoma appeared in my right palm and many, many surgeries and treatments later, my right hand and arm were amputated, just below the elbow.

I spent ten years playing with that one, add a very bad husband, my wonderful daughter and little to no horse interaction and you've got most of my thirties.

After getting rid of both the poisonous arm and husband, I started giving riding lessons at a small barn in Green Mountain Falls, CO.

The first horse I rode in almost ten years (sorry Bob) was Pepsi, a 16+hh (for reals), 3-year-old mustang filly. This was typical of me, I became a horse trainer at the same time I learned to ride with a prosthetic. I prefer to keep things exciting.

A few years later, I met the Big K at a clinic. I was on Sonita, trying not to die, and became hooked on reined cowhorse.

K became my instructor, my mentor and my friend. I ended up working for and with him and we had some great times, good times and horrible times. We always worked hard. We split, but now we've both grown and changed, have healed the breach and are good friends again.

K's name is Tim Unzicker.  He's become an outstanding horseman over the years and has always been a solid winner in the show pen.. Check him out at http://www.unzickercowhorse.net/.

Look carefully, we're closing in on the 2013 Mugwump/Big K Clinic and Ranch Party, to be held at his ranch. This clinic will be for the Mugwump Chronicle readers, unless you hate me, then please stay home. I'll have details posted soon.

I retired from training because I was fried. This you know. Part of the frying that turned me so crispy golden was learning I have Parkinson's Disease.

I quit training and became a writer for the Fountain Valley and El Paso County News.

Then my illness became worse and I had to cut back my hours. I applied for disability, got it and continued on. The, last year, my husband had a stroke.

Since that time, I quit the paper, except for a weekly food column (yeah, I cook too), and have become my husbands primary caretaker. Hence the spotty writing.

I think that's it. Oh wait, I also suffer from periodic, but nasty, bouts of depression. To which I say, "Well Duh."

So there you have it. Here I am.

OK, maybe not. This is really me.

Here's me and Madonna.
I don't wear a prosthetic anymore. Tim kinda, sorta, dared me to get rid of it. You know, get rid of the barrier of the mechanical arm and really ride. Always one to take a dare, I went for it.
Odin has been started from scratch with me one-handed. See what I mean? So much to write about!
When I ride, all of my PD symptoms disappear. Some call it a miracle, I call it muscle memory, doesn't matter which it is, I am so happy I am still in there swinging.

Hey Becky! There's my hat!

So tell me, how do I keep blogging? I think this may be the first step.
Screw those trolls, we have stuff to talk about.