I took a horseback riding lesson last week.  I’ve ridden horses all my life on my family’s cattle ranch.  I’ve spent eight hours at a time on a horse.  I’ve ridden through brush, up steep hills.  I’ve ridden in rocky, dangerous terrain and I’ve forded storm swollen creeks.  I’ve chased wild cattle out of gullies and canyons.  One thing I’ve never done is taken a lesson.

I don’t live on the ranch anymore.  I live in a town with very few nearby horse facilities. I miss being around horses, so I got it in my head that I needed to get a horse.  After looking around, I discovered that it is very expensive to have a horse in a stable, but it might be possible to lease a part of a horse.  When you lease part of a horse you pay for part of the costs and are rewarded with a certain amount of riding time.  This seemed like a possible solution.  The only problem was that the best and closest stable is filled with English riders and horses who have never been off a trail or even out of a ring.  These are fine animals who can jump and do all kinds of fun things that earn them awards. 

“Sounds like fun,” I thought to myself.  “I’ll learn to ride English and I’ll start doing fun stuff in a ring.”   So I drove out to the farm and I took a lesson.  I learned a few things about English riding.  I learned that it could be fun and challenging.  But the biggest thing I learned was how difficult it is to be humble. 

First I was schooled in proper care of stalled horses and found out that they are shockingly fragile.  I had to learn to mount correctly and use the correct terminology.  I rode slowly in circles.  I got an earful of how this kind of riding is superior to what I know. 

Some of this was very hard to swallow.  I gritted my teeth and I stayed silent when I thought it prudent.   I asked questions and learned what my instructor had to teach me.  I forced myself to be humble.  After all, I was paying her to teach me. 

Sitting on that horse reminded me of the many times I’ve had to humbly listen and learn while writing.  I’ve had to grit my teeth and pull from people whatever useful thing they have to offer.  I’ve had to humbly re-write stuff I thought was brilliant, and discovered that my humility had allowed my story to improve.  At the same time I’ve had to foster the self-confidence to keep writing—to keep telling myself that I can do it because I’m awesome, cool and reasonably smart.  Thinking that I can create characters and worlds and events that will mean something to somebody is a crazy act of arrogance.  Getting better at creating characters and worlds and events that mean something takes a heroic act of humility.

Those who cannot be humble do not learn and improve their skills.  Those who cannot be arrogant or at lease confident, become stuck, discouraged and timid.  I know so many writers who successfully see-saw back and forth between the necessary arrogance and the equally necessary humility required to write well.  It’s a precarious balancing act.

So, after much thought, I’ve decided to do it again.  I’m going to bite my tongue and get myself out there for another English riding lesson.  And then I’m going to rip apart chapter five of my current work in process, and see if I can make it better.  At the same time I’m going to forge ahead and build a dynasty on war-torn earth.  It’ll be fun—except when it’s not fun.

Good writing everyone!  And good riding, too.