The Little Horse Thief

Everyone knows that stealing a horse is a hanging crime.  A horse is life or death to man, and to take his horse is to sentence him to death.   Because of this, most men respect and care for their horses, understanding that they are their keepers, and appreciating their value.  

But of course, not every man is like that.  One man who was not like that was Sue Stallman.  Sue Stallman was a mean SOB.  The other people in the town figured it was because he had a girl's name, and that's why he was so vicious. Others said he was just born and bred mean.  And he was mean, but he was not born and bred like that.  

Sue Stallman was wounded, and like a wounded dog, he lashed out at everyone.  Well, almost everyone.   

What is it, you ask, that wounded Sue Stallman so deeply?  It was the death of his beloved wife, Mariah, who had died in childbirth, delivering their only child, a daughter called Roselyn.  Roselyn was a sweet little lady with auburn ringlets and the bluest eyes and a pert little nose begging to be kissed.  She was the very miniature of her mother.  And so, she was the only person in the world who could bring even a hint of softness to the face of Sue Stallman, or stay his hand.  

So Sue Stallman was an angry, beaten dog sort of man, who quarreled at the tavern, and spoke back to his boss, and shouted at his subordinates0 and beat his horse most savagely. The other people chastened him for this.  

"You ought not beat your horse, Stallman" they would say, "That's a loyal animal and strong, and you'd be wise to keep him in good health," 

But Stallman didn't heed their words, and struck his horse again, just to show he wouldn't be ordered about. 

but one little person was watching.  In the darkness, in the corner, unseen but vigilant, stood little Roslyn, who did not understand, why her daddy was so cruel to his horse.  Why he was so cruel to everyone.  And even though Sue Stallman never raised a hand against his daughter, she grew to be afraid of him,b because the rest of the villagers were. 

Roslyn was a tender little soul, and one day, she just couldn't bear to see her father hit his horse again, so after father fell asleep, she put on her little read coat and her  little boots with the rabbit fur trim, and she crept out into the snow, to save her father's horse.  

And the horse, having been treated so savage, was afraid of her, and nipped her fingers, but the little girl waited patiently with a handful of oats until the horse came to her, and she climbed up onto his back and took his reigns gently, and led him out into the snow storm, where they walked and walked.  

***

The next morning, Stallman woke up to find his daughter missing, and his horse stolen, and he raised the hue and cry, and all the townsfolk came out to hear his ranting.  "My horse and my child!" he bellowed, "They stole my horse and my only child!"  

While many of the men agreed that Sue Stallman didn't deserve his horse or his daughter, no one thought that he deserved to have her kidnapped,  so a search was put up.  It was a frantic search as well, because it had snowed all night and was snowing still.   

Stallman put on his snowshoes, and tromped trough the woods, still raging, "When I find the man who stole my daughter and my horse, I'll kill him! I"ll shoot him in the belly so he dies a pailful death!" 

And it was at this point that he chanced upon the trail of prints, not yet buried in the snow, and he took up the tracks, waving his rifle angrily.  Through the distance, he saw the great shadowy form of his horse,with a rider on his back. 

"You! You dirty b*****d! I will kill you! I will shoot you now!" he screamed.  He ran through the snow, waving his gun, and when his horse saw him, he reared, and threw his rider.  And Sue Stallman whooped triumphantly and ran up to catch his horse by the reins, and see who the their was.  

He tied the horse to a tree and crossed to the figure in the snow, and then he stopped.  This was not a man.  This person was far to small to be a man.  And it was not a boy, because the coat it wore was a little girl's.  And Sue Stallman fell to his knees, and turned the body over, to look into the glassy, wide open eyes of both is wife, and his daughter, a tear freezing on her ashen, lifeless face.  

He howled in agony, and soon the men came upon them in the woods, kneeling with the petite corpse in his arms. 

"Who has done this? Where did he go?" the asked.  

"I have done it.  I have done it.  My daughter took my horse, and when it saw me, it reared because I had beaten it, and threw her to the ground.  I have done it.  It was me. I killed her,"   

And the men tried to convince him to come inside, but he would not be moved.  And they tried to take the child from him, but he would not release her.  And as the worm grew worse, they all went back inside, because they could do no more.  The snow piled up around Sue Stallman and his daughter, and there he died, with her in his arms.  

The men came later, and built a stone cairn over the bodies and marked it:  The Little Horse Thief and her Cruel Father Lie Here. 

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask for feedback, so you have only yourself to blame for this.

On the other hand, what I have to say, though it may sting, has nothing to do with how well you're writing, or your talent. The problem lies in a misunderstanding we all share, plus a critical point we all miss. So as you read on, remember, you have a LOT of company.

The misunderstanding? We leave our schooldays believing that we learned to write. And since the name of the skill, and that of the profession we call Fiction-Writing share the same word there's some significant connection. There isn't. We learn to write reports and essays, whose foal is to inform, while fiction's goal is to involve the reader emotionally.

But that misunderstanding leads to the point we miss, which is that ALL professions are acquired IN ADDITION to the general skills we call "The Three R's". We recognize that writing is a profession, but because of that misunderstanding I mentioned, assume that we're prepared to be fiction writers if we have a good story idea luck, and talent.

So we begin to write our stories, never realizing that the only kind of significant writing we have training in is, as I mentioned, reports and essays. And of course because the goal of nonfiction is to inform, the stories we write are fact-based and narrator-centric. We talk TO the reader, and explain things to them—and never realize why we acquire nothing but rejections for them.

In general, hopeful writers go two ways. Many of them simply write what amounts to a chronicle of events, with interjected authorial comments to clarify.

Others take your path and transcribe themselves telling the story to an audience. And of course when you read the story it works perfectly. But you cheat. Before you read the first word you know the three things a reader needs to have context: Who am I as a person? Where am I in time and space? What's going on?

You also have full knowledge of the events leading up to the situation, the backstory of all the people in the scene, and your intent for how everyone in the story will behave.

Because you know that, things that are clear and obvious to you may well be missed when you write—things the reader needs.

The other thing that makes the story real to you as you read and edit is that while the reader can neither see nor hear your performance, for you, the voice you hear as you read is alive with emotion. It changes intensity and cadence. It pauses, meaningfully, as needed, and uses all the tricks of the storyteller's art. To hear what the reader gets, and how different from what you want them to hear, have your computer read it aloud.

But look further. Look at what I call the storyteller's dance. As you tell the story aloud—or read it—you perform it. You illustrate emotion with expression changes, a significant glance, and more. You visually punctuate with gesture, and amplify and moderate emotion through body language.

As you read it's there. But what does a reader get? Only the emotion suggested by punctuation, coupled with the meaning your words suggest, TO THEM, based on THEIR background, not your intent.

With that in mind, look at the opening, not as a verbal storyteller setting the scene, but as a reader must.

• Everyone knows that stealing a horse is a hanging crime.

I don't know that. In my country they hang no one for a crime. So who is "everyone?" And where are we?

Yes, you're trying too set the scene by pretending to be a storyteller in an old-time setting, talking to the reader. But only you know that. It would work were this a first-person story, and the line spoken by the protagonist. But for the reader who has no clue of any of the three things I mentioned above, this doesn't work as you hope.

The rest of the paragraph is an authorial interjection to explain things that are irrelevant to the first scene because no one steals a horse in it. The daughter takes a horse and rides way, yes, but that, by definition, is not theft. And he jumops to an invalid conclusion so the line has no relevance to the story.

That paragraph and the next six—312 words, or about the first two standard manuscript pages—is all backstory, a history lesson a reader must plow through in order the read the next 487 words in which the events of the story take place. Does that really make sense? Story should begin with story, not history. We should be with the protagonist, living the events, not reading the words a storyteller would speak were we with one.

But there's one more absolutely critical point you need to understand. Bbecause you're dictating the character's actions TO them, rather than having them react according to the personality you gave them and the situation you provide, you're going to force the character's actions to the needs of the plot. So...

Put yourself into the man's place on that day, in that situation. He finds tracks he believe belong to someone who has stolen his daughter, follows them, and sees a rider he doesn't recognize:
- - - - - -
1. She rode all night and he catches up with them in foot? Seriously?
2. He sees his horse with one rider on it, who's his daughter's size, and doesn't suspect that it's his daughter?
3. He has a rifle pointed at the rider and doesn't call out for them to stop, just shouts and charges?
4. The snow is deep enough that he has to wear snowshoes. How can a fall from a horse in deep snow kill anyone, especially bundled against the cold?
5. He's in the woods, in the country, and people come upon them when needed for dramatic purposes, in spite of the fact that he's not made a lot of noise, other then the one shout. And then they go "back inside?" Inside what, they're in the woods?
6. He dies of grief? Will a man who gets along with no other person, who's cruel to all people and animals other then his daughter die because his daughter is dead?
- - - -

My point is that at each of the points I noted you forced the character to act as the plot required, not as the character you described would. That reduces the pair to plot devices, not real people. Had you been writing in either the father's or the daughter's viewpoint that would have jumped out at you and they would have tolsd you, "No, I won't do that. I'm not that kind of person."

And that's my point. At the moment, because you're missing the tricks of the trade, and using storytelling skills inappropriate to the medium, you face problems that a bit of knowledge would eliminate.

The book-report writing techniques we all leave school with flat out don't work for fiction, so you need to dig into the specialized knowledge of the working fiction writer. There's lots of things that when you hear it will make you say, "But that's so simple. I should have seen that, myself." But till it's ;pointed out...

I won't kid you. It's not easy because any profession takes time, study, and practice to master. But think of how much time your teachers spent on how a scene on the page differs from one on stage or screen. Did even any of them discuss the elements that make one up? How about why a scene usually ends in disaster for the protagonist, or simple things like being sure you place cause before effect.

My point? If you don't know what a scene is, how can you write one?

So there you are. The solution is as simple as adding a few of the tricks the pros take for granted to your tool kit (though simple and easy aren't the same thing).

For an idea of how much there is to learn, check a few of the articles in my writing blog. They're meant to give an overview. Then hit the local library system's fiction-writing section for the views of pros in publishing, writing, and teaching. Time spent there will be wisely invested.

But one thing of most importance is not to let this discourage you. Every writer who "made it" faced this. And writing isn't a destination. It's a lifelong journey. So hang in there, start digging, and keep on writing.

And, well...you did ask. 🤪

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Chris]

The problem with type-ohs isn't so much making them (we all do). It's that sometimes we don't catch them and the readers do - invariably. Spell check doesn't catch wrong real words, only our eyes and ears do that. This is a readable story but needs editing.