Thus, here are some Bullet-points:

• When your work is easy, you are not trying hard enough. Anyone who has seen a mini just trotting along–or a writer just scribbling casually in a coffee-house–know: they are not doing their best work. Blue ribbons require effort, discipline, and hard work focusing on the task at hand.
• New scenery keeps you engaged. If you just keep driving in circles in the arena, the horse gets bored and stops paying attention. One needs to get out — few things (see below) get Bullet’s attention as quickly as the need to greet horses he hasn’t met before, watch where he plants his feet and an occasional baby-stroller, with a baby in it. A stroll down a different street may not produce the same effect in a writer, but then, writers are generally harder keepers than minis.
• Food is very important. Sometimes, food is the only thing that can get a mini’s attention. With writers, one might have to resort to alcohol as a lure.
• When the going gets tough, get into draft. When Bullet has to take a hill, or pull through some mud, or faces some other difficulty, he doesn’t stop. He goes into draft mode — head down, chest into the collar, legs pumping like pistons. He stops when he’s through. Rough places is where he shows his strength and ability. That’s where he beats other ponies.
• Have instincts you can trust. No matter how well Bullet follows my direction, he reserves the right to make his own decisions. He will swerve and jump to avoid a hole in the ground or a suspicious-looking log — regardless of my intention to go straight. He knows the driver can’t see the hole. Writers, ultimately, must do what they do alone, and it is a lucky writer who has complete trust in his/her instincts. Without absolute confidence in one’s ability to tell good writing from bad it is unwise to enter unfamiliar and difficult terrain.
• Roll.

Translation is a dogged art. Some think it’s no art at all, but all agree that it requires persistence in the face of hopeless odds, and offers small rewards. Nonetheless, translation is one of my arts, and I persist.

My first book-length translation, of Peter Aleshkovsky’s novel Fish,  is about to be shipped from the printer. I doubt royalties from this project will pay Bullet’s entry fees to the next show, but nonetheless, one must take pause and consider the moment: a novel I have translated is published.

Here, then, is the best review of Fish I have found so far — one with which I agree wholeheartedly, and which, I hope, will prepare those who chose to read the book well for the experience of reading it:

Fish, which was short-listed for the 2006 Russian Booker Prize, contains plenty of great material about life in Central Asia, the stresses of the collapse of the Soviet Union, and personal trauma. Unfortunately, though, Fish plods its way through geographical and emotional territory, squandering opportunities to expand the book beyond an accounting of sites seen and indignities experienced.

The rest can be read here, and it is the kind of review I would be proud of writing — thorough, honest, and well-considered.

And — sorry about not having any pictures from the show. I refused to have any taken for fear of being blackmailed with them later.

Many books on creativity (which, of course, I have read instead of working, right?) attempt to address this by urging fledgling artists to “stop researching and start writing”, but no one can really tell you when you personally have to put your foot down and will yourself to take the plunge. You have to know this.

I happen to be married to a writer who doesn’t have this problem. Never did. The only consolation I can derive from his inhuman confidence is that he was just born that way. Lucky bastard.

For the rest of us, here is what I think helps:

• It helps to have a routine, because routine helps you maintain discipline even if you have none. Behavior engenders belief, remember? If you sit down to work every day (or whatever it is you do), your brain will eventually get the message and start cooperating by thinking creative thoughts just about the time you need it to. I know this is the oldest song in the book, but it’s still true.
• It helps to have variety, because otherwise you’ll get bored. I am lucky that I have drawing to escape from writing, and translating to escape from both. The other benefit of pursuing multiple kinds of projects — and I emphasize kinds because the point is to stimulate different areas of your brain — is that you don’t feel guilty when one isn’t going particularly well, you can always excel at another one which brings me to the next point:
• It helps to be good. Let’s face it — it’s nice to have done a great job. When I look at my best work I remind myself of how not-good it felt while I was working on it. I recall all the times I threw the pen down. I remember the fear. And then — there it is, and it turned out just fine.
  

See if any of this rings a bell/works — and let me know what tips you have developed.

The other one was the fantastic Art of the Horse which is now officially on my wish list for every next holiday. The only problem with this book is its dimensions: the copy at the museum was simply enormous. The book presents works with horses in them from early Middle Ages to mid 20th century and the most delightful part is the two-pronged commentary to each work. Author John Fairley provides both the well-informed art historian’s notes and clever commentary on the horses themselves.Very enjoyable.