I Answer a Few Critics

                                   by Laura Crum

            Reading reader reviews of one’s own book on Amazon can be interesting, cheering, and frustrating—all at once. Obviously positive reviews are a joy for the author and outright negative reviews are pretty crushing (fortunately I haven’t had too many of this last sort). Some reviews are mixed, with the reviewer stating what he/she did and did not like about the book. A lot of the time I understand exactly why the reviewer had a certain objection; sometimes it concerns a fault that I can easily see and acknowledge. What I find very frustrating is the reviews in which I think the reviewer is just plain wrong. So today I’d like to bring up some of the negative things that have been said about my books by readers, and respond to them.

            Let’s take Cutter, my first mystery novel, set in the world of cutting horses. Cutter has a four star rating on Amazon, so obviously it has been pretty well liked by readers overall. But…there is one very negative review in which the reviewer states that my glaring lack of knowledge about horses ruins the book. She says she owns and raises horses and that I “need to do more research.” I will admit that looking at this particular review makes my blood boil, so I try not to go there. But here is what I would like to say to this reviewer.

            “Lady, I don’t care how many horses you have, or if your horse keeping practices are vastly different from mine. I dare you to show me ONE place in the book where I am inaccurate in what I say about horses. Everything in my books (regarding horses) is modeled on things I have actually seen and done, with the exception of some dastardly deeds, and these are also as accurate as my long career with horses (and checking with my vet) can make them. You may not like my writing style, you may disapprove of the way horses are treated in the western horse world, you may just not like my tone, and that’s all fine. But you are 100% dead wrong about my information being inaccurate.”

            Very satisfying to write that out and post it here. But very frustrating to think that potential readers are being told something negative about my books that is simply not true. I’m not sure what was in this reviewer’s mind when she wrote this comment, because she fails to give any specific point where she thinks I am inaccurate. And, of course, I can’t know if she really has horses or knows anything about horses at all. But there her review sits, among all the others that attest to the fact that the book is very accurate in all its horse background. Grrr…

            Then there are the criticisms that I actually agree with. Several people have said that they really liked Cutter and Hoofprints (my first two novels, rated four stars and four 1/2 stars respectively on Amazon), but did not like my excessive use of dashes. To these people I would like to say that I am sorry for this fault, and give an explanation.

            When I put Cutter and Hoofprints up as Kindle editions, I had no electronic copies of the manuscripts. At the time I wrote them, the publishing company that bought them worked strictly on paper copies. Thus the editing and the final editions did not exist in digital form. So I had to have the actual hard copy books scanned in and then go through the resulting digital copies trying to take all the scanner errors out. This was not easy. Certain scanner errors just weren’t that obvious, though I went over the books many times. The hardest thing turned out to be the fact that I literally could not tell that a dash which appeared to be a needed hyphen at the end of a line would end up being an unneeded dash in the text when it finally appeared on the Kindle. Thus the books ended up having a lot of extra dashes as Kindle editions.

            I apologize for those dashes. I know I should return to the books and edit them some more and try to get the extra dashes out. The truth is that I have been overwhelmed with other projects, and getting the books edited and put up on Kindle was a six month project that took ALL of my time and I just can’t face going back to it…yet. Some readers have assured me that the remaining scanner errors (dashes and such) do not detract from the books, and some readers obviously feel differently. So this is a very legitimate criticism.

            And then there are those criticisms that seem particular to the critic. For instance, I have been criticized for deviating from the plot stream (too often) to describe details of the landscape and weather. This “fault” has annoyed a few readers. However, some readers praise my books for just this reason. They say I do a great job of evoking the places I write about through accurate detail. “I felt like I was right there with Gail as she rode those trails,” is a frequent response to my books. So it’s hard for me to say if this trait in my writing (which I freely admit to—I love describing landscape and weather and trying to create through words the feeling these things give you) is a strength or a weakness. Maybe both?

            There are those who just don’t consider my protagonist “likable enough,” and there are those who think she is just like a best friend. I have to guess that’s a reflection of personality style on the part of the reader. I’d venture to say that chatty, outgoing extroverts are likely to find Gail a bit of a cold fish, and quiet, introspective introverts who are something of a loner in real life will like Gail and relate well to her.

There are a few who resent what they describe as a sudden dramatic wrap-up in some of my books that presents them with an unexpected villain, and there are many who praise my books because they never figure out who-dun-it ahead of time. I’m here to tell you that the “surprise” villain is/was a real thorn in my side as an author. I never realized that this was an expected feature of a mystery until my books were bought by a major NY publisher and my editor made it clear to me that the reader must always be surprised by the ending. They don’t call mysteries “who-dun-its” for nothing. You are not allowed to build up to an inevitable conclusion in a strong logical manner through clear character development, as you might do in a thriller, or sci-fi or whatever. No, you must somehow disguise the killer’s motivation thoroughly enough that the reader is surprised when the villain is revealed at the end.

Needless to say this isn’t easy to do, and DOES result in a story where the killer’s true purpose and character must be hidden—resulting in a rather sudden revelation and wrap-up—in order to create that sense of surprise which the mystery reader expects. I sometimes find this frustrating myself as a writer, so I can understand why a reader might critique me for it. But perhaps it helps to understand the trap the mystery author is in? Give too much info about the villain and his/her motivation and everyone will guess who it is before the “surprise” ending. But giving very little info ahead of time results in that sudden wrap-up/revelation that often seems a bit contrived and not-so-believable.

And finally there is the thing which has drawn the most criticism (and the most hostile criticism) of all. I had the nerve to turn my equine vet into a mom in the ninth book in the series. Even more, a stay-at-home mom who practices attachment parenting (or natural parenting). God forbid.

Quite a few readers who absolutely LOVED my books when Gail was a single veterinarian were very unhappy when I gave her a baby. Childless women themselves, they found the topic of motherhood boring, and the idea that Gail would actually stay at home to take care of her baby rather than go back to work as a vet was repulsive to them. All I can say to this is oh well. Before I was a mother, I found the topic of motherhood boring, too, so I get it.

To explain why I transformed my busy, dedicated horse vet into a mom (Gail still has horses, and the later mysteries in the series are all very horse-themed, by the way), well, I wanted to write about motherhood because it has been a huge and fascinating part of the last fifteen years of my life. I had said all that I had to say about the life of a veterinarian (and more than a few horse vets have told me that I was writing their lives, so I think I did a decent job on that subject), and I decided to write about a topic that interested me now, in order to keep myself engaged with the series after turning out eight previous books. The fact that not everybody was going to like this motherhood theme was absolutely something I understood going in. I found I was less interested in pleasing people than in portraying small truths and insights about life that I have learned over the years, through/in my fiction. If some don’t like my last four books because of the “mama” theme, so be it. Lots of people do like these books—and I am guessing that other moms are probably more likely to like the stories than non-moms. However, judging by the reviews, there are exceptions to this rule. One of my absolute favorite reader reviews of Chasing Cans (which is the book in which Gail has a nursing baby to deal with as she solves a mystery at the barrel racing trainer’s ranch next door) is as follows:

           

I was prepared to not like this book so much based on previous reviews. People have pretty harshly judged this story because of the  new mom theme running throughout the book. So I read it, and to the Neigh-sayers, I say, "SO WHAT." We have read about Dr. Gail McCarthy throughout many ages and stages of her life, and becoming a new mom is just another one of her ages and stages. It's one of the things that apparently makes Gail, Gail. In the meantime, the author still weaves a credible mystery and an interesting story, and no matter what, the author's writing style always wins me over because her dialogue is so well crafted. I feel like I really know her characters and their personalities, and the same cannot be said for very many authors I have read recently. I hope Laura Crum continues to write, and I will continue to read them, even if Dr. Gail McCarthy (or any other character she conjures up) goes into pre-menopausal nervous breakdowns, joins religious cults, and just sits in corners and drools and babbles. Yes, Laura Crum's writing is skillful enough to make even that into a mystery and make it interesting as well.

       Now that is a review that makes me smile. She gave the book 5 stars, too.

       Anyway, I know all authors deal with this issue (surely there isn’t anyone who gets ALL good reviews)—anyone have any insights on your own experiences dealing with negative reader reviews?

       

My Life With Horses--Part Nine

                                                            by Laura Crum

            I’ve written about my son’s pony, Toby, before—Magic…and Toby the Pony. Click on the link to find the full story of our magical little white horse. In the context of my own life with horses, the next two years were dominated by this pony. I spent most of the first year leading the pony around with my five year old son on him. I seldom actually rode myself. (Though once in awhile I did ride Toby to give him an “attitude adjustment.” Toby was a good pony, but he was a pony.)

            To those who think this sounds like an incredibly boring horse life, all I can say is that it wasn’t at all boring, from my point of view. But I’m not sure I am going to be able to explain why I loved this part of my horse life so much. However, I’ll try.

            Partly it was because I had truly come to understand that my greatest joy lay just in living with horses, and whether I rode or not wasn’t that important to me. Partly it was because having a pony of my own had been my childhood dream…and now I was making it come true. At last I had a pony (!) Toby was the first pony I ever owned and I still smile, thinking of him. And partly it was because I was just happy with my life overall.

            Another factor was that I had achieved the goals I had set myself in my life with horses. I had been a reasonably effective competitor at cowhorse, cutting and roping; I had trained some horses that I was really proud of. I’d crossed the Sierras many times on my own horses and camped with them in some amazing places. I’d worked as a cowboy on a commercial cattle ranch. There wasn’t anything that I had once been burning to do with a horse that I hadn’t yet done. And the depression I went through had freed me of the need to see my life with horses in terms of goals. I was happy just to enjoy my horses and my son. I think the fact that I was older helped, also.

            But mainly, of course, I was happy to spend my time this way because I loved my little boy so much. As I said in the last post, I would have done absolutely anything to give him a happy life, and I thought, and still think, that raising a child around and aboard horses (if you can do it without injuring or scaring them) is a fine way to create a happy life. Lest you suppose this is just my own prejudice, you may consider the fact that the number one therapy for handicapped kids is “horse therapy.” People pay big bucks to let their handicapped child get led around on a gentle horse. If it can actually “cure” handicapped kids, how good must horseback riding be for kids who are not handicapped?

            So I took much delight in spending my horse time leading my child around on our steady pony, feeling that I was giving my son a huge gift. And I really believe this from the bottom of my heart, in the same way and to the same degree that I believe in attachment parenting. It doesn’t matter if my son grows up to be a horseman or not. That isn’t the point. The point, to me, is that riding and interacting with horses throughout your childhood helps you to feel strong and comfortable within yourself, and to connect in a positive way with the natural world. That is, if it’s a positive experience.

            I took this part of it very seriously. As a young child I had many very “scary” moments on a horse. Because I was passionate about horses, these moments had never deterred me. But I knew many others who had been scared, or injured, or both, and who never again had any interest in horses. So I resolved to do everything I knew how to do (and I knew quite a bit about horses at this point in my life) to give my son a positive experience.

            To this end I bought Toby, a very steady 20 year old pony. To this same end, I led my son around for a year on the pony before I let him ride independently. I took the stirrups off the saddle for this whole year, in order that my kid should develop a good seat. I cannot count to you the miles I jogged, leading Toby as my son learned to trot on the critter. My long legged husband ran alongside the pony, as my son learned to lope. Once our child was pretty confident at all three gaits, I began lunging Toby with my kid aboard. And only when my little boy seemed absolutely solid, did I let him begin riding Toby independently—in our small riding ring. When we rode in larger spaces, I ponied Toby from my own horse, Plumber.

            This may sound overprotective to some, perhaps. But a lifetime of experience with horses had taught me to be careful, and my whole aim was to create a positive, rewarding experience for my son. And it worked. My little boy became a confident, happy rider. By the time he was seven years old, he could walk, trot, and lope Toby independently, and control the sometimes strong minded pony competently. And he began asking me to take him out on trail rides.

            Here is where I had a problem. Because Toby just wasn’t the right horse to take a seven year old out on the trails. He had a tendency to be “forward” outside, and I knew perfectly well that riding outside was very different to riding in an arena. Many more variables, a much less controlled situation. And so I hemmed and hawed about the trail rides. We took a couple of short ones (around my uncle’s ranch) with me ponying Toby from Plumber. And then life, once again, intervened. Toby got sick.

            The story of Toby’s death is described in “Magic…and Toby the Pony.” I will just say that it was very hard on my son when we lost his pony to cancer just after my little boy turned seven. Toby is buried here and at least once a month my son talks about how he misses him. Toby truly was a very special and important part of my life with horses and I will always be grateful to him. He was the first forever horse that came to me for my son.

Fortunately Toby was followed by another great horse. I have always believed that Toby sent us a gift in his passing and brought us another forever horse to take care of his little boy. Because of losing Toby, Henry came into our lives. (To be continued.)

            Toby is featured in my 10th mystery, Chasing Cans. Click on the title to find the Kindle edition of this book. (I have to add, I just read the Amazon reviews of Chasing Cans, and there is a group who absolutely hates this book, due to the fact that it is about a mother with a new baby. Yes, it is also an exciting mystery with lots of horses and a dastardly barrel racing trainer and plenty of action, and also includes the wonderful Toby. Most people, even the haters, point out that it is as well written as the previous books. However, fair warning: if reading about the "mama" experience turns you off, don't bother with this one. And if anyone who has enjoyed this book would post a review on Amazon, I'd be really grateful. This is one of my favorite novels in the series. I have to admit that it makes me sad that the non-mothers who hate reading about a career woman turning mom are the ones who seem mostly inclined to review it. I have no problem with anyone else's path, but since my own path became motherhood, I wanted to write about the experience. I tried to be faithful to the reality--joys and trials--while still crafting an exciting mystery. See what you think.)

 

            This saga begins here.  

My Life With Horses--Part Eight

                                                by Laura Crum

            I was thrilled to be pregnant. Neither my husband nor I had ever had a child, we were getting older (I was 42 and he was 49), and we really wanted a baby. At our respective ages it wasn’t that likely—without technical intervention, which we weren’t inclined to—so it seemed like a real gift. And I immediately resolved not to ride until the baby was born.

            This doesn’t mean that I think pregnant women shouldn’t ride. I just wanted to do everything possible to protect my unborn child at my advanced age. I gave Danny, the colt I had been training, to a friend. My old friend Wally was still riding and roping on Flanigan and Plumber, so they were getting plenty of exercise. And Gunner and Burt were turned out to pasture.

            Once again, I took a break from riding. I still fed my horses and saw them every day and I still loved them. In fact, I began to discover an interesting truth. The thing I enjoyed most about horses was not riding. It was living with them. This didn’t mean I wasn’t interested in riding any more. It just meant that I had come one step further in understanding my path with horses.

            Because I found that seeing my horses many times every day, feeding them and turning them out to graze, made me happy and content even though I wasn’t riding. I puttered around the garden, and I puttered around with my horses, and I waited for my baby to come and I was happy. I was aware that I was happy and this knowledge stood me in good stead, because having a baby wasn’t at all what I had expected it to be like.

            I had thought that the baby would be sort of an adjunct to our lives. My husband and I would do more or less as we had always done, the baby would just come along, too. But it wasn’t like that at all.

            I was unprepared for the fierce rush of maternal love, the absolute realization that I would do ANYTHING to protect and care for this little creature. If I had been asked, while I was pregnant, if I planned to give up riding for the next few years (or at least riding without a kid in the saddle with me) I would have said, “No, of course not.” But that is more or less what happened.

            This blog is about horses, not babies, and this saga is supposed to be about my life with horses, not my life with my child. But if you are to understand why my life with horses became the life that I have today, you will need to understand how I chose to parent my child…and why. I absolutely don’t blame you if you find this boring and not relevant, especially if you don’t have kids. Feel free to click that little “x” now.

            But, anyway, from the day of my son’s birth, the one main thing I wanted of life was to take the best possible care of my little boy. I’m not going to argue parenting styles here, but I will say that my own path became the “attachment parenting” path. I nursed my baby until he weaned himself (at 18 months), we slept in a family bed, and I carried my little guy in a sling and then later in a backpack, everywhere I went. I stayed home with him and took care of him (and this is one of the benefits of being an author—working at home was already my path). This is, I think, a wonderful way to raise a child, and I was very happy, but I did not find much time to ride. To be honest, riding wasn’t very high on my priority list.

            But I still had my horses and I still loved them. I carried my baby down the hill to feed every morning and evening. He grew up around horses. And when my little guy was six months old, I climbed up on my beloved Flanigan and took my baby for his first ride. After that I rode once in awhile—always at the walk and with my little boy sitting in front of me, always on Flanigan.

            Sadly, when my son was three years old, Flanigan died of an inoperable colic. He was the first of my “forever” horses to die and the first horse to die on my place. He is buried here…and I still miss him. I feel that his spirit both protects and guides me, however odd that may sound.

            After this I took my little boy for rides on Plumber. And we progressed to trotting and then loping. My son loved to ride. I think now that I should have put a helmet on my child, but I was confident in myself and my horses, and to be fair, we never had any problems. We rode a couple of times a week, in my riding ring or up at the arena, always with friends. For five years I rode only in arenas, at a relaxed walk/trot/lope. I can’t remember that I ever once rode without my child in the saddle with me in all those years. And no, I was not bored. I was happy. Plumber packed us like a champ until my son was five years old and just too big to ride comfortably in front of me any more.

            It was time for my boy to have a horse of his own. And thus came Toby.

            The saga begins here.

            I wrote Moonblind about being pregnant and Chasing Cans about having a nursing baby. Click on the titles to find the Kindle editions.

 Both of these books have lots of horses in them, but perhaps a tad less action than when my protagonist was single. What can I say? My life had a tad less action in it once I became a mama. I did my best to keep both mysteries exciting and still be faithful to the reality of motherhood. I really love these books, but I think that those who are mothers themselves are more likely to appreciate them than those who are not. The absolute truth is that I loved (and still love) being a mama, but it is not a life that “sounds” as exciting as my earlier life training and competing on horses. The fact that this part of my life with horses has actually been the most rewarding and interesting part to me is something you may have to take on trust (or perhaps my novels can portray this emotion more clearly than I can convey it in a blog post).

            

Bad News and Good News

                                                by Laura Crum

            After Terri’s sad post yesterday, and the very sad news last week, my own bad news seems pretty minor. But I’m hoping that telling this story may help someone else. So here goes.

 I posted a while ago about the little horse near the school playground. See my post on this problem here. Some of you asked for updates. I do have an update, but I’m afraid it isn’t good.

            The last I had heard, the SPCA had been called by a “do-gooder” who felt the horse was too thin. When I came back to the school, five days later (our program only meets twice a week), the horse was gone. I asked our teacher what had happened; she didn’t know. So I asked the school secretary and the yard duty supervisor. The yard duty supervisor said that he had seen someone taking photos of the horse and the shed last week. The horse was gone when he came to school this week. He didn’t know more than that. Uh-oh, I thought.

            At a guess the photo-taking person was SPCA. And then the horse disappeared.

            I asked the school secretary. She said she didn’t know much, but one of the neighbors—not the neighbor with the horse—had said that they had seen a horse trailer pull into the property on the weekend. They did not see the horse leave in the trailer. But now the horse is certainly gone. No one at the school knew more than that.

            My heart just sank. It is possible the horse went to a rescue or was re-homed—but it’s  pretty unlikely, given the circumstances. Maybe he was euthanised. I don’t like to think about the other alternative, which is the most likely, unfortunately.

            I don’t like to think about it, but I’m going to spell it out here, in case it helps some other little horse somewhere. Here is what I said in my previous post:

“I have been around in the horse business for a long time. I know the conventional wisdom is to call and report a horse that is too thin. I also know that this course is as likely to do harm as it is good. Having watched this horse lead a reasonably contented life for the past eight years, I certainly would NOT have reported it to the local SPCA.

            There are a number of reasons why I feel this way. First off, I have known of a good many cases like this where the owner, who never was all that invested in the horse, simply gets rid of it after the complaint. Trust me, these horses almost NEVER end up going to a better place. At best they get euthanised. At worst they end up on a truck. It’s possible that once in awhile the owner takes it as a wake-up call and buys better feed for the horse. And its possible that one in awhile the horse is re-homed to a better home. Its possible—but I haven’t seen it that often. Especially with an older horse.”

            Now, I don’t know for sure what actually happened, and the only way I could find out would be to knock on the door of complete strangers who have already made their decision (whatever it was) and probably (and justifiably) feel pretty hostile towards anyone from the school right now. But from long experience in the horse world, I can tell you what probably happened.

            To begin with, I can’t know if these people were truly fond of this horse, but I never saw anyone with him, ever—in eight years. Still, I was only there on weekday mornings. If the people worked, they wouldn’t have been home then. Perhaps they lavished attention on him in the evenings and on weekends. In any case, the horse always looked reasonably content in his small falling-down pasture and the school kids regularly fed him apples. He wasn’t suffering. Yes, this fall he was a touch too thin. NOT starving.  You could see a shadow of ribs if you stared hard. His ribs did not stand out, his hip bones did not stick up, his fuzzy winter coat had some shine to it. He was a LONG way from distress. I know he was being fed, because I saw him eating hay in his shed. As I pointed out in my previous post, he would undoubtedly have gained weight when the grass came on strong in the spring.

 Now my guess is that the people who owned the horse weren’t very invested in him (judging by the run-down pasture…etc). Still, the horse was leading a decent life. I know. I watched him for eight years. The do-gooder who reported him to the SPCA initiated a predictable chain of events. It probably went something like this. The SPCA hassled the owners-- who weren’t wanting to be hassled, and the owners most likely called around until they found someone who was willing to take the horse off their hands. And I’m sorry to say it, but that person most likely hauled the horse to a livestock auction for the small amount of money to be made.

            From the auction the horse was very likely shipped to slaughter. It makes me very sad.

            I wish I could have done something about this, and I was gearing up to try going to the door of the house and asking if I could help (as some readers suggested). But the horse was gone by the time I got back to school. And I will admit that I was struggling with the question of what I should do or say.

            You see the last two times I interfered in such a situation, I was told that the person could not afford to feed the horse any more, and would I take said horse. And both times I took the horse. However, I can no longer take any more horses. My corrals are full and I am maxed out with seven horses that I am committed to caring for for the rest of their lives. I had decided that I could offer to buy some senior food for the horse—but even this was problematic. I could buy a dozen sacks, sure. But I couldn’t afford to support that horse for the rest of his life…and the feed needed as a horse gets older can be very expensive. (Believe me, I know.) Wasn’t I just prolonging the inevitable? Still, if the horse put on a little weight now, and then the green grass kicked in, he might have another pleasant year.

            Anyway, I never had the chance to offer anything. Things happened faster than I was prepared for. But to be realistic, if the people had already made their choice, there might not have been anything I could do about it if I had gotten there earlier.

            And here’s my message. Stop and think before you interfere by calling “the authorities.” If a horse is truly starving that may be the best course of action. But be aware that when you report a horse like the little horse near our school, you may be sending that horse to slaughter—as a direct result of your “do-gooder” action. It might be best to try to determine if the horse has a decent quality of life FIRST, before you decide to drag in officialdom.

            As a case in point, last fall we euthanised two of our own older rescue horses mostly because we felt they were too thin. These horses were on free choice hay and a good pasture and we supplemented with lots of equine senior feed. The horses had been hard keepers all their lives and we had kept them in decent shape for many years by pouring LOTS of expensive food to them. But there came a day when even this wasn’t working any more, and we felt that they were too thin going into winter. They were 31 and 25 years, respectively. If you had driven by this pasture and seen that these two looked ribby, sure you could have called the SPCA. And what good would it have done?

            Such a well meaning do gooder would have no idea that we were pouring tons of money into expensive feed for these horses (and yes, regular worming) and agonizing over what was the best and most ethical thing to do. We monitored the horses carefully, checking to see that they both still seemed to be enjoying life and feeding them all they would clean up. We shed tears when we decided that euthanasia was the right option. We did our best to do right by those horses. We darn sure didn’t need some do-gooder deciding that we were “abusing” them.

            Again, I, too, would report a horse under certain circumstances. But I would try to find out the circumstances first. People who won’t buy feed when horses are starving need to be reported. But its best to be sure that the situation that the horses are in is WORSE than what may happen to them once you report them. We all need to be clear on that.

            OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. As I said in the original post, its very hard to know what’s best to do in a situation like this. But “reporting” the horse very often leads to the outcome I just described. I think many “do-gooders” mistakenly suppose that reporting a thin horse will lead to the horse having a better life. Sometimes this may happen, but very often it doesn’t work like that. And it’s important to understand this going in.

            On to the good news, which is actually pretty minor in comparison. For those of you who are reading my mystery series featuring equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy (on Kindle), the last four books have been reduced in price—just in time for Xmas. These books have all been previously priced at $10.99, which is pretty expensive for a Kindle edition, in my opinion. Starting today they are $2.99 each. The books (in order) are Moonblind, Chasing Cans, Going Gone, and Barnstorming. Click on the titles to find the $2.99 Kindle editions.

            There has been some problem linking the editions (which should soon be fixed), so if you simply type in the titles you may not be able to find these editions. But the links above will take you there; you can also find them if you look for them under Laura Crum in “Kindle store.” 

            These four books are very special to me, and those who read this blog will recognize some familiar equine characters. I hope this lower price makes it possible for folks who are enjoying the series to complete it by reading the last four books.

            Season’s greetings from my family to yours!

            

The Real Horses Behind My Fiction

By Laura Crum

I usually write posts about what I’m currently doing with my horses—but at the moment, just as Alison said in her last post, there’s not much for me to say. The occasional quick ride and turning them out to graze is about it. Instead I’m focusing very hard on finishing my twelfth mystery novel, which I must turn in to the editor at the end of the month. So my attention is really on my writing. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about my horses. Because my horses play a big part in my books.

In my novel, Chasing Cans, for instance, Gail McCarthy, my equine veterinarian protagonist, acquires a pony for her child. This particular plot device never would have occurred to me were it not for the fact that several years ago I acquired a pony for my little boy. I had never owned a pony before and Toby was an education to me. I found the little critter so endearing that I just had to write about him, and Toby our pony is faithfully described in Chasing Cans, though the way in which Gail acquires him is rather different than the way in which I came by the real Toby.

This is often the case with my equine characters. Over the course of my twelve mystery novels, I’ve based virtually every horse that Gail encounters, owns or rides on real horses I’ve known. Gunner, who is Gail’s main mount through most of the books, is modeled on my own horse, Gunner. He is accurately portrayed as to appearance (a fifteen-three hand Quarter Horse gelding with white socks, a blaze and a blue eye), personality and quirks (the real Gunner is a big spook, as is Gail’s “Gunner”), but the living horse’s history is a bit different from the fictional one.

Gail acquires her horse Gunner when a veterinary client refuses to spend the money and time it would take to allow the horse a chance at recovering from severed flexor tendons. (This occurs in my first novel, Cutter.) Gail takes the horse to save him from euthanasia. (The story is also based on a real horse; it just wasn’t Gunner.)

The real Gunner’s life history is rather different. I acquired him as a three-year-old, just as Gail did her Gunner. I was twenty-four years old and working for a prominent reined cowhorse trainer who shall remain nameless. As his assistant, I rode a string of eight horses every day; these were horses that, for whatever reason, he didn’t care to ride. Some he considered less talented, some were in the barn just to be broke and the owners weren’t interested in showing them, some had a bad attitude (poor me)…etc. Gunner was in my string because the trainer wasn’t collecting training fees on him; the horse was there to be sold. Gunner was a well-bred and talented cowhorse prospect, and the trainer thought that not only would he collect a fat commission when he sold the horse, he might also be able to place him with one of his own clients who would then pay the trainer to ride this gelding and perhaps enter him in the major futurities. Needless to say the price tag on this horse was high. He was probably the best colt I had in my string; he was also a very likable horse.

Just as he is described in my books, Gunner had a friendly, clownish personality, a willing and cooperative nature, and tons of athletic ability. He came to me in January of his three-year-old year with about thirty rides on him, and I took it from there. He was always an easy horse, never prone to bucking or other negative behaviors, other than his penchant for unexpected sudden twenty foot sideways leaps whenever he saw something worth spooking at, which was often. He never dumped me (and never meant to), but it was a near thing more than once.

Despite the swerves, I loved riding Gunner. It amazed me how quickly this colt came on and how much “cow” he had. As the months passed with no buyer coming up with the purchase price, I grew fonder and fonder of this horse. I began hoping desperately that no one would buy him; I dreaded his removal from the barn or seeing him placed in the trainer’s string (by this time I’d had lots of experience with the well known trainer’s rather harsh methods and didn’t want to see this kind, willing colt subjected to them).

Eventually the day came. A prospective buyer was due to arrive, one who would surely buy Gunner. He was a rich man; the purchase price would mean nothing to him. He was known to be looking for a good futurity prospect and to like Gunner’s breeding. The trainer was very keen to make the deal. I gave Gunner a bath with tears running down my face. That morning, despite the fact that I had no idea where I would get the money, I told the trainer I would give him the full price for the horse and wrote and handed him a deposit check.

I’ve never regretted this decision. I borrowed the money to buy Gunner and I left that trainer’s employment almost immediately thereafter. I trained Gunner myself and showed him at a couple of futurities and “stakes” as a three and four year old, winning some very minor awards. Gunner became an accomplished cutting horse over the years and I won quite a few events with him eventually. Later I trained him to be a team roping horse and competed on him for several years at ropings. I still own Gunner; he’s thirty-one and sound, if a bit stiff, and retired to the pasture. He’s been my friend the whole time.

Gail’s Gunner is given a slightly different history. She never uses him as a cutting horse, but does compete on him at team roping in Roped, my fourth mystery novel. In Slickrock, the fifth book in the series, she rides him on a major pack trip through the Sierra Nevada Mts of California. Though this pack trip is based on many pack trips that I made over those same mountain passes, the mount that I used on those trips was Flanigan, a horse I also rode for years and loved dearly, just as I did Gunner. Flanigan loaned his skills as a team roping horse and his quirky personality to Burt in my third novel, Roughstock.

In my latest novel, Going, Gone, Gail acquires Sunny, who is my current riding horse. The fictional Sunny is an accurate portrayal of the real Sunny, and those of you who read my blog posts will instantly recognize this horse. So the horses in my books are real horses, and the adventures Gail has with them are all based on things I have really done with my own horses. Thus my mystery series is a tapestry of fact and fiction, which I hope will engage readers in much the same way that the actual horses have engaged me.

Anyway, since I am currently pushing so hard to complete one more book, I thought you all might like to see how I have worked my horses into the stories, and perhaps some of you who enjoy these blog posts will be moved to give my novels a try.

And for those who would like to buy my earlier novels in hardcover (they are out of print), my friend/boarder, Wally, sells them through his feedstore. Wally doesn’t do the internet, but if you call Valley Feed, 831-728-2244 (in California) and give Wally or Lynn a credit card number, you can order any of my first eight books for $20.00 each (which includes shipping to anywhere in the continental US), and you will get signed copies, which I will also personalize for you if you would like. If you want to find out more about these books and read the first chapters, you can go to my website www.lauracrum.com

Anyone who has read my novels please feel free to give a reader review in the comments. I like feedback and can stand a bit of criticism, so let me (and others) know what you liked or didn’t like. Cheers--Laura

Why Ever Did You Pick That Cover?

By Laura Crum

As the author of ten mysteries featuring equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, I’ve frequently been asked the above question. Believe me, on some of those books I would have asked the question myself, if I had been the reader. The truth is that I didn’t pick that cover(!) In fact, I had virtually nothing to say about it.

My first mystery, Cutter, came out in hardcover from St Martin’s Press in 1994. Needless to say, I waited with great excitement to see what the jacket would look like. (For those unfamiliar with this process, it takes roughly a year from the moment of turning a manuscript in to the publisher until the finished book arrives in the mail…a long wait.) I can still remember my immediate sense of deflation when I finally saw the book. It looks like Nancy Drew, were the words that came to mind.

This was my first experience with a phenomena that I later became very familiar with. For some reason, books with horses on the cover have a tendency to look “YA” (publishing industry slang—means “young adult”), unless the cover artist is quite skillful. Cutter looked very YA from my point of view.

Still, I had no idea how dire things can get in the book cover department. Not until I saw the paperback version of Cutter. Not only did this cover also look very YA, the artist had depicted my western cutting horse with an English saddle (!) You can imagine the comments I got on that one. Unfortunately, most of the world believes that an author personally chooses or designs the cover—I hate to think how many folks may consider me dismally ignorant on the subject of cutting horses, based on this jacket.

As you might imagine, at this juncture I called up the St Martin’s art department, wanting to be sure I could have some input into the cover of my next book. To make a long story short, the answer was “not”. A midlist author (publishing industry slang for anyone who’s not a bestseller but is still getting published by a big publisher), it turns out, has very little control over what cover her book will have. I could whine to the art director about what I wanted and didn’t want, sure, and he would agree to pass this on to the artist, but the net result was that the art director was interested in his/her concept, not mine.

Fortunately Hoofprints, my second novel, had a much more pleasing cover than Cutter. Or at least, I thought so. (Not coincidentally, at least in my opinion, it sold a lot better, too.) When I praised the cover to my agent, however, she sniffed dismissively. I was quite surprised that she didn’t seem to like the jacket. Novice in the publishing business that I was, I had paid no attention to the lettering. My agent was no novice. “I wish they’d done your name a little larger,” was all she said.

Sure enough. Now that I considered this aspect, I saw that my name was printed in such small letters it was hardly legible. Another lesson learned.

Finally, on my third mystery, Roughstock, I hit the jackpot. I loved the cover, and virtually everyone who saw the book did, too. Not to mention my name was nice and big. (Roughstock also sold very well, by the way.) The cover artist, Peter Thorpe, had emailed me in the course of his work (being one of that lovely breed who actually reads the material and tries to make the cover fit), so I was able to thank him for a great job. Naturally I requested him thereafter.

This system didn’t work all the time. The art director at a big house like St Martin’s has a tendency to be a “revolving door” position. Seldom did I have the same art director from book to book. So, periodically the current inhabitant of the office would decide to replace my favorite artist with someone else, usually not to good effect. For instance my sixth novel, Breakaway, which is one of my favorite books, but also probably the “darkest” of my mysteries and the least suitable for young readers, has a cover that looks more YA than all the rest. Needless to say, I was not thrilled.

So the answer to my title question is that I have mostly had very little control over the covers of my novels, which is unfortunate, as I think many people do judge a book by its cover. I have to admit, I find it easier to buy a book with an appealing cover than one with a repulsive or boring jacket (in my eyes), despite the fact that I may be familiar with the author and able to evaluate the book more fairly on its merits. I’m a big believer in the idea that covers are very important. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that overall, those of my books that have what I would call appealing covers have sold better than the others.

Thus I’m grateful that my last two books have been published by Perseverance Press, who has been willing to use Peter Thorpe as the cover artist (and thank you, Pete, for being willing to do the work). Moonblind and Chasing Cans are two of my favorite jackets—I’d welcome your input.
Cheers,
Laura Crum

Toby the Pony

By Laura Crum


In my latest mystery novel, Chasing Cans, just out this spring, my protagonist, equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, acquires a pony for her child. Toby, the pony in that story, is based on our own Toby, a pony I bought two and a half years ago, when my son was five. Toby the pony single-handedly taught my little boy to ride.

My son had been horseback since he was six months old, sitting in front of me in the saddle, but still did not like to be on the big horses by himself. Not to mention that none of the horses I had at that time were suitable as a mount for a young child. When a neighbor mentioned that she wanted to sell Toby—her teenage daughter had outgrown him and moved on to a horse—I jumped at the chance.

I’d watched Toby quite a bit over the years. A largish (about thirteen hands) mostly white pinto pony, with blue eyes, Toby was homely and phlegmatic in appearance. I had seen him packing various little neighbor girls around, bareback, double and once triple (!) Nothing seemed to bother him. He looked sturdy, solid, and reliable (and 100% sound), and I figured he was just what I needed.

My neighbor explained that Toby had some health problems (Cushings disease and a run-in with cancer) and he was twenty years old. I bought him anyway, and the very first day I brought him home, my little boy demanded to get on him. Leading my kid around the property on Toby, who never twitched an ear at anything, I knew I’d made a good decision.

In the ensuing years I learned a lot. I’d never owned a pony before, though I’d longed for one as a small child, and Toby was a real education. Ponies are not a smaller version of horses, I found. No, ponies are much smarter and tougher minded than any horse I’d ever owned. At least Toby was. Oh, and did I mention stubborn? But most of all, endearing.

Toby continued to take care of my little boy, who never once fell off of his beloved pony. We did have some minor setbacks, as when Toby tried to convince me he had no idea how to longe, despite the fact that the former owner had assured me she’d longed him often. When I called her for advice, she suggested the whip. “Every pony is a little Napoleon,” she said.

Sure enough, upon one application of said whip, Toby miraculously remembered how to longe. And this testing behavior persisted throughout our relationship, though it certainly lessened as he and I grew to understand one another.

And Toby’s version of taking care of my child wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined. As my little boy progressed from the leadline to the longe line to riding independently, Toby showed us that he had plenty of life. Indeed, at a thump from my kid’s heels, Toby was quite willing to take off at the high lope, as we found out. I still remember my son coming up the hill at a hand gallop on a route chosen not by him but by Toby, which involved leaping a ditch and ducking under a very solid oak tree limb. (After this I proceeded to give Toby a few training rides—fortunately the pony was big enough that I could also ride him. As always, it didn’t take him long to decide it was in his best interests to revert to obedient behavior.)

Still, Toby seemed to have a sixth sense about what a rider could handle; nobody ever came off of him. It didn’t hurt that he had very smooth gaits. My son was eventually able to trot and lope the pony independently, and remain in good control of him (to my kid’s great delight). Through it all, Toby remained sound and apparently healthy; he got his meds for the Cushings, shed out, looked great, bucked and played in his corral…etc. He was ridden four or five days a week on average, rarely hard enough to crack a sweat, and seemed to be enjoying life thoroughly.

We all loved Toby, most of all my son; the pony became a member of our family. He’d be with us today, but unfortunately his cancer reoccurred. We operated on him once to remove a tumor and he recovered nicely to give us another year of companionship. But when the cancer reoccurred yet again, this time in his kidneys, we made the decision to let him go. (Kidney cancer in a horse requires the removal of a kidney, a difficult operation that would put the horse through much suffering. We didn’t think this was appropriate, given Toby’s age and the fact that this was the fourth time his tumor had come back.)

Toby’s last days were spent on painkillers which kept him comfortable, and he wandered around our small horse ranch, grazing wherever he wanted, and shutting himself in his own pen every evening. My son and I said good-bye to him and told him we loved him (and if you’ve ever helped a little boy to say goodbye to a beloved animal, you know how sad this was). Nonetheless, in the green grass and sunshine, Toby dozed near us contentedly and rested his head against us; I swear our pony said goodbye and told us he loved us, too.

Toby is buried in his corral, with a stone to mark his grave. That corral is now occupied by Henry, the sorrel Quarter Horse gelding who is my son’s new mount. But Toby will never lose his place in our hearts—the magical little white horse who taught my boy to ride.

Cheers—to Toby

Laura Crum

The Real Horses Behind the Books

by Laura Crum

In my latest mystery novel, Chasing Cans, just out this month, Gail McCarthy, my equine veterinarian protagonist, acquires a pony for her child. This particular plot device never would have occurred to me were it not for the fact that several years ago I acquired a pony for my little boy. I had never owned a pony before and Toby was an education to me. I found the little critter so endearing that I just had to write about him, and Toby our pony is faithfully described in Chasing Cans, though the way in which Gail acquires him is rather different than the way in which I came by the real Toby.

This is often the case with my equine characters. Over the course of my ten mystery novels, I’ve based virtually every horse that Gail encounters, owns or rides on real horses I’ve known. Gunner, who is Gail’s main mount through most of the books, is modeled on my own horse, Gunner. He is accurately portrayed as to appearance (a fifteen-three hand Quarter Horse gelding with white socks, a blaze and a blue eye), personality and quirks (the real Gunner is a big spook, as is Gail’s “Gunner”), but the living horse’s history is a bit different from the fictional one.

Gail acquires her horse Gunner when a veterinary client refuses to spend the money and time it would take to allow the horse a chance at recovering from severed flexor tendons. (This occurs in my first novel, Cutter.) Gail takes the horse to save him from euthanasia. (The story is also based on a real horse; it just wasn’t Gunner.)

The real Gunner’s life history is rather different. I acquired him as a three-year-old, just as Gail did her Gunner. I was twenty-five years old and working for a prominent reining/cowhorse trainer who shall remain nameless. As his assistant, I rode a string of eight horses every day; these were horses that, for whatever reason, he didn’t care to ride. Some he considered less talented, some were in the barn just to be broken and the owners weren’t interested in showing them, some had a bad attitude (poor me)…etc. Gunner was in my string because the trainer wasn’t collecting training fees on him; the horse was just there to be sold. Gunner was a well-bred and talented cutting and reining prospect, and the trainer thought that not only would he collect a fat commission when he sold the horse, he might also be able to place him with one of his own clients who would then pay the trainer to ride the horse and enter him in the major cutting and reining futurities. Needless to say the price tag on this horse was high. He was probably the best colt I had in my string; he was also a very likable horse.

Just as he is described in my books, Gunner had a friendly, clownish personality, a willing and cooperative nature, and tons of athletic ability. He came to me with about thirty rides on him, and I took it from there. He was always an easy horse, never prone to bucking or other negative behaviors, other than his penchant for unexpected sudden twenty foot sideways leaps whenever he saw something worth spooking at, which was often. He never dumped me (and never meant to), but it was a near thing more than once.

Despite the swerves, I loved riding Gunner. It amazed me how quickly this colt came on and how much “cow” he had. As the months passed with no buyer coming up with the purchase price, I grew fonder and fonder of this horse. I began hoping desperately that no one would buy him; I dreaded his removal from the barn or seeing him placed in the trainer’s string (by this time I’d had lots of experience with the well known trainer’s rather harsh methods and didn’t want to see this kind, willing colt subjected to them.)

Eventually the day came. A prospective buyer was due to arrive, one who would surely buy Gunner. He was a rich man; the purchase price would mean nothing to him. He was known to be looking for a good futurity prospect and to like Gunner’s breeding. The trainer was very keen to make the deal. I gave Gunner a bath with tears running down my face. That morning, despite the fact that I had no idea where I would get the money, I told the trainer I would give him the full price for the horse and wrote and handed him a deposit check.

I’ve never regretted this decision. I borrowed the money to buy Gunner and I left that trainer’s employment almost immediately thereafter. I trained Gunner myself and showed him at some of the reining and cutting futurities as a three and four year old, winning some very minor awards. Gunner became an accomplished cutting horse over the years and I won many events on him eventually. Later I trained him to be a team roping horse and competed on him for several years at ropings. I still own Gunner; he’s twenty-eight, sound, and retired in my sixty acre pasture. He’s been my friend the whole time.
Photo: Laura Crum and Gunner winning the cutting class at the Santa Cruz County Fair.

Gail’s Gunner is given a slightly different history. She never uses him as a cutting horse, but does compete on him at team roping in Roped, my fourth mystery novel. In Slickrock, the fifth book in the series, she rides him on a major pack trip through the Sierra Nevada Mts of California. Though this pack trip is based on many pack trips that I made over those same mountain passes, the mount that I used on those trips was Flanigan, a horse I also rode for years and loved dearly, just as I did Gunner. Flanigan loaned his skills as a team roping horse and his quirky personality to Burt in my third novel, Roughstock.

Photo: In the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California

So the horses in my books are real horses, although almost all of them are in some ways combinations. One horse’s personality and appearance grafted on another’s history, so to speak. (This is the way I create my human characters as well. ) And though I give Gail some of my own life experiences, her responses are uniquely her own. Thus my mystery series is a tapestry of fact and fiction, which I hope will engage readers in much the same way that the real horses and life changes have engaged me.

Here’s to the three “Rs”—reading, writing and riding!
Laura Crum
www.lauracrum.com