I Forget

                                                            by Laura Crum

            In my current life, I forget I am an “author.” It just doesn’t seem very important. The fact that I spent twenty years writing mystery novels, had twelve books published by a legitimate publisher (meaning not self-published), and that I still get a check every month from sales of these books—well, I don’t think about these things much any more. I don’t bother doing publicity for the books on “social media”—as I used to do, other than writing these blog posts on Equestrian Ink, which are mostly not about my writing or even my horses. They are about things that matter to me now.

            I quit writing my mystery series several years ago when the twelfth book in the series, “Barnstorming” was published. My goal had always been to write a dozen books and I achieved that goal. I truly didn’t feel motivated to write more novels. The books cover twenty years in the life of one woman, and it took me twenty years to write them. Serendipity. “Barnstorming” is the last.

            But the other day something happened to remind me that yes, I am still an author. A new acquaintance asked me what I did “for a living.” I gave the short answer and said that for the last twenty years I had been an author. She was immediately interested, and asked about my books. I explained that they were horse-themed mysteries, with an equine vet as a protagonist and she said what people so often say. “I would love to read them. Can you bring me one? Your favorite.” This comment, though well meant, always makes me grit my teeth a little. People assume the author has an endless supply of her own books to give away (not true), and that I have a favorite (not true). But OK, it is well meant, and the person is interested in my books.

            I did what I always do if I like the individual. I explained that the books were a series and best to start with the first one, though it certainly isn’t the best book, in my opinion. I said I would give her the first one and if she liked it she could acquire the others herself. When I went home I couldn’t find any copies of Cutter (my first novel, written over twenty years ago) kicking around the house, so I ordered one from Amazon. Four dollars and change, including the shipping, for a hardcover. Not bad. And a few days later the book arrived at my front gate. Voila.

            I brought the book to the acquaintance next time I saw her, and to my amazement she was flatteringly effusive. “I didn’t know you were a famous author. I looked you up on Amazon and all your books have four and five star ratings and lots of reviews and I’m really impressed.”

            I must admit I stared at her in surprise. “I’m not a famous author, “ I said, “far from it. I’m a relatively unknown author. But it’s nice of you to say.”

            Now here I have to add that I really don’t pay much attention to my “career” any more. I have other things to think about. So I don’t look at my reviews on Amazon. But I went home and looked at Cutter and it did have plenty of reviews and was rated four stars. Then I looked up the second book in the series (Hoofprints) and it had 46 reviews and was rated four and a half stars.

            I didn’t feel motivated to look up the rest of the books, so have no idea if they have very many reviews or what they’re rated star-wise. But I did smile to see all the kind words that were said about Cutter and Hoofprints, my first two efforts. And I realized that though I’m not invested in my “success,” I am happy that so many people have read and enjoyed my stories. That means something to me.

I spent many years and much effort on my novels. I wove into them all the little insights on life that I had to offer. My husband and son make appearances as characters, as do my horses and dogs and home. Many of my personal experiences became part of the protagonist’s life. On top of which I tried to create a unique and credible mystery plot for each story, complete with plenty of excitement and horse action. Every single detail about horses comes from real things that have happened to me in a lifetime spent owning and training actual horses (not doing “research”), and each book takes on an aspect of the horse business that I have known well and deeply. Cutting, cowhorse, team roping, ranching, breaking and training a colt, horse packing in the mountains, trail riding here on the coast…even a TB layup farm thanks to my sister-in-law, who trains TB race horses (Moonblind), and an endurance ride, thanks to my friend who is a vet and worked on such rides (Roughstock). These equine events form the background of my stories. And though I have never been chased by a villain on horseback, I HAVE galloped flat out over the terrain that I use as the basis for these scenes (yes, including the beach).

Anyway, yesterday I picked up Cutter and read the first couple of chapters, just to see how it might strike my new friend. And you know, it read pretty good, considering this is maybe the 100^th time I’ve seen those words (due to all the re-writing I had to do to get published, not my obsession with my own work). I was pleased. I realized that the books mean something to me. So maybe I am still an author after all.

(And to all those who have read my mystery novels, and especially anyone who took the time to post a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or anywhere else, a big thank you!)

           

            

My Career?

                                                by Laura Crum

            Someone asked me the other day if I was happy with my writing career. I have to admit that I was so taken aback that I didn’t know what to say. I ended up babbling something inane, like, “Well, sure. Sort of. There are worse things.” And then I spent some time thinking about it. So now I am going to answer the question.

            It’s true that I have had a good long run as a published author. My first novel, Cutter, was released by St Martin’s Press in 1994. Since then, I’ve had eleven other books published. I was paid (perhaps not a vast amount of money, but I got a check) for all of them. In these past twenty yeas, writing novels has been my “job.” So I guess you could call it a career. The thing is, I never really thought about it that way.

            I certainly have not become a “best-selling” author. My books have brought in the grocery money, maybe. I am very lucky that my husband has a job that keeps us solvent. My career as a mid-list author would certainly not have supported me. Does this make me a failure?

            I think it depends on how you look at it. Best-selling authors who make good money would probably say I was a failure. People who have always wanted to have a book published by a “real” publisher, but failed to attain that goal would probably say I was a success (twelve published novels and a good many readers over the years looks like success to the unpublished or self-published, I find). From my own point of view, I am content with the way the author gig worked out for me. I wouldn’t mind a few more readers and a few more book sales. I do believe there are horse people out there who haven’t yet read my books who would enjoy my novels, and I’d like to reach those people. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if my books paid for the groceries AND the whisky.

            The main thing in my mind is that I enjoyed writing those novels. I wove a lot of my own life into them and I was really happy to have a career that allowed me to stay home with my beloved animals and garden, and later, with my son. I was fortunate in that I didn’t need to make a lot of money, so the fact that I never did make a lot of money didn’t trouble me. I was just tickled to be paid for doing something that I genuinely enjoyed doing.

            And yes, there is the ego gratification factor. When I first started writing mystery novels (before I was published) I used to think that my life would be complete if I walked into a book store and saw my name on the spine of a book for sale on the shelves (this was before Amazon, too). And you know, it happened. Twenty years ago I walked into my local bookstore and there was a book with my name on it. Yes, it was very gratifying. But in the end, I realized that nothing had really changed. I was still the same person, with the same problems and the same strengths.

            Before I was published I would go to talks given by authors and think that if I were the one giving the talk, if the people were there to see me, my life would somehow be a different life. And now that I have many times been the one giving the talk, I can tell you that my life is not vastly different. Yes, I can say that I am a published author and that does impress people (at least a little), but nothing of real importance in my life has changed. I have good days and bad days, happy times and sad times, just as I did before I was published.
            The lesson here for me is that “fame” (and in my case it was a VERY small amount of fame) doesn’t do the things for you that you might imagine that it will. The admiration of strangers just isn’t as fulfilling as you somehow believe that it will be. That’s been my experience, anyway.

            In the end, writing the novels and having people read them and (sometimes) enjoy them and tell me so has been a very happy experience for me. Being paid (even a small amount) for doing this has been rewarding. It has been satisfying to express my insights about the world and describe the things that I’ve loved in words—words that are read by others. Being able to stay home with my family and critters and garden has been vastly rewarding. So I would have to say that I am happy with my “career.”

            I probably could have made almost as much money working an eight hour day five days a week for minimum wage for the last twenty years, just to be realistic. But you know, I do believe I’ll take being an author. Even a lowly, mid-list author. It suits me.