News! (and a Free Book Offer)

by Laura Crum

My 12^th book has been published—in 2012, how appropriate. The cover is by the very talented Peter Thorpe, who has done most of my covers. I think he did a wonderful job on this one. My son actually came up with the concept of a barn being “struck by lightning” as a play on the title, and Pete did a fabulous job of painting this image and doing the lettering.

“Barnstorming” takes my protagonist, equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, into some new territory, both as she solves the mystery and in her personal life. Those who have read the series know that Gail starts out in “Cutter” as an eager 31 year old vet who is one year into her career, with a new boyfriend and a new horse. In the first ten installments in the series she ages one year in each book and goes through some important life changes. By “Chasing Cans”, the 10^th book, she is 41 and the mother of a young child. (and still has to solve a dramatic mystery on the ranch next door—the woes of an amateur sleuth).

In my last two books Gail ages five years per book, as I wanted to bring her closer to my own age (I’m 54) and write about some themes that interest me now. “Barnstorming” has a lot to do with solitary trail riding and the challenges that come up. And since it is a mystery, Gail faces the challenge that I think all of us secretly wonder about. What if we met a truly nasty person out on the trail? What if that person had a gun?

All my books are very much based on things I’ve seen and done, and all the horses in my stories (and the other critters) are as true to life as I can make them. They behave like real horses (most of them are modeled on my own horses—and those who read this blog will recognize them); they don’t talk, or solve crimes, or defend their master from the bad guys (all of which I have seen and winced at in various novels). Sunny, my little palomino trail horse, has a starring role in “Barnstorming”, as he did in “Going, Gone”.

I will admit that I have been fortunate enough never to have met anyone truly nasty on my many solo trail rides, but I have met some odd/tough looking sorts and certainly had my moments of wondering “what if”, which gave me the seed of an idea for this story. I’m hoping you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And, if the book sounds interesting to you, you may have a copy for FREE. My publisher has agreed to send a free copy of “Barnstorming” to anyone in the continental US who will review the book on her/his blog or on Amazon. No fancy or lengthy reviews are necessary. Just mention you’ve read the book and say what you think of it. If you would rather not do a book review on your blog, or you don’t have a blog, you can post a short review on Amazon. So those of you who would like a FREE review copy of “Barnstorming” please email Susan Daniel at susan@danielpublishing.com with your agreement to review and your snail mail address, and she will mail you a copy of my latest book.

I’m currently in the process of getting my older titles available on Kindle, which is taking me awhile, because I don’t have electronic copies of the first ones (written twenty years ago). So by April that job should be done. In the meantime, here’s a list of my published mysteries, with a short synopsis of each book. The first eight books (all out of print) will be available on Kindle for 99 cents each. The first three are up there now (Cutter, Hoofprints, and Roughstock) and I have every intention of getting the next five up there shortly.

I’m very excited at the thought that these books may become readily available again. I put so much of my life into writing them (twenty years), and the stories are not only good mysteries (or I think so, anyway), but also reflect a lot of my thoughts about life…and horses. I hope some of you will give them a try.

Here’s the list (I can hardly believe I’ve actually written this many books):

CUTTER: Veterinarian Gail McCarthy thought cutting horse trainer Casey Brooks was being paranoid with his stories of poisoned horses and sabotage, but when his blue roan mare returns riderless and Casey is found dead, she isn’t so sure.

HOOFPRINTS: Gail McCarthy is a horse vet with a hectic schedule, not to mention a horse, a new boyfriend, and a house payment, and her life is more than a little disrupted when she finds two dead bodies in the course of a routine call to a well known reined cowhorse barn.

ROUGHSTOCK: While attending the annual Winter Equine Seminar at Lake Tahoe, Gail finds one of her fellow horse vets dead, and another accused of his murder. The trail leads back to Gail’s hometown, and through the twists and turns of the team roping world, plunging Gail into a confrontation with an unlikely killer.

ROPED: A stalker haunting the ranch of an old friend creates a harrowing personal drama for Gail as she struggles to sort out a mystery involving animal rights and a bitter feud—and win a team roping event at the same time.

SLICKROCK: Gail embarks on a solitary pack trip in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, with just her two horses and her dog for company. All too soon she stumbles upon a soon-to-be-dead man, and is drawn into the whirlwind of nefarious events that precipitated the tragedy.

BREAKAWAY: Faced with a depression and some big life changes, Gail struggles to find the right path as she is confronted with the strangest mystery she has ever heard of.

HAYBURNER: Gail is called out to treat injured horses when the biggest boarding stable in the county catches fire. When a second barn fire occurs nearby, Gail finds herself in the middle of the search to catch the arsonist—before any more horses or people die.

FORGED: Gail’s horseshoer is shot in her barnyard, while shoeing her horse, embroiling Gail in a dangerous attempt to capture an elusive killer.

MOONBLIND: Gail’s cousin Jenny, who runs a Thoroughbred layup farm, complains of mysterious villains who are out to destroy her business—and harm her horses. While trying to support Jenny, Gail discovers this threat is all too real.

CHASING CANS: Legendary barrel racing trainer Lindee Stone is killed when a horse flips over backwards with her. The cops are calling it an accident, but Gail witnessed the wreck and thinks there is something fishy about it.

GOING, GONE: While on a vacation in the Sierra foothills, Gail finds that her old boyfriend, Lonny Peterson, is accused of murdering a local auctioneer. In an attempt to save Lonny, Gail ends up in a harrowing horseback race with a ruthless killer.

And just released-- BARNSTORMING: In which Gail, on a solitary trail ride, discovers a fellow equestrian shot through the heart, and embarks on an intense hunt to discover why violence is haunting her local trails.

Readers sometimes ask me which books are my favorites, or which I think are the best. In a way, this is like asking a mom which child is her favorite—it’s a hard question to answer. I can tell you that Slickrock (5^th book) is the overall reader favorite, and that readers either love Breakaway (6^th book) or they hate it—its my “darkest” book. I really like both of these books. I can also say-- after working on my early books to get them up on Kindle-- that I get steadily better book by book through the first four novels. I am very partial to my last four books because they reflect on my current life of being a mom, but I have noticed that those who are not mothers themselves often don’t like these books as well as the early books. So those are my insights, for what they are worth.

Anyway, it is my intention that Barnstorming will be the last in the series. I always planned to write a dozen books in this series, and now that goal has been achieved. The novels took me twenty years to write, and cover twenty years in the life of one particular horsewoman (30-50), chronicling her many adventures. If you like mysteries and horses, I think you’ll like these books. And I would be very happy to get your feedback on them, and thrilled if you’d review them.

By the way, if any of you who like my books want to do me a real favor, post a positive review on Amazon. This may have quite a bit of influence on how many books I sell. I realize it’s a fussy sort of chore, and I never post reviews on Amazon myself, so I’ve got no expectations. If you happen to do it, I’ll be very appreciative.

And…I have a Facebook page now, believe it or not. I always said I wouldn’t do Facebook—guess I have to eat my words. We can be “friends”.

One more time (can you tell I’m excited about this?)-- Cutter, Hoofprints, and Roughstock—the first three books in the series -- are now available on Kindle for 99 cents. Click on the titles to go to the Kindle page for each book. This is one of my favorite covers—again by the very talented Peter Thorpe.

Using Animals in Fiction as Secondary Characters

I'm popping in before I go to work to let everyone know that I blogged today at The Romance Studio on using animals as secondary characters and writing scenes from an animal's point of view.

I know a lot of you are interested in writing equestrian fiction, so you might want to check it out: http://theromancestudio.blogspot.com/

Getting Published--Part 2

By Laura Crum


So, I left off last post somewhere in the mid 1990’s. I have (finally) achieved my goal of becoming a published author. Not only that but my books are being published by a major New York publisher (St Martin’s Press). They are coming out in hardcover and paperback. I am getting mostly good reviews. I am invited to do book signings and go on book tours. I get inquiries about films. I make more with each contract. Sounds great doesn’t it? Why don’t we see your books on the bestseller lists, you ask. Yes, indeed. You might well ask that.

Now we get down to the difference between my fantasy vision of what its like to be a published author and real life. In my fantasy, once I’m published, its all gravy. I grow rapidly richer and more famous as my books catch on with all those folks out there who enjoy horse-oriented mysteries. Dick Francis and I are running neck and neck on the bestseller lists. Right.

What actually happened is pretty much typical. Many, many mystery series featuring female protagonists got their start just about when I did. Very few of them are still being published today. I count myself lucky to have a contract for book #11 in my series. But I am by no means rich and famous. I had a great deal to learn about the publishing biz, and not all of it was positive.

The first thing I learned was that these big publishing houses have a “revolving door” approach to employees. Very few people stay in the same position for more than two years. This is almost an axiom in the publishing world. My editor, a mainstay at that house, was there the whole time I was with St Martin’s (or I wouldn’t have lasted for eight books), but every other single person I worked with came and went with great regularity.

Why is this a big deal? Let me give you an example. My first two books came out in hardcover and paperback. (Cutter and Hoofprints). But by the time my third book (Roughstock) was released, the paperback editor had moved on and a new one came on board. He promptly ditched all the midlist (not best sellers) authors in the line and picked out some new midlist authors of his own. My editor lobbied to get my books back in the paperback line. To no avail. By the time my fourth book came out, the company had folded that paperback imprint. Never again did my books appear in paperback (from St Martin’s).

The art directors came and went. Sometimes I got a great cover, sometimes an awful cover (an English saddle on my western cutting horse, for instance). I very rarely had anything to say about it. Just about the time I would achieve a friendly relationship with the current art director and begin to feel we were on the same page regarding the look my covers ought to have, said art director would be gone and a new and often stiff necked critter would take his place. I would have to start over with the explanations of the difference between Western and English horse gear and was often reduced to begging for a cover artist I liked. Sometimes to no avail. It was frustrating.

The publicity people came and went. The assistant editors came and went. Other than my editor, I was unable to form a long standing working relationship with any one in the company, because they were always leaving. It was frustrating. Very little publicity was done for my books. They still got good reviews, but by book #5, Slickrock (which got excellent reviews), it was obvious to me that my series was dropping into the black hole called “midlist”, and that nobody at St Martin’s was going to make any effort to change this situation.

By this point I was getting a little jaded. I no longer had much interest in book tours or book signings. They hadn’t made me rich and famous and I begrudged the time they took from my real life (by which I mean my family, horses, garden…etc). The ego gratification I had imagined I would feel at having this minor version of fame hadn’t turned out quite as I’d pictured it. I was still the same person I had been pre-publication. I was not the somehow better, more glorious creature that I’d envisioned. Yes, I was now a published author. People occasionally recognized me at the grocery store (which is not all that great when you’re wearing horse manure stained jeans and sporting unbrushed hair, I might add). Yes, I could still walk into a bookstore and see my name on the spine of one of those books. I could still do a booksigning and find a crowd of people eager to hear me speak and buy my latest mystery, but somehow this wasn’t the be all and end all that I had imagined it would be.

I had never liked the endless mystery conventions, or cared for the required shmoozing with other authors, editors and agents. (I’m an introvert. I like being home with my family and critters.) Popularity in the mystery field is judged (somewhat) by winning various awards, and these awards are usually (not always) won by authors who attend the conventions and hang out with “in” people in the mystery field. (Lets face it, panels of these convention-going authors are the ones who nominate the award winners.) I was rapidly becoming an “outsider” in the mystery world, that rare author who doesn’t go on book tours or to conventions, who hopes and expects that her work stands for itself. Unfortunately, the business doesn’t operate that way. Just like showing horses, whether your work is good or lousy is not always the bottom line. Its who you know, how you play the game. I wasn’t playing.

Above and beyond my own idiosyncrasies as an author, the climate in publishing was changing as my sixth book came out. The NY publishing houses were merging and being bought out. Soon half a dozen big entities owned all of the formerly independent publishing companies. St Martin’s was bought by the German company that owned Henry Holt. But my editor was still there and she still liked my mystery series. I continued to get a contract for each new book, while many authors I knew (and who were at least as successful as I was) were dropped.

Things continued to change. The trend was for big, dark, stand-alone thrillers, not amateur sleuth series. I still got a contract, yes, but the last two books I did with St Martin’s, I was offered less money, not more. I took it. I knew good and well that it would be very unlikely that another big house would pick up my series. Such series were no longer the “happening thing”. I could see the writing on the wall.

In the end, I decided to leave while I was still on good terms with St Martin’s. I knew the editor of a small press that specialized in mysteries. She’d been my copyeditor for years and we worked well together. She had said that she’d like to publish my books if ever I wasn't with St Martin's. I decided the time was right to make the move. I thanked my editor at St Martin’s for her long time support and we wished each other well. And Perseverance Press published my ninth and tenth novels in trade paperback.

So, at this point I have been for fifteen years and ten books a published mystery author. I am now published by a small California press as opposed to a big New York house. The differences? I make less money. But I have much more control over my books. Perseverance Press makes a huge effort to turn out beautiful well crafted books. Everyone involved really cares. They are a stable group; it’s the same people from one book to the next. They let me have lots of input on my covers. They work at publicity. They are very happy with my “numbers” (how many of my books they are able to sell). I find the whole process much more enjoyable. Between foreign contracts, large print contracts and royalties, I still make almost as much as I did the last few books with St Martin’s. I'm grateful. I still consider myself lucky. As I said, I know many authors who do not have a contract right now, due to no fault of their own.

The climate in publishing is very different from the mid 90’s, when I “broke in”. Most people would say that the big New York houses are all struggling. Well known authors who have been on the best seller lists are out of a contract. A woman I know who has a very respected New York agent was told recently that there was absolutely no point in submitting a first time author’s work to any New York house right now. They just weren’t buying. Other authors on this site have pointed out that New York currently thinks horses don’t sell. So, I would say that if I were trying to break in today with my mystery series, I’d probably have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting published. At least by a big New York publisher.

What would I do? If I wanted to write a horse related mystery series and get published these days? Look at the small presses, probably. Though its not that easy to break in with some of them either, especially the more traditional ones. Perseverance Press specializes in publishing established mystery authors who are no longer with New York publishers (and there are more and more of us to choose among). Look at internet publishing options. It seems to be the way many authors are going. To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do. I offer my story just to give you an idea of some of the ins and outs of publishing. I truly don’t mean to discourage any one. And just as fashions have changed dramatically in the publishing world in the fifteen years that I’ve been involved, it is certain that they will continue to change. In time, perhaps, the climate will once again be favorable for aspiring authors of horse related fiction to “break in”.

Here’s to that change coming soon.
Cheers—Laura Crum

Death Reins In

Hi Everyone,

I have been out of the loop for some time and do apologize. Kids are back in school and life is sort of getting back into a routine that I can manage.

I wanted to share something with the readers here and get some opinions. I had a conversation with a literary agent a couple of weeks ago who said that she heard horse fiction does not sell well. This really bothered me for obvious reasons. Do you all buy that? If so, why? I believe that there are a lot of readers out there who want to read anything and everything if it concerns horses. Let's face it, horse folks are a passionate group of people and there are a lot of us. I say we make some noise! Support horse related fiction, movies, etc!

For those of you who have never picked up one of my mysteries, I thought I'd give you a taste over the next few weeks and post some chapters from my second book in the series--Death Reins In. The bad thing is, I only have my original copy on the computer so you'll get some typos with it, but the story does not change. Due to copyright I cannot post the entire manuscript, but I can give you a good chunk. Hopefully, you like the series and you may decide to head to the local book store and pick up a copy of one of the books. Keep in mind that if you got a copy of each one of our books here on Equestrian Ink and put them in a basket with some horse treats, maybe a lead rope, some other goodies, you would have one heck of a nice holiday gift (hint, hint).

Have a wonderful week. Happy riding and reading.

Cheers,
Michele


Death Reins In


PROLOGUE

Memories raced through Bob Pratt’s mind—both good and bad—as he lay gagged and tied in the trunk of the car. He hadn’t seen the make or model, didn’t even really know what had happened other than he’d been ambushed from behind as he went to get into his truck at the end of the day. He’d worked late, jotting down his notes on one of Eq Tech’s new supplements, specifically designed for racehorses. Bob didn’t even really feel it when he’d been slammed over the head--by what he didn’t know, by whom, he could only guess at. There were a handful of enemies who’d want to see Bob in this state, and probably a few people he called friend. The trunk smelled like dirty socks and fast food. He could hear the faint thumpings of rap music and occasionally he thought he might have recognized the sound of laughter coming from inside the car. Did that mean there was more than one person who’d taken him when he’d left work? Probably. He wasn’t exactly a little guy at over six feet. They knew he would’ve fought, so the sneak attack had to have been carefully planned.

His head ached as if it had been shoved into a vice, making it almost impossible to think, but he wanted to try—try and play out what had happened. He needed to remember if he’d heard anyone say anything, if he noticed anything at all. Damn, he’d been so caught up in his findings that he simply had not been paying attention. He had to try though, had to, in case he ever made it back alive. But the deep hole in his gut told him that wasn’t going to happen, which led him to one continual thought streaming through his mind: his sister Audrey, and what this would do to her if he didn’t come back. Oh hell, what if his theories had been right? What if he had stumbled onto something sinister and revealed too much to her when they’d spoken the other night over dinner? He didn’t think he had. As soon as she’d guessed something was wrong with him, which Audrey was so astute at, he’d tried hard to blow it off, said it was a little woman trouble, an issue at work here and there, that sort of thing. But he knew his sister well. He knew that nothing escaped her and if he’d said one wrong word, she might have picked up on it. He had to get out of this. He could feel his heart racing, beating hard against his chest, could smell the horse he’d been working with at the center on him, now mixed in with his own fear and angst.

Oh God, what if? What if he didn’t get out of this? Poor Audrey. He’d given her problems all of their lives and now—finally--when the two of them had made amends over the past few years and grown close again, he was leaving her. All alone. He loved her. She was a good sister. She had a sweet smile, warm-hearted nature, and a gentle touch with her animals that everyone who knew her admired. And she’d never given up on him. Never. She’d always believed in him and picked him up off the ground. Even when he’d turned his back on her, his sister had been right there with open arms, cheering him on. She was the reason he’d been able to not only maintain an equine veterinary practice, but also a position as a top researcher with Eq Tech in some very exciting fields of equine medicine and health.

The car slowed. What were they going over, an old bridge, a railroad crossing? A plume of exhaust wafted throughout the trunk, dizzying his already altered senses. Noises. More noise from outside; and the smell. It had changed, drastically. Petroleum; yes, that’s what it was. And something else? Food? Trash? Death? A mixture of all three. Then it hit him. They’d crossed the border. He was in Mexico. Oh Jesus, they were surely taking him there to kill him. He knew now that what he’d found out was the truth. And they knew he’d discovered it. The back of his neck broke out in a cold sweat.

The road wound around several curves, jostling him from side to side. Then, through the drone of the car and the grade of the trunk, he sensed they were going up a steep slope, maybe a mountain. And then he got it. He knew where they were going. Soon enough they’d be skirting the Baja coastline. He’d made this trip himself before. Would they kill him there along the highway down to Ensenada and dump him in the ocean? Or would they take him east and leave him to rot in the desert? Either way, Bob realized he was totally screwed.

He should have lived differently. Should have made peace with the people he’d hurt. But it was too late for that, if he was right about who was behind this abduction. He would not be coming back. He’d been found out and would be dead before the sun came up. He was sure of it. Bob prayed his sister would accept that and drop it. Oh God, how he prayed for that.



CHAPTER ONE

Michaela Bancroft smiled as she placed a hand over Genevieve Pellegrino’s smaller one. Together they brushed the horse. Michaela spoke in calm hushed tones as the little girl’s father, Joe, Michaela’s good friend from childhood, had directed her. At first Michaela had been apprehensive about working with Gen. Joe had never told her, until she started giving her riding lessons, that Gen was autistic. She'd thought that maybe she was just quiet and a bit slow. Michaela hadn’t been around Joe’s family much after high school. Although they had always remained good friends, life seemed to get in the way. It was her Uncle Lou’s murder that had brought them back together.

“That’s good. See how clean he’s getting?” Michaela said. “What a good job you’re doing, Gen. Look at how pretty you’re making Booger and he likes that a lot.” Working with the little girl was as therapeutic for Michaela as it was for Gen. Maybe even more so.

Once Booger had the therapeutic saddle on him and Michaela slid a headstall over his ears, she kept him on a lead line and put Gen up, leading him to the arena. Over the course of half an hour she watched as the child relaxed into the saddle and seemed to almost become one with the horse, a smile appearing on her face as she asked him to trot. Booger performed his version, which was more of a very fast walk, semi-jog. But Gen didn’t seem to care that Booger was lazy. An easy calm came over the little girl’s face and she truly looked relaxed up on the horse.

“Okay, Gen. It’s time to get off now and we’ll give him a brush-down. Are you ready?”

Gen nodded. Michaela helped her dismount. With a slight movement of the hand, Michaela pushed aside the strands of curly black hair that had fallen into the girl’s eyes. “You did a great job today. I am so proud of you.” She removed the school saddle from Booger’s back and set it inside the tack room, which was in serious need of an overhaul. She’d have to get on her assistant trainer Dwayne about that. He knew better than to keep things in such disarray.

She brought a soft bristle horse brush back to Gen and placed it into her hands. She knew to keep the barn quiet when the girl was there. No country/western on the radio blaring through the breezeway, and she’d asked Dwayne to wait to turn any of the horses out. He also knew to keep his distance when Gen was there. She figured at this time, mid-morning, he was likely making a feed run. They were getting low on grass hay.

As Gen slowly brushed Booger, Michaela stood back and watched her, knowing it gave the girl a sense of peace and accomplishment. There was a connection being forged between horse and child that could only benefit both of them. “Why don’t we give him a treat?” she asked in a soothing tone.

She didn’t get a response other than a slight glance from Gen. It was important though, she’d learned from Joe, that Gen be apprised of all that was going on. It helped her stay focused, but without overwhelming her. Gen handed her back the brush and followed her into the feed room; the smell of molasses and fresh cut alfalfa perfumed the air. Michaela grabbed a blue bucket off one of the post nails and scooped it into a trashcan filled with oats. “Okay. I think he’ll like this. What do you think?”

“Yes. I think so.”

Good. She’d spoken to her today. That made Michaela wonder about Joe’s offer. Should she take it? She wanted to help out. It felt so damn good to work with Gen, but what if she screwed up? What if someone got hurt? She couldn’t take it if that happened. She didn’t want that kind of responsibility, but the pleasure and peace it gave her to work with Gen brought her senses to life. It was as if she’d found her calling.

They gave the horse his oats, and after a good brushdown put him back in his stall. Taking him to the wash rack and bathing him would be too much for the child. She’d wait and let Katie, her afternoon student, wash him when she was finished riding.

After putting Booger away, Michaela was startled by the sound of a car horn. Oh no. She looked at Gen’s face, which suddenly turned ashen. The car pulled to a stop outside the breezeway and Michaela heard Katie’s voice. “Michaela, Michaela, my dad brought me early. I wanted to come help.” The nine-year-old bounded down the breezeway.

Michaela started to bring a finger up to her lips to quiet the enthusiastic girl, but it was too late. Gen let out a horrible, almost primal scream. Her eyes widened with fear.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Katie yelled out, only exacerbating the problem.
Michaela was stuck between the two children and for a moment stood paralyzed, looking from one sobbing girl to the next. Regaining her wits, she went to Gen and in a low voice started reassuring as she wrapped her arms tightly around her. “It’s okay. It’s okay. No one can hurt you. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

“Michaela?” Jude Davis appeared in the doorway. Katie got behind her father and peered around him, looking terrified.

“Call her parents please. Their number is on the schedule list in my office. I’m going to take her to the house.” He nodded and Michaela picked Gen up, continuing to talk to her as the child began to calm down.

“Can I help you?” Jude asked.

“No, just please call her dad and ask them to come over.”
Gen was a tiny girl for her age, but not so small that Michaela didn’t feel her fifty-some-odd pounds in her lower back. Going through the back door, she took the girl into her family room, where she closed all of the curtains and sat the child down on the couch. Gen had stopped twisting around and now fell quiet. Ah, better; but Michaela felt horrible.

Minutes later, Joe and Maryann Pellegrino came through the door. “I am sorry,” Michaela said.

Joe waved a beefy hand at her. “Happens.” He looked like an Italian Pillsbury Dough Boy, concern furrowing his bushy eyebrows. “I’m sorry we ran out on you like that.” They’d dropped Gen off today rather than stay to watch her lesson, which they usually did, because they’d had some errands to run.

Michaela felt responsible because she’d insisted they go on ahead and take care of what they needed to with their other four kids. She’d assured them she could handle Gen. What had she been thinking? Well, she now knew what she’d have to tell Joe about his proposition.

Maryann contrasted Joe, being ramrod thin and almost frail looking. She headed straight to her daughter and turned back to Michaela as she sat down next to Gen, grappling for something in her purse, finally finding a medication bottle. “It’s okay, Michaela. This happens from time to time. Do you have a glass of water? I’d like her to take this.” Maryann was calm and collected. The premature lines on her face told Michaela that she shoved much of her worry into the recesses of her soul and likely dealt with them late at night, so as not to worry others in her family. She couldn’t imagine what she went through day to day to manage her large brood, and Joe on top of it.

“Sure. No problem. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, though.” She handed Maryann water and watched as the woman continued to calm her child. Michaela asked Joey what the medicine was.

“Some herbal treatment. Maryann is all into these supplements and herbs and things. Next thing you know, we’ll be having gurus by the house or she’ll be taking the poor kid to yoga or something crazy like that.” Maryann shot him a dirty look. “I’m sure they’re good for her, but I’d feel better if they was FDA approved.”
Maryann stood and took Gen’s hand. “We better get going.”
Michaela nodded.

“You did the right thing, Michaela. No sorries needed. I’d like to talk with you about what Joe and I have been up to, because it concerns you, but she gets tired after these bouts,” Maryann said. “Maybe Joe can tell you while I put Genevieve in the car.”

“Tell me what?”

“We’ve gone ahead and recommended you as a therapeutic riding instructor.”
Michaela’s jaw dropped.

Maryann whispered a goodbye as she closed the door behind her and Michaela turned back to Joe. “What is she talking about? I told you I’d think about it. Why would you put in a recommendation without asking me?”

“We was thinking, Maryann and me, and we got to talking that you’ve been so good for Gen that we went to her therapist and the center she goes to for treatment and told them you would be perfect for the job. Therapeutic riding helps a lot of autistic kids and we don’t have nothing like it out here in the desert. We think you’d be perfect for it.”

“Oh no. No, I can’t do that. Look what happened today. And,” she shook a finger at him, “you had no right to do that without running it by me.”

“But you handled it the right way. The way you were supposed to. You love kids. You make my daughter happy. Give this a try. I see how much it does for you too. After your divorce and then losing your uncle, I know what you’ve been through, and I see you smiling when you’re teaching my daughter. Working with her makes you happy and you’re damn good at it and, trust me, after all these years I’ve seen the good and the bad in this thing, and it takes quite a person to work with these kids. You got what it takes.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Joe…. Oh, man, I don’t know.” She knew that he was right about being happy when she worked with his little girl. But a center? A therapeutic center where she taught more kids? Granted, she now had the facilities to do it after inheriting her uncle’s place, but could she do it? Really?

“Will you at least talk to the gal from the center?”

“I don’t know, Joe. I don’t think I’m cut out for it. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“No one’s gonna get hurt.” He raised an eyebrow, then wiggled the other. He knew how to work it. That always got her. For years she’d been trying to figure out how to wiggle just one eyebrow while keeping the other cocked.

Michaela had known Joey since junior high, when they’d bonded over pimiento loaf sandwiches that everyone else thought were gross, and a mutual love for Billy Idol. Joe had been teased for his weight and Michaela had been on the shy side, so they’d formed a friendship that stuck over processed meat and eighties music. Joe was also known around town as the man with a million cousins. He came from a large Italian family whose ties were far reaching and, many suggested, of the unsavory nature. All Michaela knew was that Joe was a good guy with a lot of relatives, who knew how to find out information or get things done that other people seemed to have a problem doing. And, she was indebted to him. If not for him and the cousins, it was unlikely that the person who killed her uncle Lou last year would have been caught.

“Oh God, Joe, why do you do this stuff to me?”

“I think you should think about it,” Jude said. She’d forgotten about him.
Katie stood quietly at the front door. Jude waved her in. The girl wiped her tears, hesitating. She was a petite thing with wavy, blonde hair like her dad’s and a splash of freckles across her nose that reminded Michaela of what she had looked like as a kid. Michaela had never lost the freckles across her nose and even sported a few more since childhood.

Joe went over to Katie. “It’s okay, sweetie. She’ll be fine.”

Jude shook his hand. “She didn’t mean to frighten her. She was excited and…”

“Hey, I got a handful of kids, and a lot of cousins.” He laughed. “I know she didn’t mean no harm and Michaela handled it. You talk to her, see if you can get her to agree to running a center.”

“Think about it, he said as he walked out.
She walked over and pulled Katie into her. “You didn’t mean to upset Gen. We all know that.”

“Why did she scream like that?”

“She’s autistic, honey, which means she doesn’t react the same way you and I do. She actually hears and sees everything going on around her. Like, listen quietly for a minute. Really listen.” They fell quiet. “Did you hear the birds outside? What about the pool running from out back? Can you hear the grandfather clock ticking from the library? And, if a horse got out, I bet we’d hear all the horses go crazy calling out to him. Gen doesn’t filter out the noises in the way that we do. She hears all of them together at once and it’s very loud to her. So, she kind of shuts down to keep the noises out as much as possible. To you, it probably seems like she’s not friendly or she’s weird. But to her, it’s the only way she can handle life.”

“So, when I started yelling, it scared her and on top of all the regular noises she hears it made her really scared, so she started screaming out.”

“Exactly. You’re a smart kid. What do we say we go have that lesson now? I didn’t know you’d be early, but it works out great because I’m going to the horse races tomorrow in Orange County and I need to be at my friend Audrey’s house early in the morning.”

“Okay, let's go!”

Katie ran up ahead of them. Jude walked back to the barn with Michaela. “You’re headed to the races tomorrow, huh? Sounds like fun,” he said.

She sensed a slight hesitation in his voice. Detective Jude Davis and his daughter Katie had come into Michaela’s life while the detective investigated her uncle’s murder. Since that time they’d shared coffee dates, lots of phone calls, even a lunch and one night a glass of wine while Katie scoped out the trophies Michaela had won over the years showing horses. There was something between Michaela and Jude. That much she knew, but what it was exactly, she wasn’t sure. “I am. My friend Audrey Pratt is taking me. We go every year. She used to work with race horses and has a lot of friends in the industry, plus she manages a young woman who is an up and coming country western singer and the girl will be entertaining before the races start. I thought it would be a good time.”

“Sounds like it.” He cleared his throat. “Anyone else going with you?”

“Nope, just me and Audrey.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll be back tomorrow night, won’t you?”

Michaela looked at him, her expression amused. His light blue eyes had darkened, and he palmed his hand through his hair, something he did whenever he seemed nervous. “Actually, no. I’m going on up to Malibu with Audrey and stay with the girl’s mother, another friend of Audrey’s. There are some horses we want to check out. I’m thinking about purchasing a few more, possibly a better lesson horse for Katie since Booger isn’t much of a challenge for her. Audrey takes in animals off the track to let them retire in peace.”

“Ah.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t too keen on me going?”

“Oh, no. I think you’ll have a great time.”

She stopped and looked at him. “Jude? What’s up?”

He sighed. “Actually…well, I wanted to ask you to dinner. That’s all. I thought it was time we had dinner together. You and me. A real date. Candles, wine, flowers.”

“Oh. A real date.”

He nodded.

“That would be nice. Can you wait a few days?”

He smiled. “I think so.” He squeezed her hand and then let it go.
Michaela’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t had a real date in years. Life was ever changing though, she’d learned that for sure, and although she’d lost quite a bit in the past few years, it made her realize that maybe it was time to live again.

One, Two, Three, Hurray!

Hi Everyone!

I’ve always thought one of the side benefits of being a horsewoman, besides the obvious delight of spending time with horses, was how riding keeps a person in pretty good shape. Almost three years ago now I was put on bed rest with a twin pregnancy and I figured no problem, after all those years of riding getting back into shape should easy.

What I failed to consider was that while I was in bed, coincidentally writing my first novel, I wasn’t working those muscles I’d used all those years riding. Having twin toddlers doesn’t leave much time for riding either, so I came up with the bright idea of working out with a trainer early in the morning before my husband left for work.

Well, this morning I heroically left the house before seven to meet my trainer. I heaved my way through an assortment of sit ups. Okay, this hurt, but any woman who has had children knows there is no way around some sit ups. We proceeded to some exercises for my legs, which went well if you ignore the fact that I almost fell over a couple of times. Yeah, I told myself. All those years of riding—the muscles were still there!

We then proceeded to work my arms. My trainer had always told me if I was riding correctly I would be using my hand, legs, and seat. Never my arms. Still, I figured, I lifted tack, bales of hay, etc., so it shouldn’t be too bad. The trainer, admittedly a former body builder, demonstrated the equipment and pulled the handles of the machine forward and back a few times. I cheerfully sat down and gave a pull but the handles were locked in place. I was ready to ask him how to unlock the machine when he said ‘Come on, Mary, you can do it.” I gritted my teeth, yanked, and the handles feebly wobbled forward. I repeated this exercise, more or less, a whopping forty five times.

Staggering home afterward, I collapsed on the sofa to be greeted by my son who leaped on me and shouted “Mommy, wake up!” My eyes had been open, so it must have been my total lack of animation that confused him. Undaunted, he bounced on my lap, threw his arms in the air and cheered “One, two, three, Hurray!”

I’m not sure what he was cheering about. Maybe it was the fact that I managed to shift my arms enough to indicate I was still capable of movement. Personally, I considered this quite an accomplishment under the circumstances.

Given that I’ve been in the health care industry for two decades, I’ll keep on practicing what I preach and keep tottering back and forth to the gym. On a brighter note, when I told the trainer I used to ride with my reins tied and my stirrups crossed over the saddle, posting for extended periods and then cantering and jumping that way his eyes got big. He said the thought of doing that scared him to death.

Hey, so here’s a cheer for us hard-working riders! Right now I think I’ve used up the remaining strength in my arms so I’d better stop typing.

Happy Labor Day Weekend, everyone!

All the best,

Mary

www.marypaine.com

The Night Shift . . .

by Kit Ehrman

I’ve been doing some spring-cleaning (the worst kind, actually: in the garage) and admittedly a little late in the season. Feels more like summer cleaning. Here it’s already June 3rd, technically wrapping up one of my favorite “horse” seasons: breeding and foaling time.



When I worked at a Standardbred breeding farm in Pennsylvania, our last foals would be hitting the ground about now, and generally, we humans were pretty darned happy that the season was coming to an end, what with the constant and seemingly never-ending chores that revolved around getting five-hundred to six-hundred mares in foal: ultrasounds, palpations, teasing the mares to see if they were receptive, and the actual breeding, itself. Even the stallions were probably happy to take a break. But I was always sad to see the season end because foaling-out was my all-time favorite horse job. My record was four foals on one shift.

The schedule was fairly brutal for foal attendants. We worked alone with only two of us splitting the nighttime hours for the season. I worked the midnight-to-seven shift for five days, then work a double shift (six p.m. to seven a.m.) so my counterpart could have off, then I’d have my day off. The day off would occur every weekend, and somewhere in there, I’d usually be awake for 30 hours before I got to bed – every single week.

Despite the difficulty of working when your body thinks it should be asleep, I loved the job more than any other. I loved being the only person on the farm and loved the connection I felt with the mares, the things I learned and observed . . . the wonderful privilege of being with these animals and getting a look into their lives that most people don’t have the opportunity to experience: listening to a mare snoring; watching one dream; feeling the contentment and peace that settles over the barn around two in the morning; watching a light snow fall when most of the world is asleep . . .



I incorporated one of the most touching things I’ve witnessed, when it comes to broodmares, in the following scene from COLD BURN:



Note: Steve has just returned from a rather racy party at a millionaire’s home and is relieving his partner on foal watch:

Maddie sat sideways on a hay bale with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms clamped around her shins. Her right shoulder and hip leaned into the stall front, and she’d rested her head on her knees. As I walked down barn three’s aisle toward her, at five past midnight Saturday morning, I wondered if she had any idea just how titillating her pose was. To begin with, she wore jeans snug enough to cut off her circulation, but drawing her legs up as she’d done, tightened the denim even more.

I sighed. Then again, maybe it was the mood I was in. I’d always found that lack of sleep triggered some primal need to copulate, and the party had completely messed up my schedule, not to mention the sensory input overload.

I smiled as I remembered Elaine’s reaction to Hadley’s invite and guessed she hadn’t wanted to lose her ride to an orgy of sex and alcohol. She’d been anxious on the drive home, but I’d been thankful for her interjection and told her so. I liked my sex private.

Pulling my gaze away from Maddie, I glanced toward the dark storage area in the back and thought, as private as a horse barn, anyway. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Maddie jerked her head toward the stall as I realized the mare wasn’t standing in plain view. “I think she’ll go tonight. She hasn’t heated up yet, but I bet you’ll have a foal before daybreak.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, well it’s not so cool for me if they’re all gonna start waiting for your shift.”

I grinned and stepped closer so I could see over the bottom half of the stall. As I looked over the edge, the bay mare rolled onto her sternum, touched her muzzle to her belly, and whinnied. “What’s she doing?”

Maddie slipped off the hay bale and stood beside me, her right arm brushing mine. She whispered, “She’s talking to her unborn foal.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Uh-uh. She’s had four or five foals already. She knows exactly what’s going on, and she loves her babies. She’s such a devoted mother, one of the best mares I’ve ever worked with. I’ve foaled her out two years in a row, now, and she’s always talked to them.”

I raised my eyebrows. “But before they’re born?”

“Uh-huh.” Maddie turned toward me and licked her lips. “And now, it looks like you’re gonna have the honor.”

“Hmm.”

Next post, I’ll tell you about some real-life spooky events on the night shift; one of which triggered the opening to COLD BURN.

Cheers,
Kit
http://www.kitehrman.com

The New Horse

By Laura Crum

You might ask why a woman with ten horses would need a new horse. (My husband certainly did.) The long answer is a bit convoluted, but the short one is simple enough. I needed a new horse for those trails on the ridge across the road. Specifically, I needed a horse to ride those trails with my little boy. (Below you can see my husband's idea of horsepower next to mine.)

Now Plumber, the horse I have used as my main mount for many years, used to be a pretty good trail horse in his youth. And Gail McCarthy, my equine veterinarian protagonist, rides her “Plumber” (who, of course, is very much based on my Plumber) on many trail adventures, particularly in my novels Breakaway and Forged, and these tales were based on rides that Plumber and I did together. However, these rides took place ten years ago, and in the ensuing time Plumber has been used mostly for arena work, primarily team roping, which he enjoys and is very good at. Somehow Plumber has become convinced that trail horse is not his job description, and when I attempted to reintroduce him to this pleasure, he responded with clear dismay.

As a well-broke horse (I broke him myself, so of course I’m going to say this), Plumber knows better than to buck or balk or offer any obvious resistance, and it isn’t that I’m unable to take him on trail rides. It’s just that at nineteen years of age he doesn’t seem to enjoy steep hills any more and prances anxiously if he feels he’s falling behind. Not to mention he’s decided the woods are very scary, why I don’t know (Gail’s fictional Plumber meets a cougar on the trail in Breakaway, but this has never happened to the real Plumber), and he jigs and spooks constantly at his own shadow as we troop through the trees and brush. Oh, and did I mention he hates the beach? From his earliest years he’s detested crossing water, from muddy ditches on up, and the surf is not his favorite thing. Ride after ride, meant to be a pleasant horseback stroll, was rendered a dismal trial by his anxious behavior. Most of all, he was making it difficult for me to concentrate on my son, who was having his first experience of trail riding on his new horse, Henry, a gentle, solid, bomb-proof mount.

“I need another Henry,” I told my husband. “A horse that will just cruise along the trails and let me keep my focus on my kid.”

And why, I told myself, torture Plumber, who is nineteen years old this spring and has been a great horse, packing me and my child for many years and winning numerous awards. Why not let him do what he’s good at and enjoys?

And this is why, several months ago, I purchased Sunny, my little palomino plug, to ride the trails.

As all you horse folks out there know, a new horse is both a pleasure and a challenge. New talents to enjoy, new quirks to get used to, and always a few suprises. I don’t call Sunny my palomino plug for nothing. He’s more or less a flunked out team roping horse, not athletic enough to be very successful. He was sold to his previous owner to be a trail horse for her teenage daughter and for the last three years he’d been reliably packing this girl down the trails. Now she’d moved on to other things and the horse was for sale once again. While Sunny wasn’t a particularly well-broke horse (which I knew, having ridden him when a friend was using him, or trying to use him, for team roping) he was said by one and all to be an excellent, bomb-proof, anybody-can-ride-him trail horse.

Sounds perfect, right? It did to me, too. It doesn’t hurt that Sunny is cute, a 14.3 hand bright gold palomino with dapples; he looks a bit like an overgrown pony, not fancy, not refined; short, sturdy and somewhat out-of-place among my well-bred Quarter Horses, but definitely cute. He’s very personable, too, happy to meet you at the gate or stand socializing with you over the rail. And he is a good trail horse, solid, steady and reliable. My son and I have been on many rides together since I bought little old Sunshine, cruising the trails on the ridge and down on the beach, and my new horse has been great, vastly improving our enjoyment of these expeditions. The price was right, too.

I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. There is a catch. I discovered it on day two. Sunny kicks.

This came as a complete surprise to me. I thought I was buying a family horse, something my husband and son could also handle and ride. I thought I was buying a nice, gentle, doggy, dude horse, in effect. A little palomino plug.

When, on the second day I had him, I went out to catch the horse and Sunny turned his butt to me and fired a hind foot in my general direction, I was shocked and dismayed, to put it mildly. The former owner had known I wanted Sunny for a family horse, she had told me he was a bomb-proof trail horse that she used for beginners, and he kicks???

Well, come to find out, he’d kicked her daughter and he’d kicked at several of the beginning trail riders she’d put on him. Yes, he was bomb-proof when you were riding him down the trail. You had to watch him on the ground, though.

Great, just great. I was moments away from hauling the horse right straight back where he came from, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I’d had a couple of great rides with my son already, and, as it turned out, Sunny had never hurt anyone. He’d connected with the woman’s daughter more or less by accident and didn’t even leave a mark. His habit was to kick at people in a defiant gesture, a show of resistance rather than a genuine attempt at injuring anyone.

In any case, I gave Sunny a couple of lessons with the end of the lead rope and he never again kicked at me. Indeed, he was a perfect, well-behaved mount at all times and I grew very fond of him. I soon discovered that his kicking was a form of testing behavior, a way to determine dominance. Though he would no longer kick at me, who he’d accepted as his boss, he would offer to kick anyone else who walked out to catch him. (Needless to say I don’t let my husband or son handle Sunny and I have strict rules concerning the horse.)

Sunny has become my horse and he has many traits I treasure. He has enabled me to take my son on so many wonderful rides on routes I never would have attempted with a little boy were it not for the fact that both Sunny and Henry are such solid, reliable trail horses. Never a spook, a crowhop or a balk is seen, rarely a stumble. Neither horse has any tendency to jig; both walk calmly under all circumstances (both out and back). Neither lunges or scrambles when climbing or descending steep routes full of step ups and step downs. Both wait with endless patience and without so much as batting an ear, on the shoulder of our busy country road (complete with motorcycles, trucks, buses and bicycles) while we wait to cross. Its been a real gift.

And Sunny goes just as quietly and reliably alone, something I’ve also valued, as I do occasionally get out for a solo spin. On the beach my little palomino plug will trudge willingly through the waves, Henry following gamely behind to my son’s delight. In short, so far my sunshine yellow horse has been worth the extra precautions I take in handling him. And he looks so cheerful out there in the corral.

So, at least for the present, my new horse is a keeper. I’ll let you know what the future brings.
Cheers,
Laura Crum

HEX . . .

by Kit Ehrman

My sister and I share a passion for equine mysteries which began way back in 1977, when I discovered Dick Francis’s IN THE FRAME--the fateful book that shoved my life’s path off course. After reading ITF, I read every book that Francis had published at the time, quit my government job, and went to work in the horse industry, where I stayed for 25 years.

I also introduced Francis’s mysteries to my sister, and thus began a gift-giving tradition between us. Francis’s books are released in October, so every Christmas thereafter, my sister would give me his latest release. I have to admit, it was sometimes tough waiting those two months before I could get my hands on his next mystery, but the wait was always worth it.

Nowadays, when my sister stumbles upon other equine mysteries, she passes them along to me once she’s read them, and HEX by Maggie Estep was one of those books.



HEX is not your typical equine mystery, though. The main character, Ruby Murphy, eventually goes undercover at Belmont Racetrack; although, the equine element is secondary, story-wise, to Ruby Murphy’s unique life and friends. You could even say that the mystery is in third place--HEX not being your typical mystery. In fact, if no one had been murdered in the entire book, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

What HEX is, is beautifully written, fun, and compelling. The lyrical, intelligent writing comes as no surprise since Estep is a poet. The book’s format is different, as well, consisting of possibly five, first-person, point-of-view narratives.

One horsey aspect that I found quite interesting and unique was the description of a horse stable in Harlem (I believe) near the beach. Okay, New York’s geography is totally obscure to me, so I have no idea if this is even remotely possible, but . . . it sounded cool. I wonder if the place truly exists.

HEX is followed by two other Ruby Murphy mysteries: FLAMETHROWER and GARGANTUAN. I’m looking forward to reading both. For more information, visit Maggie’s website: http://www.maggieestep.com/index.html

Happy reading and riding,
Kit
http://www.kitehrman.com

Why Ever Did You Go Into That Dark Barn Alone?

My advice to anyone about to write a mystery series: don’t (!) Just kidding. But do think twice before you choose an amateur sleuth as a protagonist. As the author of ten mysteries featuring equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, I’ve become all too aware of the perils of such a choice. Its not a problem when it comes to the first book. No, its quite believable that a poor innocent vet might stumble upon a murder victim. These things happen, you know. Its not even stretching the bounds of credibility too much to think that she might get involved in another such situation in her lifetime. But lets see, how many horse vets do you know that discover a body a year? And would you want such a person to come out on a call to your place?

You see my dilemma. I’m now writing book number eleven in my mystery series, and I’m wracking my brain to come up with yet another way poor Gail can get involved in a murder investigation. Believe me, I’ve tried em all. Stumbling on a body in the course of a vet call, family member caught up in a problem, neighbor murdered, best friend a suspect in a murder investigation, another friend the object of a stalker, horseshoer murdered in Gail’s own barn…etc. Unfortunately, in the end it becomes rather ludicrous, if you take a step back and survey her life. Sort of like the Angela Lansbury character in “Murder She Wrote”. Would you want to invite that lady over for dinner?

Poor Gail. She hasn’t exactly had a quiet life. Besides finding all those bodies and being drawn into all those investigations to help friends and family, she’s been shot at numerous times, warned off by bad guys more often than I can count, tied up, bashed over the head, had to escape on horseback at least once in almost every book, and captured a few nasty villains single-handed. Is this believable, I ask you?

Well, no, its not. However, we who write amateur sleuth mysteries are taking advantage of the conventional suspension of disbelief that is routinely practiced by those who like such stories. Ever since Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, we are allowed to pen these tales of the amateur who becomes involved, over and over again, in murder and mayhem, and incidentally, escapes virtually unscathed every time.

I do think that most writers who begin writing a manuscript about a character (just as I selected Gail, the horse vet, as my protagonist roughly fifteen years ago) don’t give a lot of thought as to how that character will work out over the course of many books. I know I didn’t. I somewhat envy my friend, author Laurie R King, whose two series protagonists are a cop and the wife and partner of the famous Sherlock Holmes. Of course these two women will be involved in numerous murder investigations. Its their business, for heaven’s sake.

But in my own case I must keep stretching the bounds of what’s credible. Not only must my poor horse vet keep finding bodies and enduring a lot of rough and tumble, she also must do things like poking around the dark barn where the murderer is sure to be lurking in the middle of the night, all by herself. Over and over again my editor, or someone who was reading one of my manuscripts, would point out to me that Gail wouldn’t do this, not if she had half a brain. I, of course, would reply that Gail had to do this, in order to get to the thrilling horseback chase scene finale, and after all, she was an amateur sleuth and what’s believable about that, anyway?

The truth is that I work like a dog to come up with reasonably believable reasons why Gail might go down into that dark barn. Since she’s a vet, I frequently give her a call she has to make there. (Though this begs the question of why she wouldn’t take someone with her if she’s a bit suspicious of the owner of said barn.) In my latest book, Chasing Cans, just out this spring, Gail once again traipses into yet another dark barn, innocently unprepared for an ambush, despite the fact that she knows that two women have been victims of suspicious horseback wrecks there recently. I mean, I ask you (!) Yet, in the context of the story, it comes off quite believably (or so I’ve been told). I’ll certainly welcome any input from those of you who have read this book, or any of my other books.

Yes, the perils of writing an amateur sleuth mystery series are a bit greater than they appear as one blithely begins the first manuscript. Do give serious consideration to a private investigator, cop, or any such person who has a reason to be involved in the regular melodramas of life. Medical professionals, arson and insurance investigators…the possibilities are endless (and have all been used before, I know). Anybody have any new ideas? Perhaps I can start another series.

As for the book I’m working on, though, I must once again concoct some believable way for my horse vet to get involved in a drama (and I’ve thought of one, too—I just can’t give it away. After all, I wouldn’t want to spoil the book for anyone.) And since horses are integral to this series, I also need to create some thrilling horseback scenes and quirky equine characters. These characters are the easy part—the horses in my life give me plenty of material. Since I’ve owned and trained horses for over thirty years, and currently own eleven of the critters, you can see that this isn’t a challenge. As for the horseback scenes, well, once again poor Gail doesn’t lead an easy life. The number of times she’s had to gallop flat out to escape a villain on horseback, often bareback, sometimes by the full moon, occasionally through rough country, oh, and did I mention jump a few gates and fences along the way? (Though as a western rider, she doesn’t know anything about jumping.) Well, it boggles the imagination.

At times, it boggles mine, as when I think I can’t come up with even one more thrilling horseback finale. But I always do. And the reason is standing in my corrals, a stone’s throw from the house where I’m typing this blog. I can always bring to mind some exciting moment aboard one of my own horses that I can use as a springboard for yet another wild ride. After all, its not as if I haven’t had a few gallops over the years (not quite as wild as Gail’s adventures, perhaps). In the end, what gives my amateur sleuth some degree of believability (I hope) is that the books are based on real life. Real adventures I’ve had with my own horses are the underpinnings for Gail’s life. It’s the horses that bring my books to life (or so I feel), even as its my real horses that bring magic into my own life.

Here’s horses and the joy they bring us.

Cheers,
Laura Crum

PS—NY Times bestselling author Laurie R King will be posting a guest blog here on equestrianink this Friday, May 2nd, on the subject of quirky equine personalities in her fiction. Don’t miss it!