Guest Blog by Laurie R. King

I've known Laurie R King for well over ten years now (she writes about our meeting in the guest blog below) and I can't praise her mystery novels too highly. She is an incredibly gifted writer who has won numerous awards and been featured on The NY Times bestseller list, and most of all, her books are great fun. Almost as prolific as she is talented, Laurie writes a mystery series featuring Mary Russell (Sherlock Holmes young wife and partner), a series featuring San Francisco cop Kate Martinelli, and numerous stand-alone thrillers, of which the most recent, just out this last January, is Touchstone (I highly recommend this book-and all of Laurie's books). Laurie visited equestrianink, enjoyed our stories, and volunteered to write a guest blog-I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Be sure to check out her ebsite and blog.
Virtual Book Club: http://laurierking.com/vbulletin
web site: http://laurierking.com/
web log: http://www.laurierking.com/wp.php
myspace: http://www.myspace.com/maryrussell

Thanks, Laurie!

Laura Crum

By Laurie R King

I've been friends with Laura Crum since her first manuscript was in copy edit. We were both with St Martins Press then, and shared the same editor as well. I'd been through the process a couple of times, and she, faced with a manuscript bristling with changed commas and snippy remarks, phoned to introduce herself and to get my advice. (Which largely consisted of, It's just the copy editor's opinion, feel free to ignore it if you disagree.) Since then we've picked each others' brains any number of times, I most recently when I needed the name of an old-fashioned rose for a Duke's estate, in Touchstone--Laura's the expert gardener, as well, who actually likes the process.

But mostly, Laura knows horses. Her books' equine vet, Gail McCarthy, works the gamut of the horse world, from dressage to roping to trail-riding to the current barrel-racing setting in "Chasing Cans" (love the title!) I, on the other hand, am more or less required to bring the
occasional horse into my books, because I write a series set in the 'teens and twenties, when horses were still in daily use.

However, I know nothing about horses except that they're really tall and hard to steer. One of the few times I sat on a horse's back, as a teenager, I ended up flapping my arms and legs fruitlessly, causing the thing to turn its head and glare at me. I ended up getting off, leading it where I wanted to go, climbing back on, and riding back-and since we were then headed to the barn, we moved at something alarmingly near a trot.

That's the extent of my horse life.

So it cracks me up when someone writes, as happened recently on the Virtual Book Club discussion of my novel "The Moor": Russell's experience on Red is so realistic, I am sure that either LRK rides or she was given very good input from a rider. Like Russell I have ridden a horse who shied in a distinct side jump leaving me suspended in the air with the horse no longer beneath me, so that I quickly plummeted to the ground.

It so happens that Laura and I were talking about this very passage over our recent lunch. Now, Laura is well aware that I don't know from horses, but either she's even more polite than I had realized, or she actually does think I write about them believably. Which would amaze me except that I also write about cops and I'm not a cop, and I write male rotagonists although I'm never been a boy and lesbian protagonists although I'm not, and I've written about Vietnam from a soldier's point of view and about a woman who has blinding headaches and about the life of an artist and- And every one of those has brought in a remark about how the reader assumed I was a lesbian or I must be someone who has been plagued by headaches or know cops really well or.

Well, you get the idea.

Either I lie very well, or I have a rich imagination. It must be the latter, since (as with most writers) scrambling for a story under pressure leaves me red-faced and stammering, although, boy, afterwards I sure am clever. But how to tell a story about a matter with which you have no
personal experience?

Well, research helps. If I had to write about an injured horse or what to feed a horse, I'd ask Laura about it. But surely a lifetime of reading Walter Farley followed by Dick Francis, while not exactly qualifying you for riding a black stallion in a steeplechase, does at least leave a niche in the mind labeled "Horse Personalities"?

Because what I'm writing about in the books is not a horse with teeth and hooves and hair that needs brushing, but a personality. In the case of "The Moor," Red the shying horse is also misogynistic, saving his worst behavior for when there's a woman in charge. A minor quirk, of no great importance to the plot (although it underscores the attitudes of the various human males in Mary Russell's life at the time,) but adding color and dimension to her ride across Dartmoor. I suppose if Laura had protested that it was unrealistic, that no horse would do that, I might have taken it out, but she didn't, and I didn't. Because whether it's horses, cops, homeless people, or Vietnam vets, when you know them well enough, it's the quirks that define the character. And it's the quirks that build the character on the page, even when the writer is making it all up.

Thank God for that. Otherwise, I'd have to learn to ride.

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!

Books About Horses

As writers of horse fiction, we are also readers of it as well. So, I wanted to tell you about a book that I just finished. It isn't fiction. It's actually a memoir titled CHOSEN BY A HORSE. If you haven't read this book, do yourself a favor and read it. I know anyone with a horse will be able to relate to the relationship and the emotions that the horses in this book avail to their owner Susan Richards. It is a story of growth, hope, love and life.

Susan saves an abused Standardbred mare from the killers at auction and brings her back to her farm where her Morgan mare Georgia rules the roost, and her two geldings do what geldings tend to do--whatever the mare orders. However, as the story unfolds a beautiful love affair takes place between the Standardbred named Lay Me Down and one of the geldings. Georgia never does come around to give Lay me Down the time of day, but it doesn't seem to bother her too much.

Like Lay Me Down, her owner Susan comes from an abusive background and through her mare who is the most gentle, loving animal Susan learns to let go of her own demons and love her life again.

I don't want to give any spoilers away, so I will only say that this book touched me and I loved every page of it. It's a testament to the horse as a thinking, generous, wonderful animal. Lay Me Down had one of the biggest hearts I've ever read about.

I wish so much that we had more horse related books available to us. I think there is a huge market for these books. Whenever I see a cover of a book with a horse on it, I always buy it. I haven't read Sara Gruen's Water for Elephants, but I have read her horse books and loved them too. Of course everyone here writes wonderful equestrian fiction and I am happy to be a part of this group.

How about all of you? What are your favorites in horse fiction and why? Was it the relationship the character had with the horse, the animal itself, plot, theme? In your opinion as a writer I'd like to know what readers thhink work when they read our type of books. And what doesn't work for you?

Have a wonderful week! Hug a horse!

Cheers,
Michele

A Touch of Whimsy

One of the best aspects of a life lived with horses are the unexpected moments of laugh out loud fun. I’m currently working on a novella celebrating the whimsical side of the horse world. In this work I’m vastly enjoying creating two central characters: Jennifer, a horse crazy eleven year old and her Aunt Susan, who adores Jennifer as much as she fears horses.

When an opportunity comes to gain lessons for Jennifer and a free lease in exchange for working in a local trainer’s barn, Susan gathers her courage and faces her fears. Along the way she makes a few turnkey mistakes, including standing too close to the ring on a muddy day, turning her back on a mischievous lesson horse while a muck bucket is in front of her and trying to convince a mulish mare to move when the horse in question has something else in mind. Of course, the incredibly handsome man boarding at the facility happens to run into her when she has the scent of her misadventures wafting off her and bits and pieces clinging to her hair and clothes.

In creating this story I spent some time thinking about my mother’s role as horse mom. She loves me very much but is definitely not a natural horse person. Although the fear is real her heart is in the right place, as when we were shopping for a horse one cold day. We were considering one who didn’t have a blanket. Mom wanted to go out and buy him one whether we purchased the horse or not. In fact, she fretted about him all evening. For all her warmth and generosity, she was terrified when she was up close and personal with horses. My horse Topper used to love to nuzzle her if he was on the cross-ties and she was sitting on a tack box near enough. Her response was generally “Umm…good boy,” as she scooted out of reach. Since my husband and I didn’t have children at the time, I tried to convince her Topper was sort of like a grandchild, which earned him presents and an occasional pat from a very nervous hand.

Still, love came first and she hung in with me through all the years with horses. One day when I was about eleven I approached a jump from an impossible angle and my poor horse stopped at the base. I, unfortunately, did not stop but managed to grab his neck on my way off. I hung on and careened in a perfect one-hundred eighty degree arc to land on my feet facing his chest with my arms still wrapped around his neck! I figured Mom would be biting her nails, but when I looked over she was sitting on the hood of her car laughing her head off. Of course, so was everyone else at the sight of my long skinny legs sailing through the air and the bewildered look on my mount’s and my faces as we stood facing each other. If he could speak the horse would have said “Dear, you’re supposed to face the other way.” My fictional Jennifer and her aunt have the same experience—I just had to put it in there.

To further the touch of whimsy, the novella takes place on St. Patrick’s Day, which fits in perfectly with the wonderful myths and legends about horses. Of course, for fun I added a leprechaun and some lovable witches, one of whom owns the facility. A talented horse trainer, she keeps her magical interests to herself until one fateful evening. When Susan and Jennifer, along with the very handsome boarder who has his eye on Susan, are trapped at the farm during an ice storm, they encounter this cheerful magical crew planning their Spring Equinox celebration. The chaos is enhanced by a power outage and a thief conspiring to steal a rare Faberge egg. The results are romantic and hilarious!

Now all I need is a great title—not one of my strong suits. In fact, if anyone would like to suggest a title, just put your suggestion in the comments area. I'll pick a winner one week from today and give an autographed copy of A Dangerous Dream away as the prize.

Happy riding.

All the best,
Mary

www.marypaine.com

Party Central . . .

by Kit Ehrman

Yep. “Party Central.” That’s the best way to describe downtown Louisville as the first Saturday in May approaches.



There are over seventy Kentucky Derby Festival events, beginning with the spectacular Thunder Over Louisville (North America’s largest, annual pyrotechnic show). Other events include the Pegasus Parade and some wacky events like the Run for the Rose’ in which servers from area restaurants race around an obstacle course balancing glasses of wine. And these events, along with the actual horse racing, draw over 1.5 million visitors to Louisville.



In TRIPLE CROSS, I was putting Steve in the middle of all this, so I had to check out the party scene myself, for accuracy’s sake, of course. One of my favorite Derby Festival events is the air show and Thunder, the official start of the whirlwind Derby party.

Fairly early in the book, Steve is invited to a Thunder Party by Rudi Sturgill, a wealthy young man who has a runner in the Derby. After the fireworks wind down, Rudi decides to move the party to 4th Street Live! Louisville’s entertainment district. They settle on Sully’s Saloon, and this is where Steve gets his first hint that events have gone horribly sideways.


4th Street Live's pumpkin-colored, steel lattice supports a glass roof that covers an entire city block.


Colorful lighting and an elevator's exposed gears are some of 4th Street's unique touches.


Only in Louisville: Portable commercials in Sully's Saloon! If you can't tell from the photo, that's a laptop screen suspended above the guy's head. He wore a powerpack around his waist.

Later, in TRIPLE CROSS, Steve takes a friend to Maker’s Mark Bourbon House and Lounge. I just loved this restaurant. Very trendy.


Maker's Mark Bourbon House and Lounge's fabulous 58' bar.


Red-tiled pillars, sheer curtain walls, honey-colored floor.

During my research forays, I was frequently struck by the dissonance between the late night party scene and the early morning work taking place in the barns at Churchill Downs. The men and women who care for and worry over the horses’ health and wellbeing, well, their lifestyle and routine and focus is so far removed from the partying and the money funneling into the town, I couldn’t not think about them.



In any case, I enjoyed my time in Louisville. The party atmosphere was overwhelming and seemed to permeate every aspect of my visit, and I loved discovering the fancy restaurants and party spots, but one of the side benefits of writing is learning about unusual, unexpected places. Once of those places is Wagner’s Pharmacy.


The grill at Wagner's Pharmacy.

I first heard about Wagner’s from an adorable, elderly woman whose husband had been a racehorse trainer. I met her at a book launch for DERBY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS, a collection of short mystery fiction revolving around the Kentucky Derby. At the time, I had no idea that I’d ever write a Derby book, but she was so enthused, I couldn’t help but remember her recommendation. And, I’d been curious. What could a pharmacy have to do with horse racing? She’d told me that backstretch workers and racehorse owners hung out there. I had to admit, I was intrigued.

Then I visited Wagner’s. The place is amazing.


Every inch of wall space is covered with racing memorabilia.

Directly across from where I sat at the counter hung a photograph of Secritariat, and I have no doubt that it was carried across the street some thirty years earlier.



If you're ever in Louisville, and if you love horses, don't miss Wagner's. It's located on 4th Street, right across from Churchill's Gate 5. And the food's great, too.

Of course, Wagner's is mentioned throughout TRIPLE CROSS because any backside worker with a pulse would have eaten there. So, here's an excerpt featuring a scene set in this amazing landmark. Steve's trying to avoid the police when he slips inside.

Wagner’s Pharmacy was a misnomer, really, because it was part café, part sundries, part liquor store, and one-hundred percent unique. The glass door eased shut behind me, efficiently dampening the street noise while jumbled voices and the sounds and aromas of sizzling food flooded my senses. I’d been inside once before, and I swear, the place was straight out of a forties movie. I looked for an empty seat. Booths lined the wall on my left. Tables and chairs filled the center of the room. A Formica counter stretched down the right-hand wall where customers sat on barstools upholstered with pumpkin-colored vinyl and watched the cook fry up their eggs. I stepped down the sloped floor and slid onto an empty stool at the end of the counter, planted my boots on the runner.

Wooden plaques hung above the grill and featured seriously dated paintings of eggs and bacon, coffee and toast. The damn things had to have been tacked up there before my mother was born.

First impressions are often flawed by preconceived, erroneous notions, and my initial look inside Wagner’s had taken me by surprise. The establishment that so many people talked about and patronized, backsiders and the wealthy alike, was a dump. But it had an irresistible charm, mainly because it could not have existed anywhere else in the world. Everywhere you looked, on every square inch of wall space, hung period photographs of horses and jockeys and the men and women who owned and trained them. Directly across from where I sat hung an eight-by-ten glossy of Secretariat after he won the Kentucky Derby in unbelievable fashion on May 5th, 1973, and I had no doubt it was an original that had been carried across the street and had decorated that space for thirty years.

Pure and simple, Wagner’s was a walk backward through time. And the food was damn good, too.

I ordered bacon and eggs and biscuits and gravy and was halfway through my meal when my cell rang. I wiped my fingers on a napkin and flipped the phone open. “Cline.”

“Coast is clear.”

I smiled. “Who’d they talk to?”

“Mr. K,” Jay said, referring to Kessler. “Bill Gannon and his employees, couple Hispanic stable hands, me, the guy Kessler was talking to.”

“Know who he is?”

“From what I heard, guy’s an owner. Maybe a potential client.”

“Did the cops interview with the press around?”

“Used an office. Even so, the reporters were buzzin’ round like flies on shit.”

“Apt description, there, Jay.”

He grunted. “Get your ass back here, and bring me something to eat.”

I closed my phone and was scraping the last bit of egg and biscuits and gravy into the center of my plate when someone stepped alongside my shoulder and placed a hand on the countertop. A small, feminine hand. I turned my head.

Detective Bonikowski stood at my side in her fashionable suit--this morning’s choice, a charcoal gray herringbone--paired with a pink silk blouse with the buttons left undone at her throat.

“Detective.”

“Mr. Cline.” She swept the room with a practiced glance before her gaze returned to my face. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking a break.” I gestured toward my plate. “Eating.”

“You take breaks in the middle of walking a horse?”

I smiled. “Not usually.”

“Did you think we were coming to hook you up?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“And now?”

I glanced at her and sighed. “No. Your shoulders are relaxed. Your hands are nowhere near your weapon or cuffs, you’re unbalanced with most of your weight on your left foot . . . and you’re alone.”

Her mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t need backup to handle you.”

I swiveled around on my stool and squinted at her, wondering if the implied meaning was simply a case of wishful thinking on my part. “How’d you find me?”

“Driving past. Looked in the window . . . you know? Advanced police work.”

I grinned.

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

The Trails Along the Ridge

By Laura Crum


Its interesting how our "horse passions" change as time goes by. When I first began to write my mystery series about equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, I had been competing regularly at cutting horse events for many years on my horse, Gunner. So, naturally, my first mystery, Cutter, published by St Martin's Press in 1994, dealt with the (excuse the pun--and the cliche) cutthroat world of cutting horses, nefarious trainers, and double-crossing rivals.

That was many years ago. In the ensuing time, I've spent lots of hours in the saddle, practicing and competing at team roping (these stories made their way into my novels Roughstock and Roped ), long days horse packing in the Sierra Nevada Mts (faithfully described in Slickrock ), and plenty of time trail riding here on the California coast (see Breakaway and Forged ). I trained several young horses during this period and these experiences are distilled in Hayburner. Then followed a break from intense horse action while I was pregnant with and nursing my son; I've chronicled that period and the emotions surrounding it in Moonblind and Chasing Cans. For the last few years, my main "horse passion" has been teaching my little boy to ride.

Sounds pretty tame, I guess, after all those years of cutting, roping, ranching, horse training and horse packing that came before. Strangely enough, however, I'm finding this time as rewarding and exciting as any, something I'm sure other "horse moms" will understand. And perhaps most interesting of all, through teaching my son to ride, I've re-discovered an old passion--exploring the landscape where I live on horseback.

It seems I've come full circle. When I was a teenage girl, I remember staring wistfully at the western ridge that was visible from my father's house, longing to ride the trails I knew were out there. At the time, my only access to horses was at the family ranch, where my uncle, a part-time rodeo cowboy, raised and trained Quarter Horses. But though there were pastures at the ranch, there were no real trails there. My father's home, on the other hand, lay near a state park with miles and miles of trails running through the oaks and redwoods down to California's San Lorenzo River. When, at fourteen years of age, I was finally allowed to keep a horse of my own, I immediately arranged to board him with a neighbor, and began riding those trails.

For the next couple of years I rode Jackson through the Santa Cruz Mountains, mostly by myself. When I think back to the busy roads I rode along and crossed to get to the trails, the tricky routes I traversed through the steep and often slippery hills, the days I would swim Jackson in the river, all alone, I wonder what my parents were thinking. As non-horse people, I suppose they weren't really aware of the dangers. And Jackson, by the way, was no proper mount for a kid, even the fairly experienced rider that I was. Though overall he was phlegmatic, he was prone to unexpected vertical rears when he didn't wish to proceed and equally unexpected bouts of lashing out with his hind feet. (He kicked me in the head once when I was saddling him and I was out cold for awhile; I have no idea how long, as I was, once again, alone. When I came to I resumed saddling him and went on with my planned ride.)

Eventually, right about the time I turned sixteen and could drive, the trails lost their allure and I began to be more interested in breaking colts for my uncle, training his team roping horses, and competing in reined cowhorse events. I sold Jackson and bought Honey, a well-bred unbroken four-year-old Quarter Horse mare that I intended to turn into a great stock horse (now that's another story). But I still remember those days when I was fourteen and fifteen and endlessly wandered the trails on the ridge I could see from my house, alone on my horse.

And today? Today from my front porch I can see another ridge. Like the ridge of my childhood, it is wooded and criss-crossed with trails. Though I've always known those trails were there and occasionally rode them, it is only since my son graduated to riding Henry (who is a well-broke, reliable mount, unlike Jackson) and we have started going out on the trails together, that I've become obsessed.

I sit on my porch and look at the familiar "landmark tree" (a huge dead pine snag on the ridge that towers above the trails) and envision the singletracks that wind between the oaks, pines, and redwoods with their particular casts of sun and shadow, their unexpected flurries of brilliant blue forget-me-nots, their earthy spring scents and unbelievable views of Monterey Bay. I long to be horseback there, moving through the green landscape, watching my little boy's face light up with delight as we successfully negotiate a new trail, enjoying the changing seasons and weather. It feels, in a way, as if I've been returned to my teenage self (though I do not in the least look like my teenage self, I hasten to add).

Its all been quite the revelation to me and I find myself wondering what "horse passion" will come upon me next. Perhaps my son will take up one of the events I've left behind and I'll find myself, once again, at the cutting pen or roping arena, waiting to compete. Who knows? For the moment, it's the trails along the ridge that fill my mind and will no doubt make their way into my next book.


Happy trails to you!

Laura Crum

The Genesis of a Kentucky Derby Book . . .

by Kit Ehrman

After I finished writing the third book in the Steve Cline Mystery Series, COLD BURN, which is set on a thoroughbred breeding farm in Warrenton, Virginia, and the manuscript went off to the typesetters, it was time for me to come up with a story idea for the next book in the series. I have to admit, a novel set at the Kentucky Derby was not my first choice.



After wrapping up COLD BURN, I spent three months plotting and researching the fourth book, only to have it rejected on synopsis. So, I had to come up with something, and fast, especially if I wanted to maintain a book-a-year schedule. A schedule I’ve since demolished, I might add.

Anyway, while casting around for a story idea, I considered all the people in Steve’s life, and my focus settled on his father, racehorse trainer Chris Kessler. I decided that Kessler finally had a horse capable enough and talented enough to run in the Kentucky Derby. I pitched the idea to my editor. She loved it, so Steve and I were off to Churchill Downs!


View from the Backside


The Backside

After getting permission from the powers that be at the storied track, I set about researching Louisville and the Derby Festival Events and the backside of Churchill Downs.


Riverfront Plaza


A Gallopalooza Horse on Main Street

I came up with the “horse mystery” quickly, but it didn’t feel substantial enough to carry an entire novel; plus, I generally like to layer a second mystery into the story when possible, anyway, so I came up with another mystery that would complicate the plot in a big way. I started my research online, amassing hundreds of pages of detailed notes that would later filter into the story itself. Then, it was time to visit Louisville and Churchill for onsite research.


Morning workout


Afternoon sun winking off Humana Building

Meanwhile, I had to think of a way to get Steve involved in the mystery I’d designed for him, and it had to be believable. So, I turned to real life. I had taken a Private Investigations course a while back, and one of the topics that we studied dealt with the Public Information Act. Essentially, we learned about the amazing amount of information that is available to the public. And we were given a final assignment: to learn everything that we could about a person unknown to us. Our instructor’s parting words were: “Whatever you do, don’t follow your subject.”

He didn’t want to be called by the police when we screwed up.



Well, those words have stuck with me over the years. I had it in the back of my mind that I could use his sentiment somewhere down the line in a story. So, I decided that Steve would take the same PI course. (He loves working with horses, but he’s interested in investigations, as well.) Steve’s course is wrapping up just as he heads to Louisville. While there, he decides to complete the assignment so he can turn it in when he returns to Maryland.

Unfortunately for Steve, the person he chooses to investigate winds up missing under mysterious circumstances, and the race is on . . .



TRIPLE CROSS: A sinister plot of deceit and revenge unravels beneath the famed Twin Spires of Churchill Downs.

Here’s the opening to TRIPLE CROSS:

The assignment was simple enough. Pick a random subject and learn as much as you can about him. Name, address, phone number. DOB, mortgages and property taxes. Car description and plate number. VIN if you didn’t mind being obvious. A simple assignment if I’d been in Maryland. But I was six-hundred miles from home, standing within eyeshot of the famed Twin Spires of Churchill Downs. Logistics would be complicated, but nothing I couldn’t overcome.

First and foremost, I needed to select a subject. But on the backside, with all the “Slims” and “Ricos” and “Willies,” figuring out someone’s real name was a tricky proposition at best. Track employees were supposed to keep their photo IDs displayed at all times, either dangling from straps around their necks or clipped to their shirts, but most backsiders found the practice cumbersome and ended up slipping them under T-shirts or stuffing them in back pockets. And whomever I chose needed to have at least a tenuous tie to the community. On the backside, that could be a problem, too. Of course, I could have picked a jockey or a trainer or a local celebrity, but I wanted someone who wasn’t in the news. Someone ordinary. Normal.

Yet I suspected there was nothing ordinary or normal about this place or time. Not in the town of Louisville, and certainly not in the barn area at Churchill Downs. Not fifteen days before the running of the Kentucky Derby.

Even before the sky had brightened, and the lights illuminating the Twin Spires lost their brilliance to the new day, traffic on Fourth Street had increased until the whine of tires on asphalt pushed through the chain-link fence that separated the backside from the rest of the world.

Today, it seemed like that fence wasn’t doing any damned good.

Also, don’t forget the Kentucky Derby documentary that I mentioned in an earlier post. If you’re interested in viewing it, and it’s playing near you, please try to catch it early because twenty-five percent of the box office from the opening week will be donated to the worldwide leader in equine research – The Grayson-Jockey Club Research Foundation. If you can, please support the film the week of April 18th. To learn more, visit: http://www.thefirstsaturdayinmay.com/