BOOK REVIEW : "The Horse Dancer", by Jojo Moyes (Hodder)

I’m reading a wonderful book. It’s called “The Horse Dancer”, by an English author called Jojo Moyes. This is the first book I’ve read by this author, and I’d never even heard of her until I randomly stumbled across this particular book while browsing the Internet for literary gifts just before Christmas. The story appealed, so I clicked and bought it.

I’m so glad I did. It’s been ages since I read a book with a horse theme, and this one has hooked me so intensely that I find myself checking my watch at 9 pm, wondering whether it would be kind of sad for me to go to bed at such an early hour. I mean, I am knitting a lot lately, so I don’t want to push the sad factor too far. Thing is, these “sad” activities make me happy! Sign of the times, eh?!

There have been evenings when I’ve resisted the call of “The Horse Dancer”, instead plonking myself in front of the television to watch daft stuff such as “American Idol”, or upsetting stuff such as the news, only to regret it later when, suddenly, it’s gone one o’clock in the morning and I’m still reading away under the duvet, utterly immersed in this book and having to force myself to turn off the light.

Set mostly in London, “The Horse Dancer” is the heart-wrenching story of fourteen-year-old Sarah, whose world falls apart when the grandfather who raised her and whom she loves so much has a stroke and winds up in hospital. As a young man, Sarah’s grandfather, Henri Lachapelle, had been a member of Le Cadre Noir de Saumur, the famous French military dressage academy. Sarah has inherited his passion for horses and lives for the time she spends riding Boo, the beautiful, talented selle français (French Warmblood) her grandfather bought her. Money is short and Boo is stabled in a rundown backstreet yard in a dodgy area of London without any riding facilities, so Sarah and her grandfather train in a quiet corner of a nearby park. Sarah’s dream is to follow in her grandfather’s footsteps and ride for the Cadre Noir.

But when her grandfather becomes ill, Sarah finds herself living alone, fending for herself, scrambling to find ways to pay for horse’s keep, juggling between finding time for school and training her horse. Destiny sets her in the path of Natasha Macauley, a young lawyer who deals with problem children, and whose life is also in turmoil. Natasha’s professional judgment is being called into question, her boyfriend is repeatedly letting her down, and circumstances soon force her to share her house with her soon to be ex-husband, the gorgeous, charismatic Mac. When Natasha decides to take Sarah under her wing, she has no idea how complicated her life is about to become. NO idea!

“The Horse Dancer” is a captivating read, a real romantic page turner with interesting, original characters and an exciting story line. In some ways it reminds me of one of my favorite horse films, “International Velvet” (in fact Tatum O’Neal’s character in the film was also called Sarah!), and I keep thinking what a wonderful movie this book would make. So if you’re looking for a deeply satisfying story to snuggle up with under the duvet, I highly recommend it.

I’ll have finished it soon, and will be sad when I have, so can anyone recommend another really good book?

Reflections on 2009

This isn't really equine-related, so I hope that's okay. Is anyone with me that Christmas seems to have lost its meaning?

I used to love Christmas. These last few years, I've dreaded it. Christmas is for families, and my husband and I don't really have any immediate family to celebrate with.

I couldn't get in the mood, no matter what this year. I've talked to so many people this year who didn't even bother to decorate. The only reason I decorated is because I had the barn Christmas party at our house. Next year, I don't believe I will. I'm not looking forward to taking the decorations off of a twelve-foot tree. Ugh... I think next year we'll go to Hawaii for Christmas. We went to the San Juans for Thanksgiving and had a wonderful time. Treating ourselves to a trip sounds a lot better to me than buying each other a bunch of gifts we don't really need.

I managed to get a cold the day before Christmas. I'd planned this wonderful, old-fashioned Christmas Eve party, which to my surprise about a dozen people accepted my invitation to attend. I purchased prime rib, which I've never cooked before but thought I'd give it a shot. A friend was bringing his karaoke machine, and we planned on singing Christmas carols. It sounded like great fun to spend the evening trying to recapture the original spirit of Christmas. Unfortunately, I was too sick so I had to cancel. We did end up having a nice Christmas day and dinner with very good friends and my stepson and his fiance. I even felt well enough to enjoy it.

As I'm sitting here, reflecting back on 2009, I had to remind myself of the good things that happened this year. All in all, it truly was the best year ever for us.

My husband and I were not affected directly by the economic crisis. We are fortunate to have very good jobs. I'm happy to have both of my stepsons back in our lives after long absences for both. I'm thrilled with our new "man cave" addition. I'm glad my husband quit smoking. I'm grateful we were able to take several trips as we love to travel. I'm appreciative of our good friends and their support over this past year. They say people come into your life when you most need to learn the lesson they have to teach. That is the case here. Also, we both have our health.

I'm also thankful that the mystery behind my husband's identity theft has finally been solved, as best as it can be. Now there's a post for another day, even though it's not horse-related. It's certainly a lesson regarding protecting your identity, as the consequences of his identity theft are still with us in many ways.

As far as writing, The Gift Horse was published in February. It went into print in July and is available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble (online). I really loved writing this book, and I hope you'll love it, too. I'm toying with several projects in 2010. I may try my hand at a suspense novel set in my hometown of Oroville, Washington. I'm finishing the last edits on Fourth and Goal as we speak, then I'll be submitting to several publishers. I have tentatively agreed to write four more books for my current publisher and need to get started on those.

Horse-wise, this was a very different year for me. I didn't show in one show. Of course, up until her bout with cellulites Gailey was going better than she ever has. I hardly rode at all, which is strange for me, maybe once or twice a week. As a result, I put on ten more pounds. Dressage really does burn calories. I'm also considering that I may not have a dressage-sound horse when all this is said and done. Which brings up a dilemma I haven't dealt with in years. Do I want another dressage horse? Will I just bring her home and trail ride if that's the cards fate hands me? After building the man cave, we really don't have any expendable income left for another show horse. So this may be something I'll need to face in the future.

Gailey is feeling good. She's been turned out every day and is leaping and bucking around her paddock. I'm going to ride her on Monday for the first time in over two months. At first, I'll just walk her. Her leg and hock are still swollen but not painful. I've had several people tell me that she needs exercise at this point to get the swelling down.  So that's what I'll tackle next. We both need the exercise.  ;)

Last, but not least, I'm thankful for the success of this blog and all the people we've met because of it, as our readership continues to grow.

Please send me a bio and picture so we can all get to know our readers for our Readers Write Saturdays. You don't need to use your real name, if you'd prefer not. We'll welcome anything that's appropriate, such as an equestrian-themed piece of writing, a story about a horse in your life, or just a bio about you. Just send me an email to jamidavenport@att.net.

This has been a rambling post, but I hope you enjoyed it. Have a great 2010!!!

Shameless Promotion: The Gift Horse--Available February 17

Okay, forgive me, but I'm going to do some shameless promotion. I try not to on this blog, but I'm really excited about my new release, The Gift Horse. You can purchase it from Bookstrand in ebook form on February 17 or pre-purchase it now. It'll be in print in about two months and available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble at that time.

The Gift Horse is my first actual equestrian fiction book. My others had horses in them, but this book actually features an opinionate Hanoverian mare as a secondary character. It's a mainstream romance with dashes of comedy and mystery. I hope you'll check it out.

I especially want to thank Carolynn Bunch of Carolynn Bunch Photography who generously allowed me to use a horse show photo she took of my mare on the cover (see above).

Here's a short blurb, and you can read the first chapter on my website.

The Gift Horse

Book Three of the Evergreen Dynasty Series

Never look a Gift Horse in the mouth?

CARSON REYNOLDS would dispute that statement. After all, it was a gift horse that got him into this mess in the first place. Carson has never backed down from a challenge, but he’s never faced a challenge like this one. It’s the project nobody wants. It’s doomed to fail from Day One because of lack of money, lack of planning, and no lack of a difficult, interfering sister. Carson’s mission is to transform a run-down horse farm into THE premium horse training facility in the Pacific Northwest and transform the disorganized resident horse trainer with a penchant for self-sabotage into a confident, professional equestrian of international caliber.

Unfortunately, City Boy Carson doesn’t know one end of a horse from the other, and the large creatures scare the heck out of him. His situation is compounded by a love-sick, 1500-pound mare with a crush on him , his growing attraction to the grungy horse trainer, a disruptive sister who insists the trainer be fired, and a demanding father who has lost faith in his son’s abilities.

Tired of running from herself for six years, SAMANTHA MACINTYRE has returned to the scene of a horrific barn fire allegedly caused by her carelessness. She accepts the head trainer position at that run-down facility with the hope of defeating her demons, proving her innocence, and earning a permanent position at the new equestrian center. With lofty aspirations, but no money and no horse, Sam will do anything to ride the talented, though difficult, horse Carson received as a birthday gift from his family. But first, she must pass the test: compete the horse for one season, impress Carson, and best his sister’s preferred trainer.

As Sam gets closer to the truth regarding the cause of that long-ago fire, small mishaps begin to escalate into larger, more serious, accidents. Carson’s horse knows the real perpetrator, if only those dimwitted humans would listen. With no where else to turn, Sam confides in Carson and together they delve into the actual cause of the fire. With the help of an opinionated equine, they face a surprising reality--that love is more important than ambition, money, or blue ribbons.

Let me know what you think of my book if you read it.

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.

Life's unexpected twists and turns

Okay, I write a lot about being a horse mom, but I believe this moment pretty much defines it. I'm sitting outside the ring during my daughter's lesson, writing my blog draft on the inside front cover of a dinosaur coloring book. I've always heard when inspiration strikes a writer forages for any handy piece of paper. For an equestrian author, this often involves scribbling on horse show schedules or the paper used to keep kids occupied in between rides.

I'm looking over at my daughter sitting straight and tall, leg at the appropriate angle, for all the world defining what is meant by a natural seat. As young as she is her talent is already far outshining mine, so I'm sure I'll be scribbling on horse related paper for many years to come. At the moment I'm balancing writing and watching her for support without distracting her. Stopping in the middle of her lesson to wave at Mommy probably isn't on her instructor's list of things to do today! Of course, the fact my little girl laughs out loud sometimes with happiness while she's riding isn't on the instructor's list either, but it always makes her smile.

The fact that Susan, the heroine of my new novella (Never Trust a Matchmaking Witch), shares many of these experiences, makes her near and dear to my heart. Of course, just to make things even more interesting, I added a magical horse with a mischievous sense of humor and a head trainer who happens to be a witch. Toss in Susan trying to overcome a fear of horses to help her horse-crazy niece and her secret passion for handsome boarder Brad Conway and we have a recipe for a wild ride!

Here's a sneak peek:

Susan wrinkled her nose at the smell as she dragged the muck bucket, a large plastic bucket filled with soiled bedding, across the brick aisle of the beautiful barn. The stalls gleamed with a high finish on dark wood and were light-filled and airy. The building exuded an aura of class befitting the wealthy clientèle who boarded their horses here.

Leaving the bucket a few feet outside Jake’s stall door, she opened it and tentatively stepped inside. A large brown jumper stared her down.

“Now, look,” she said firmly. “We each have a job to do here.”

Alicia had told her that Jake, the horse now eyeing her with obvious evil intent, was just testing her. Unfortunately, his tests involved much stamping of his huge feet and dancing around while she tried to clean his stall.

“Okay, buddy.” Susan gathered her courage. “If you don’t behave this time I’ll have to take you out on the cross-ties while I clean your stall. Then you won’t have any hay to munch.” Susan planted her hands on her hips.

Susan and Jake continued to eye each other. Finally, Jake snorted with a shake of his head and returned to his hay. Triumphant, Susan turned to go back for the pitchfork and the bucket. A bump from Jake in the center of her back made her lose her balance. Flailing, she grabbed for the wall of the stall before landing spread-eagled across the bucket, which was now in the middle of the stall.

“Um, can I help you?” Dr Bradley Conway peered in the stall where she lay flapping like a fish out of water as she struggled to rise.

He placed one arm under her belly and her muscles tightened in response. He gripped her upper arm with his other hand and gently pulled. This can’t be happening, she thought as Dr. Conway gallantly levered her up onto her feet. He gently deposited her outside the stall and reached back in to tug the bucket through.

“Thank you.” Susan desperately wished the floor would open up and swallow her, but no such luck.

“No problem,” he hefted the bucket easily and deposited it in the corner. “I’m used to it.”

“You clean stalls?” Susan asked incredulously, and then bit her lip.

“Well, not lately, but as a kid I did plenty of them. Want some help?”

“Oh, no. I can handle it. Uh, how’s Jen doing in her lesson?”

“Alicia’s working her and Ritchie over a gymnastic. She’s loving it.”

“A gymnastic? Isn’t that the wrong sport?”

“Not in this case.” He laughed and she noticed deep creases by the sides of his mouth. He was too manly by far to have dimples. “Come look,” he added.

He placed a hand briefly at the small of her back to urge her forward. Just a common courtesy, Susan told herself as a warm tingle flowed through her core and down her arms. She preceded him through the wide doorway to the indoor riding arena.

Together they climbed the bleachers that lined one wall and were separated from the riding area by a low wall.

Casting about for something to say, Susan’s eyes lit on the ceramic owls set in the rafters in the four corners of the barn. “Interesting decoration.”

“What is?” Brad asked.

“Those,” Susan pointed at the nearest owl.

Looking where she indicated, Brad said “Ah, those aren’t decoration.”

“They’re not?” Susan frowned at them.

“Nope. The plan is to scare other birds out of here.”

“Why would we want to do that?”

“Well, cleaning up after them isn’t a fun job.”

“Oh.” Knowing the odds of her being the one doing the cleaning, Susan looked back gratefully at the owls, then blinked. They had moved. Hadn’t they? They were in the center of each wall instead of the corners.

“Is anything wrong?” Brad was looking at her closely.

“No. Nothing.” Susan looked again. The owls were in the corners of the barn. I really have been working too hard, Susan thought. She glanced at the owls again and one winked at her.

Susan jumped sideways against Brad’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His arm came around her.

“Fine. Thanks. Um. . . do those owls have any moving parts?”

“I don’t think so.” Brad frowned at the owls.

“I just thought, you know, to scare the birds, they might have them move or something.”

“I’ve never heard of it, but good idea, though.” Brad grinned at her. “You should send the idea in to a horse magazine. Barn owners everywhere would be thanking you.”

“I’ll think about it.” Susan smiled back at him, forgetting the owls as she got lost in his warm hazel eyes. She must have just imagined the wink.

“See those?” His thigh brushed hers as he leaned forward to point toward the center of the ring.

Susan nodded, noting Jen astride the trotting Ritchie before looking to the area he indicated. Three jumps in relatively close succession were set up down the far side of the ring. The first was a cross rail fence Jen was used to jumping, followed by a straight rail that looked a little larger than what she was used to. It was the height of the last fence which had Susan sitting forward in alarm. “Jen’s not going to jump those three, is she?”

“Sure. That’s the gymnastic.”

Susan stared at Brad, all inhibitions lost. “How high is that last fence?”

“Well,” Brad considered a moment, “I’d say about two-nine to three feet.”

“What!” Susan jumped off the bench. “Jen’s never jumped that height before.”

“Relax, Susan. She’ll be fine.” Brad tugged her back down on the bench beside him. “Alicia knows what she’s doing. That’s the whole purpose of a gymnastic. The horse is set up correctly to jump so the rider can focus on her balance and strength over fences.”

“What if she loses her balance?” Susan’s small fingers gripped her knee.

“She’ll be fine. Alicia has the jumps spaced to be easy for Ritchie. This way Jen can focus on her position. Watch.” Gently Brad pried Susan’s fingers off her leg and held them loosely in his hand. Even through her agitation Susan’s body reacted to his touch and she glanced down at their joined hands before Alicia’s voice jerked her attention back to the drama at hand.

Hope you enjoyed this snipped from Never Trust a Matchmaking Witch. I had so much fun with this story! BTW, my daughter secretly organized the barn staff and other parents to sing Happy Birthday to me. I've just been serenaded. Even the horses looked attentive, if a bit confused. Sometimes we horse moms do get some unexpected rewards!

All the best,
Mary

www.marypaine.com

On First Loves

Hello,

My sincere thanks to everyone who gave me such wonderful advice regarding my six year old daughter’s heartbreak over her beloved horse Pete retiring. We made arrangements to go and visit him at his new home and her whole world looks bright again. It will be awhile before we can make the trip, but as long as she knows she’ll see him again, she’s okay.

Last evening she was pretending she was Pete and I had to call out voice commands to walk, trot, canter, halt, and back as she practiced her various gates! Considering she’s only ridden at a walk and trot so far she’s got a pretty good instinct for the three beats of a canter. My guess would be every time she sees a horse cantering she’s making an extensive study of the process. Hmmm…I’m definitely looking into a future full of horse mom activities.

Watching her brings back so many memories of my own horse-crazy youth. We couldn’t afford a horse for me, but my parents did spring for two lessons a week and I took my ‘barn rat’ duties very seriously every day during the summer months. There was one lesson horse in particular who stole my heart. His name was Ritchie. He was a tall, gentle hunter who didn’t have a mean bone in his body. His height was a definite advantage since at 12 I was already the tallest girl in my class (I eventually topped out at 5 10 ½). There was a pony named Cricket who could jump higher than Ritchie, but when I rode her my heels were about level with her knees!

One year, I saved every penny all summer so that I could lease Ritchie during the winter months when the barn didn’t have lessons. I will never forget the day my mother took me to the barn to arrange the lease. I was so excited I could barely sit still. When we went inside to speak with the barn owner, she had sad news for me. Ritchie had already been leased. I remember my heart being somewhere in the vicinity of my shoes and I know that’s how my daughter feels now about Pete. The owner had another horse named My Colonel available for lease, and we agreed to lease him despite (or maybe because of) the tears in my eyes over Ritchie. The owner said ‘he’s not the same horse as last summer,’ which I should have paid more attention to, but I was so desperate for ‘a horse of my own’ I begged my mom, not a horse person herself, and despite her reservations she agreed to let me try it.

Well, it turned out to be a good life lesson in ‘buyer beware.’ Colonel had developed the unfortunate habit of bolting for the barn whenever he got out of the ring or pasture. Unfortunately, one day he bolted and my hand got caught in the lead rope and broke the pinky finger on my left hand. I still have a crooked little finger, but I prefer to think about it as a reminder of Ritchie, whom I loved so much. Although, I do also remember the quite painful ‘buyer beware’ lesson as well!

I’m glad my daughter will have a wonderful, positive experience to remember with her first gentle equine love. As a matter of fact, I put elements of my own youthful experience as well as my daughter’s into my just completed novella, Never Trust a Matchmaking Witch. In this story a young girl has a chance at a free lease of a marvelous horse named, of course, Ritchie. Her Aunt Susan helps make those dreams come true by working in the barn in exchange for the lease and lessons. Of course, the fact that the barn owner is a witch who is matchmaking between Susan and a very handsome, sexy boarder adds fun and spice to the story!

The opening paragraph of Never Trust a Matchmaking Witch should ring true for all the horse moms, aunts, etc. who are helping little ones find their own dreams with horses:

Susan wondered why being a favorite aunt had to involve risking life and limb. For her niece Jennifer the risk was jumping astride an animal which outweighed her by at least half a ton. For Susan the risk was having a heart attack watching the pair of them.

I’m off to get my daughter ready for her lesson on her new mount. I’ll be armed with my camera & hoping to build lots of new happy memories for her.

Happy Riding!

All the best,

Mary

www.marypaine.com

A Sense of Accomplishment and a Big Cheer

Hi everyone,

I am so excited to have finished my novella, Never Steal from a Leprechaun. It centers around a wonderful equestrian facility owned by a charming witch. She has an assortment of delightful, magical friends who help create an unforgettable evening for Susan Mallory and her niece Jennifer. When they’re trapped on the farm by an ice storm on St Patrick’s Day, Jennifer is delighted to spend an evening at her favorite place on the planet—a horse farm.

Susan is not quite as thrilled. Trapped with them is Dr. Brad Conway, the very handsome, brilliant surgeon to whom she’s been afraid even to say hello. By the end of the evening they do much more than say hello while Susan learns there are many kinds of magic in the world.

My magical moment this week was the sense of accomplishment which comes with completing a story that’s been milling around in my head for months. The characters poke and prod at me and I’m forever getting ideas for scenes and running to grab any scrap of paper to write them down on. Since I’m sometimes chasing my two year old twins at the same time, I have all sorts of notes written in crayon on the corner of various coloring books. Since my kids are as horse crazy as I am, sometimes I’m writing on pages from horse coloring books, which at least goes with the theme of my writing!

I’ve had similar moments of accomplishment on the back of a horse, usually with dint of much effort. My wonderful Topper was a very talented hunter, for example, but really resisted going in a frame. We always cleaned up in jumper classes, but flat classes were a challenge.

The first trainer I had with Topper told me he simply wouldn’t go on the bit and that was that. She was encouraging me to think of Topper as my transition horse and think about selling him. When I moved to a second, more advanced trainer, he took the statement that Topper would never go on the bit as throwing down the gauntlet and we were off and running. I remember he would be schooling Topper, holding him in a perfect frame while I stood enviously by wondering what miracle had just occurred and how I was ever going to replicate it. This talented trainer also had a wicked sense of humor and would chant in mimicry of Topper’s expression ‘I hate my life, I hate my life’ while Topper was having to arch and move correctly. Topper did look awe-inspiring and I was determined to accomplish this task.

Many months of sweat-filled labor followed, and I never achieved the same ease as my trainer, but there were those blissful moments when Topper would come together for me and we had that amazing union of horse and rider that makes all the work in the world worthwhile.

Topper and I had always had that wonderful chemistry over fences, but the hard work it took to achieve a flowing partnership on the flat made the accomplishment all the sweeter.

Never Steal from a Leprechaun started with all these ideas in my head, but pulling it together on paper was a challenge. The work my characters put me through was reminiscent of the hours my trainer spent with Topper and me. Bend and counter-bend was invading my dreams while I learned to put Topper on the bit and recently my dreams have been invaded with cheerful antics by leprechauns and witches that I rose at odd hours to work at bringing to life on the page. The reward is here now with a completed story I hope you will all enjoy. More info to come and in the meantime happy riding!

Cheers,
Mary

www.marypaine.com

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

Jumping for Joy

Hi,

When I was in high school and considering different college programs, I remember my father saying “Whatever you do, make sure you like it, because you’re going to be doing it for a long time.” This was some of the best advice I’ve ever received, and I use it to this day. Writing is challenging and frustrating at times, but when everything comes together to create an exciting story, writing is absolutely wonderful.

I was lucky that both my horses loved their job as well. My first horse, Spencer, was never happier than when he was sailing over a course. He used to be turned out with two aged Morgans named George and Martha. He would gallop around them, away and back again, trying to get them to run and jump with him. George would occasionally lift his head, chewing slowly, with an expression that said ‘Spencer, you have to be kidding. Our running and jumping days are over, son.’ So Spencer would go off and do the jumps in the field on his own. The owner of the facility would sit on his back porch to relax and watch the turned-out Spencer jump for the sheer joy of it. His form over fences was very good, which told me where the talent was in our partnership. It was obvious he didn’t need me in the saddle to be a great jumper, but he loved me anyway, and we had the best time jumping together.

My second horse, Topper, used to be turned out in the indoor ring in the winter, and he did some breathtaking turns and jumps in there. He would probably have had a great time doing some jumper courses if he didn’t have a less than daring rider in the saddle (Ahem…that would be me). Being a kindhearted gentleman, he would instead take me over my comfortable hunter and equitation courses and never yawned once.

One year Topper had a leg injury. I went to an away show with my barn and rode my trainer’s old retired Grand Prix horse, Tron. He was a sweet, wonderful fellow who lived to jump, but arthritis was starting to keep him from the big fences. Occasionally my trainer would feel sorry for him and take a few big jumps to make him happy, but the next day Tron would come hobbling out of his stall. Given this, I thought he’d enjoy my small equitation fences, and he did seem quite proud taking me around my little course, although my husband mentioned Tron was finding the course challenging because he was trying to jump the fences instead of step over them. I ignored this probably accurate statement and listened for the class results to be announced. I was delighted to hear we’d won the division.

My husband and trainer both insisted that if I took Tron in any more classes I should gather my courage and try some higher fences, which would still be small from Tron’s perspective. I was pondering this option as I rode Tron back to the tent where he was stabled. We were relaxing, just plodding along on the hot summer day when suddenly Tron started dancing and sidestepping under me. His whole body was quivering. Startled, I looked up to see we were in front of the gate to the Grand Prix ring. He wanted to go in! He definitely had the wrong rider in the irons for a Grand Prix course. Gently, I urged him on and my heart broke when his head dropped disconsolately. Here, clearly, was a horse who loved his job and jumped for the sheer joy of it.

Now that Topper is in well deserved retirement, he’s still jumping, too. He lives on my in-law’s farm and one day my sister-in-law went to bring him in. She was reaching for the gate when Topper decided to save her the trouble and leaped over the gate to meet her on the other side. At five foot three, my sister-in-law ducked, but only barely needed to. After she got him in his stall, she went out and measured the fence he cleared. Five foot jumps was apparently still well within his abilities and he just wanted to let us know it!

On the days when writing is more like pulling teeth than a generous flow of words, I remember some of the amazing, talented horses I’ve ridden. Their dedication and love of sport run through my head with my father’s words “Do what you love.” I love writing and I love horses. I’ve been truly blessed.

Here’s to a wonderful week for everyone. Happy riding!

Cheers,

Mary

www.marypaine.com

What a Character!

by Toni Leland

The second most-asked question a writer hears is, "Are your characters real people?" OR, "Am I in your book?"

Any author in their right mind would answer a resounding "NO!" and dodge any further fishing expeditions but, I for one, have to admit that my characters are based on real people, albeit composites that I sculpt to fit the story. And I'm reasonably sure that even the person or persons I use in the formula would not know themselves. Human nature being what it is, though, close acquaintances are always positive they'll see a clue to the identity of my story people. Therein lies the perfect setting for either a lawsuit or a family feud!

Quite a few years ago, a writer published a book that was set in one of the big-breed industries. The writing was not stellar, but the industry itself was fascinating and, of course, anyone connected with it had to buy that book to see if they were in the story. At the height of the book's short-lived popularity, at horse shows it was such fun to lurk around groups of trainers and owners to eavesdrop on their conversations about who, exactly, the author was describing. And, in truth, this author hadn't camouflaged the "real models" very well, so everyone had it figured out within a few months of the book's release.

Writing a fictional tale requires, first, an excellent plot that will keep the reader turning the pages. Then, interesting and engaging characters must make the plot come alive. When Avid Reader begins a book, he or she wants to identify with the hero or heroine ("protagonist" in writer speak). As authors, we must build a character with a believable background, a believable personality, and believable goals. And we have to effectively present this story person to Avid Reader in the first few pages, or we've lost our audience.

Here's another version of the characters question: "Is your main character really you?" This one's tough because every writer puts a little or a lot of themselves into the story line and the characters. For instance, I'm terrified of large dogs, allergic to bee stings, and always on a diet. These tendencies or quirks do often show up in some of my characters. They just appear—I don't plan to use them. But the fact I've loved horses all my life is the biggest "me" trait that I instill in my characters, and I do that on purpose!

What kinds of story people do YOU enjoy most?

'Til next time....
Toni

http://www.tonileland.com

Read an excerpt from DEADLY HERITAGE now!

Horse Movies

I do two blogs and sometimes it’s hard to come up with what I want to say. Face it, it’s hard to always be sorta interesting and get readers to not only enjoy the blog but also want to pick up your book(s). What makes this blog fun to write is that the writers here can gear it towards our passions and pretty much trust than anyone visiting is coming here to read a tidbit or two about horses.

I typically don’t have a plan for the blogs, and it worked the same way today. I started with a question, just like I do when I begin writing a new book. My book question is always: What if…. For today’s blog, I thought about what do horse people love as far as entertainment goes, and guess what—duh—we love the same thing in our entertainment as we love in our world—HORSES! There are some great books out there that incorporate the horse world, and I personally am going to toot the Equestrian Ink authors here, and say that we are some of the very best. But not only do we as horse people love to read about our worlds, they love to watch them, and that started me thinking about great horse movies.

I remember my first horse movie. I was ten-years-old or so, and my mom took me and another friend to see International Velvet with Tatum O’Neil. I loved this movie, and it actually started me on my first horse book, which turned out to be about sixty hand written pages in a notebook about a girl who had lost her parents and went to live with her aunt on a ranch and fell in love with the horse world and her major goal was to become and Olympic champion (I know it sounds just like the movie, but come on—I was ten). I still love this movie and was delighted to see my daughter watching it the other day. I bought it for her for Christmas along with National Velvet, which of course is such an all time classic—no horse lover should be without.

How about The Black Stallion? Has there ever been such rich and beautiful cinematography? I wanted to be Alec Ramsey so badly and ride that amazing animal. That movie would still bring tears to my eyes. Not only did I love the movie but read every Walter Farley book I could get my hands on growing up. Ah—those were the days.

We recently watched the updated version of My Friend Flicka, which made both my daughter and me cry. We saw it at the theater and then when it came out had to go and get a copy.

Has anyone seen Back to the West (think that’s what it’s called)—about the Irish gypsies and the kids who is fortunate enough to have a magical horse enter their lives? This movie was amazing in scenery and the love the boys felt for the horse is exactly the same type of love most all horse people I know feel toward the animal. If you have not watched this movie (it was made in the early nineties) then do so. You will not be disappointed.

And, who can forget The Horse Whisperer? Okay, there is something extra special when you combine Robert Redford and horses!

There are so many wonderful horse related movies out there that I can’t think of them all, but I’d love to hear from all of you so I can add to my list. Tell us your favorites and why.

Have a wonderful week.

Cheers,
Michele
www.michelescott.com
www.cozychicks.com
www.equestrianink.blogspot.com

Springtime with horses

Hello everyone,

Spring is in the air. Well, some days spring is in the air and other days snowflakes are, but I’m trying to be optimistic. These days with the change of season I think about the kids’ wardrobes and planting the garden. When I was riding competitively springtime had a whole different meaning. On one hand, it was lovely to work ride without freezing and having Topper jump a mile in the air as ice slide off the roof of the indoor. While riding outside I would love watching flowers bloom and trees turn a lovely fresh green.

On the other hand, Topper had an adrenaline rush his first few times outside each season that turned him into a wild thing. That part of springtime I used to dread. There was one day in particular when my trainer decided to slow him down by putting a bigger obstacle in front of him. Big mistake. He took off like a Grand Prix champ and cleared a 3 foot fence by another foot. Unfortunately, I wasn’t prepared for this astonishing ride and promptly fell on his neck—which was entirely my fault— and then sailed off Topper to land on my head, which I suppose was the fault of gravity with a healthy assist from me.

Still, Topper and I would work through our excitement about the coming of spring in our own ways and come out as a team again, ready for another show season. I try to remember those moments when my deadlines get tight and my plate seems impossibly full. Life has moments of challenge, and a new season or a new project always has its interesting moments. Of course, life always looks better from the back of a horse, but it’s possible to use the ability to focus I learned as a horse person to plow through the myriad details of a busy life.

Here’s to spring and the changes life brings. Happy reading and happy riding!

Cheers,

Mary

www.marypaine.com

Adventures with Stoney . . .

by Kit Ehrman

I purchased my first horse, a big flea-bitten gray, when I was twenty-three. Stoney was a sweet, wonderful guy. He was green when I bought him, but he advanced quickly. He was usually very solid and steady in the show ring and did well in low hunter and pleasure classes, often earning several champion titles in one show. He was also well behaved when I took him to some combined training events. But there was one place where his ornery side came into play—out on the trail . . . alone.

In company, he was great. Stoney preferred to lead. He was bold and confident, and riding him felt like driving a bulldozer. “You want to go up that ten-foot muddy bank out of the river?” “Sure, no problem.” I’d point him, and off he’d go.

“What, no trail?” “Not a problem.” I might get scratched up with briers and gouged by tree branches, but none of this held him back.

And he loved river crossings. He’d stand in the middle of the current while schools of fish swam between his legs. I have no idea what he thought they were, but he’d cant his head and watch them dart beneath his belly. And I’d have to be careful, because he liked to roll, especially when it was hot. I would have loved to have taken him for a swim, though we never had that opportunity.

But when we set off alone, I never knew if I’d be walking home or riding because he had this nasty habit of bucking as we came out of stream crossings or after jumping a log. He didn’t get me off much, but when he did, he’d gallop for home.

I remember this one time when we were out in the woods, and he started bucking after we jumped a log. He put his nose to the ground and pulled me right out of the saddle. I was actually straddling his neck as he continued to buck down the trail, and it was then that I made the decision to bail instead of risk slipping beneath his hooves. I lunged to the side and hit the dirt, and off he went down the trail. I ran uphill and almost caught him as he whizzed by on the switchback. When I’d finally trudged back to the stable, I couldn’t find him and was afraid he’d remain forever hidden in a dense corn field. But, he hadn’t stayed out in the open to pig out. He’d squeezed into the stall we used to store hay and was chowing down on a bale of alfalfa.

We had some adventures in groups, too. My boss was a wild woman in the saddle. She took a bunch of us novices on a cross-country gallop. Stoney was so excited by this barely-controlled, group gallop, I spent much of the run trying to keep his bucking under control. We slowed to a canter when we reached a wooded trail. My boss was an excellent horsewoman. She was riding Pocket, her son's beautiful bay hunter. As he cantered down the trail on autopilot, she was twisted around in the saddle, watching her band of excited students, when I noticed a heavy low branch jutting across the trail. I warned her just in time. Otherwise, she would have been knocked right off.

The land surrounding the horse farm where I worked at the time bordered Maryland’s Patuxent River, and it was extremely hilly and wooded. When I first purchased Stoney, he had no clue how to get us to the bottom of some of these hills except to make a mad dash down them. He’d stand at the top, worried, shifting his weight; then he’d take a deep breath and just go. I eventually got him to understand that he could take his time, and those big scary hills lost some of their menace.




Columbia Horse Center

My fictitional Foxdale Farm, where Steve works, is based on the Columbia Horse Center.

The hours I’ve spent riding, especially cross country, show up in my fiction. Here’s a little excerpt from AT RISK, where Steve has taken a school horse out for a nighttime ride. One of the boarders had noticed a six-horse that resembles the trailer used in a horse theft, and Steve is going to check it out:

Wooded hills sloped upward on both sides of the river, and except for a faint gurgling, where fast-moving water tumbled over a natural dam, the meadow was quiet. I might have found it peaceful except for the night’s objective. I looked at my watch. Seven-fifty-five. I had two hours before the last lesson was over, before Karen would check to see if we’d made it back.

When we came to a stretch of meadow where the footing was safe, I bridged the reins together over the crest of her neck--to act as a brace in case she stumbled--then crouched low over the saddle. She automatically lengthened into a ground-covering canter, the instinct for speed there for the asking. Her body rocked beneath me, her muscles straining, footfalls muffled, breath coming faster, louder, filling my ears. I pressed my knuckles into her mane and relaxed into her stride. The brisk air stung my face and pulled tears from the corners of my eyes. The ground beneath us was a blur, the speed intoxicating for both of us.

Where the meadow narrowed into a track not much wider than one of the old logging roads, with trees thick on both sides, I brought her back to a walk. Jet swiveled her ears and tossed her head in irritation.

“Sorry, girl. Can’t run here.” I patted her neck. Steam eddied through her coat, curling upward in tendrils, and I could smell her sweat, stirringly primitive. A link to the past. The result of countless years of man and horse working together.

I owned Stoney until his death at age 31. He was a great guy, and his memory lives on in my writing.

Happy reading and riding.
Kit Ehrman
www.kitehrman.com

STORY IDEAS

No matter the type of fiction, all writers are asked the same question: "Where do you get your story ideas?" Most of us draw on the potential that arises from real incidents or experiences.

A writer's brain churns with bits and pieces of information, many of which are being processed as potential plot material. My own grey matter often drives me crazy with jostling ideas, each vying for a prominent place in my thoughts. The only way I can deal with the information overload is to jot down each idea or thought so my brain can relax--or fill up with more ideas! At any given time, I'm mulling ideas for horse stories, gardening articles, Miniature horse how-to books or videos, cooking articles, articles on writing, or photography ideas. (I carry a tiny spiral notebook and golf pencil in my pocket at all times so I'll never lose any good stuff.)

Sometimes a news tidbit grabs me and forces my brain to focus solely on that information. A story idea begins, but not without trepidation--believe me.

In 2003, five American Saddlebreds were brutally attacked and maimed in Lexington, Kentucky. Among those horses were Five-Gaited World Champion Wild Eyed & Wicked. The equine community gasped collectively and followed the horrible story for weeks, each of us certain that we'd soon know who could do such a thing. The five horses in question had been injected with a caustic substance that defied identification. Within two weeks, three of the five were euthanized--including Wild Eyed & Wicked. I was stunned, and began to follow the story on a daily basis.

The uproar continued while the investigative powers of the State and the finest veterinarians and equine pathologists struggled with the mystery. In 2005, the Kentucky State Police closed the investigation so that private resources could be used to continue the search for the criminal. My brain screamed, "Write this story!" My heart said, "How? You can't do this to those poor people who lost their horse!" My husband said, "How can you write a story without knowing the ending?"

In early 2006, I couldn't put it off any longer. I needed to write this tragedy into a story line and, by golly, I'd find a reasonable ending, if for no other reason than to give my brain a rest. I spent a lot of time conferring with veterinarians, pathologists, and the good folks at KESMARC Equine Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy center in Lexington (they treated one of the attacked saddlebreds, who later returned to the show ring). I profiled a different breed and set the location in a different state, but the underlying thread remained the same.

Deadly Heritage was released in January of this year and, though my fictitious characters and motives won't bring closure to Wild Eyed & Wicked's owners, or clues to the unsolved crime, at least I can finally file away the 10-inch stack of news articles, pathology reports, court proceedings, and technical information that accumulated over the past five years.

See the beautiful horse that started it all.

'Til next time....
Toni

Toni Leland
http://www.tonileland.com
Women's Fiction with Kick!

Love to garden? http://davesgarden.com/guides/articles/by.php?user=tonileland
Have Miniature Horses? http://www.smallhorse.com

A Lifetime with Horses

Hi everyone,

Through all the years I’ve been a rider my skill level has increased, but oddly enough, the height of the jumps keeps going down. I remember as a child pointing whichever horse I was riding at a jump with exhilarated abandon. The cross-country course at my neighborhood barn growing up had a stone wall with a 3 foot drop on one side, large fallen trees set up as jumps, and tight turns including one low hanging branch I remember running into and seeing stars! Still, I found cross-country a joyful excursion.

I will never forget Richie, the barn owner’s old hunter. He was a gentle, very willing fellow who took excellent care of me. Some of my happiest memories are of jumping around on Richie, grooming him until the poor fellow probably though his coat would fall out, or just standing with him in his stall. I would stroke his nose and cuddle the wonderful guy who kept me safe when my whims took us over jumps of a size which make my heart bump in my chest when I think of them now.

In young adulthood, when I had funds to buy my own horse and could train more extensively, I found a growing reluctance to take the big fences. I loved the closed in setting of the sand ring and happily did all the necessary flat work, gridwork, and small courses necessary to build my skill level. However, when my trainer would hoist the rails up, I felt a tightening in my stomach which had never been there in childhood. With the knowledge and experience of adulthood had come fear. Useful, certainly, in some of life’s situations, but not in a lesson where the trainer’s voice ruled and a very solid looking jump loomed before me. Still, I jumped and in time would adjust to a new height. I was lucky, too, that both my horses had talent to bail Mom out when the nerves took over!

Now with three small children, I don’t find nearly the time I would like for riding, but have moments in my day where I wish for the wonderful sensation of a horse beneath me and the calm joy of feeling that togetherness with an equine friend. At the same time, the thought of jumping and training, as essential as breathing through most of my adulthood, doesn’t hold the same thrill it always had. I’m happy just to be around a barn, grooming a pony for my daughter to ride, or hacking in the ring on a quiet fellow just for relaxation. Perhaps this change has to do with the knowledge that our crazy household would barely survive Mommy in a cast, or perhaps it’s just the natural changes life brings, but I’ve changed nonetheless.

What hasn’t changed is the serenity I feel being around horses, writing about them, and sharing the joy of the horse world with my daughter. Life does unerringly move on, and growth and change are inevitable, but I’m fortunate to be able to use my memories and experiences to bring life and depth to my stories. I may no longer ride with the abandon of youth, but some of my characters do. If I’m currently identifying with my more, shall we say, seasoned characters, that’s alright. The flavor of a lifetime of experiences adds its own spice to my day, and hopefully to my writing.

Happy trails, whichever path you and your mount choose to take!

All the best,

Mary

www.marypaine.com

Driven

A peculiar thing happens to writers. Not immediately, you understand. But as we learn our craft and smooth the rough spots, the rhythms of writing start to become second nature. Then, suddenly, we find ourselves unable to read fiction or watch a movie without applying every tidbit we've gleaned from myriad how-to books, magazine articles, workshops, and conferences.

This may not seem like a big thing, but for me, the phenomenon comes close to obsessive. Imagine a family member's reaction when I groan about a story I'm reading: "Why did the author do that? It's not in character!" Or I turn and smile knowingly at my husband: "Did you see the way the screenwriter used foreshadowing?" or "Right there--that was the second turning point!"

But this is not a bad thing. The very fact that we as writers recognize the structure, symbolism, and end intent of another's work proves that we are growing--absorbing the sweat equity of those who have clawed their way to the top of the cliff and hoisted themselves over. A reward, if you will.

Every craft has its weirdness, and it takes a certain amount of "hermit-ness" to stay the course. But behind the drive to become published, a thought hovers in the back of every writer's mind as he or she reads a bestseller or watches a great movie--I can do this.

And do it, we do. At a full gallop! Romance and horses? You bet--horse people fall in love just like everyone else. And it takes a special kind of person to understand and absorb the routine and the dedication to caring for our beloved horses. Perhaps taking a backseat to this passion is the true test of a prospective suitor's mettle!

Horses and mystery. What a fabulous combination of forces that opens up endless possibilities for intrigue; suspense and edge-of-your-seat thrillers flourish in high-stakes areas of the horse industry. Just look at Dick Francis. Think those are only mysteries? Not on your spurs! I held my breath through every one of his books, always too close to the danger.

Add to these genres any one of the many issues that horse owners face and you have unique plots and characters that appeal to even the reader with only a passing interest in horses.

We write horse fiction because we love horses, we have to write, and we believe the two are a match made in heaven.

Tell us--what are your favorite romance, mystery, or thriller plots where horses reign? (no pun intended) What did you love? What "caught" you and held you captive through the story?

Until next time, keep those heels down.

Toni
http://www.tonileland.com