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

My Love Affair with Horses

I've loved horses for as long as I can remember. Some of my first memories are of playing with my plastic horses and sitting on a rental horse named Jughead. By the 3rd grade, I'd read all the Black Stallion books. In fact, my early love of horses probably played a large part in my becoming an avid reader. I read every horse book I could get my hands on. To this day, I have an extensive fiction and non-fiction horse library.

In jr. high and high school, I wrote a series of stories about a race horse (my own version of The Black Stallion). I drew countless barn plans and mapped out elaborate farm designs for the fictitious farm in my stories. And like every other horse-crazy kid, I drew countless pictures of horses. I had a large model horse collection and went the model horse showing route. I even attended some "live" model horse shows.

In my teenage years, when most girls discover boys and forget about horses, I still longed for a horse. I didn't get one until my senior year of high school. The horse was so barn sour, I couldn't ride her anywhere and sold her within a year. That still didn't dampen my love of horses.

In college, I started taking weekly lessons with a local dressage trainer and continued those lessons until I graduated. A friend of a friend of my sister's gave me an Anglo-Arab mare. Felice had been an event horse and had developed navicular at an early age. She'd been nerved in front. As long as she was shod correctly, she stayed perfectly sound. That mare loved to jump. If she could find something to jump, she would, even going out of her way to do it. Of course, I tried to avoid jumping her because of her front legs. Eventually, the cost of having a horse and going to college became too much. I gave her back to her original owners.

After graduation, I continued to take dressage lessons. I bought a thoroughbred who was the sweetest thing on the ground and on the trails, Ram Ruler. Unfortunately, Ram's poor brain had been fried from too many years of racing and "cowboy" polo. If you put him in an arena, he would get tense and literally freak out. He was not dressage horse material. A few years later, I sold him as a trail horse.

Then came Moses Malone. I leased Moe from a pregnant teenage girl for a year then purchased him. He was a five-year-old Morgan/QH cross, a chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail. I love that horse. We did everything together. I showed him in western and English pleasure, jumped him, and eventually took him to Prix St. George in dressage. He was the world's best trail horse. You could loop the reins around the saddle, and he'd just saunter along. Moe is still going strong at 29. At 23, I leased him to a couple of nice men who rode him once in a while and mostly have him for a pet. He's living the good life on their little farm.

That brings us to Broker (bad choice of names). I bought Broker from a 'friend.' The third time i got on him, he proceeded to dump me and broke 2 ribs and my collarbone in 2 places. This horse had serious problems that didn't come out the first two times I rode him. Needless to say, he went down the road. The horse bucked and reared like a professional. Three different trainers tried to cure him with no luck.

Last but not least is Gailey. Next time I'll post about my trials and tribulations with my first warmblood. She's been a challenge, but I love her, and she'll always have a home with me.

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

Welcome to Equestrian Ink

I'd like to welcome you to Equestrian Ink. Our main goal is to promote horse fiction. We're very excited to have this opportunity to do so.

A little about me:

I was born loving horses. I can't remember a time when I didn't love horses. I think that's true for a lot of people. You get the bug and you either outgrow it, or it's with you for life. My mother was afraid of horses and prayed I'd outgrow it. That didn't happen.

I didn't get my first horse until I was almost 18. I bought her with my own money and kept her at a friend's. She was the most barn sour thing I've ever seen. If I couldn't get someone to ride with me, I wouldn't be able to leave the barn unless I led her miles down the road and road her home. Needless to say, I didn't keep her long. During my college years, I got my horse fix by taking dressage and jumping lessons once a week. While I dabbled over the years in western pleasure and jumping, dressage was and still is my passion.

My other passion is writing. I've been writing since I was old enough to string words together. I still have a book in my attic written and illustrated when I was about 6 years old called "Wildfire," about a horse, of course. Many years later (too many to mention) I decided to try my hand at writing professionally. Just this year, I sold two books to Siren Publishing. The first one, "Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed," will be out this summer. The second, "The Dance." will be out in the fall. In "Who's" horses make a cameo appearance, but "The Dance" features an Andalusian with a sense of humor. The book I'm currently working on is titled, "The Gift Horse."

Which brings me to my next topic. "The Gift Horse" is inspired by my own Hanoverian mare, Gailey. I bought Gailey when she was a barely broke 3-year-old. Looking back, I wonder what I was thinking. A year before, I'd broken my collarbone in two places and two ribs after being dumped from a horse I'd only owned for three days. After that I'd only ride my safe, geriatric Morgan/Quarter Horse, having lost my nerve.

My trainer convinced me to try out this mare. He said he wanted the horse in his barn and if I didn't buy her, he'd have to. Well, after a month of convincing, I agreed to try the horse. She wasn't really advertised for sale yet, but the owner (also the breeder) had mentioned to my trainer that she might sell her. Well, even green-broke and going around with her head in the air, Gailey was heaven. It was like driving a Mercedes after spending your life in Chevy Vega. I knew I'd never be the same.

After months of agonizing, I bought the mare. This started a journey that has been full of ups and downs, countless thousands of dollars spent on natural horsemanship and dressage trainers, and three horse trailers (because she has a major trailering phobia). She grew from 16-2 at three years old to over 17 hands of massive warmblood. Once we got past the rocky part of our relationship, she's become a dependable partner (if not a little quirky and a bit of drama queen at times). She's a charmer and has a fan club. She's such a couch to ride that everyone who's ever ridden her asks if she's for sale as soon as they dismount.

We are currently showing 2nd/3rd-level dressage and hoping to do a little 4th level later this year. I'll keep you up-to-date on us and tell you a little bit more about my journey with my first warmblood.

Anyway, welcome to Equestrian Ink. We hope you'll return often and let us know what you think via the Comments section. We'll have a new post by one of our writers or guest bloggers every 2-3 days, along with contests and freebies

Keeping the Dream Alive

Welcome to Equestrian Ink, a circle of women with two things on their minds: horses and writing. We come from different places and different states of mind, but our writing spans a wide range of genre within that special niche called "horse fiction." And each of us came to that niche for our own unique reasons.

From the fourth grade on, I'd yearned for a horse. That dream became especially painful when my best friend received a wonderful old Quarter Horse gelding for her eleventh birthday. From then on, I began begging my parents, promising to do anything if I could have a horse of my own. My stern father grew tired of my pleas and announced that the subject was closed--I could not have a horse.

On family outings, I'd lean my head against the car window and gaze at the magnificent rolling foothills of the Cascade Mountains, drumming a galloping beat with my fingers and picturing myself racing across the fields, leaning into my steed's whipping mane. At home, I'd curl up in the window seat with my horse books. King of the Wind. The Black Stallion. National Velvet. Keeping the dream alive. And I began to write fantastical stories about "my horses."

By the time I turned thirteen, I'd given up hope that my dream would ever come true--I was destined to watch from the sidelines. My friend had joined the local 4-H club and, occasionally, I'd be allowed to go with her. It was my only chance to be near the creatures that made my heart thump and my breath come in tiny puffs. The club leader was a wise old horseman who enjoyed being surrounded by horse-crazed kids, and he always made me feel like I belonged to that elite group.

One Saturday, he took me aside. A friend of his had a horse that needed a good home. Was I interested?

Hope and sorrow--what a combination. I could barely speak the words to tell him I'd been forbidden to bring up the subject at home. He gazed at me for a minute, then smiled. He'd take care of it. And he did. Two weeks later, Sonny backed out of a horse trailer and swung around to survey his new home.

Undoubtedly the homeliest horse ever foaled, the rangy 16-hand Tennessee Walker had lop ears, rafter hips, and a nose that must have been the model for Roman. But in the eyes of a horse crazy fourteen-year-old girl, he was as magnificent as Black Beauty or the Godolphin Arabian.

From the day Sonny stepped off the trailer, I was determined to convince my father that letting me have a horse had not been a mistake. Twenty years later, he shook his head in amazement as he watched my small band of Arabian mares grazing on the hill.

"I guess you were serious."

Yes, I was.

I haven't owned horses for many years now, but back when I was mucking stalls and carrying water and sleeping in the hay during foal-watch, my imagination was still astride a galloping horse racing across the hills. It was only a matter of time before I had to put those imaginary rides on paper, give them plots and people and loves and troubles.

Thanks to those dreams, I always have a horse in my heart and a story in my head.

Enjoy the ride while you're here!

Toni

Toni Leland
http://www.tonileland.com
Women's Fiction with Kick
at Romancing the Horse