Showing posts with label Cowboys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cowboys. Show all posts

Saturday, September 23, 2023

Why I Wrote a Contemporary Western Romance by Victoria Chatham

 


AVAILABLE HERE


The elements of writing a book can take many forms, but most authors have to do at least some research. For Loving That Cowboy, I had to do a lot. It all started when an editor I'd pitched the idea to at a conference told me I was too English to write a contemporary Western romance. I can't say I was surprised, but I was disappointed. I put the idea aside and concentrated instead on Regency romance. Write what you know, right? I had been immersed in that genre since reading my first Georgette Heyer when I was thirteen years old. I loved the history, the style, and the wit of the Regency era, but that editor's comment still niggled. I had a story, characters, plot, and all the usual stuff. What I didn't have was any knowledge of ranching and rodeos. 

My endlessly patient DDH took me to rodeos, the small out-of-town rodeos where you can be close to the action, as well as the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth - the Calgary Stampede. I took photographs from every angle and talked to whoever I could, from the rodeo clowns and pick-up riders to stock contractors, one of whom invited me to visit his ranch. While I was thrilled, my DDH was less so but came along for the ride anyway. Approaching the ranch, we came across a bull loose in the middle of the road. There was no room to drive around it, so we sat there until it decided to move on. We duly arrived at the ranch house and reported said bull, only to have the rancher's wife ask, "Only the one?" From that, I gathered it was a fairly regular occurrence. 

While there, I was able to see bucking bulls and broncs up close and personal and talk to a couple of Australian bull riders, one of whom showed me how to wrap the rigging, just in case I ever fancied getting on a bull that is. Not a chance. I also needed the skinny on a regular cowboy's working day, and for that, I found Steve. Now, anyone who understands anything about the Western way of life will understand the inherent politeness cowboys have. This one blushed red when I asked if I could take him out for a steak dinner in return for his time, as I had a long list of questions. In the end, we compromised and went for pizza.

While waiting for our orders to be served, Steve started reading my list. Then he started to chuckle, which turned into a belly laugh. The question that amused him so much? What kind of underwear do cowboys wear? When he'd finished laughing and wiped away his tears, he asked why I wanted to know that.

"Look it, Steve," I said. "If my heroine is going to slip her fingers beneath the waistband of his blue jeans, what is she going to connect with? Hot skin or red flannel long johns?"

Turns out, it depends on the time of year and personal preference. And Steve? That's on par with what a Scotsman wears under his kilt. So you can judge for yourselves how I did, here's Chapter 1 of Loving That Cowboy. I hope you enjoy it.


Chapter One

 

Trisha Watts closed her eyes, muttering a prayer to the gods of the airways for a safe landing. The plane banked and levelled into its flight path. The change in pressure made her ears pop, and even yawning and swallowing in quick succession did little to alleviate the pain. Even the oblivion of being in a coma for eight weeks would be preferable to this unexpected result of her accident. Her stomach lurched, and she held herself tightly.

Her last-minute booking secured her a seat towards the tail-end of the plane, but it didn’t matter where she sat. Her nerves now jangled from take-off to landing on any flight. The plane approached the runway in what seemed interminable degrees. With barely a bump to indicate when it landed, it touched down and raced along the tarmac. The sound of the reverse engines reverberated through her head until she wanted to scream.

Everyone rushed to deplane, but not wanting to be part of the crush, she calmed herself as she unbuckled her seat belt and simply waited her turn. As soon as she had room to move, Trisha stood up, stepped into the aisle and reached up to the overhead compartment for her carry-on.

“Let me get that for you.”

A man’s large, long-fingered hand brushed past hers.

“Thanks, I can manage.” She flashed a glance at the owner of the hand.

“I’m sure you can.” His disarming smile showed even white teeth, the result she suspected of healthy living or a very good dentist. “But my momma raised me to always help a lady.”

“Then your momma would be very proud of you.” Trisha stepped back. Her helper’s large frame completely overwhelmed her own five foot seven inches.

Mischief sparked in his smoky-grey eyes. He held the carry-on’s handle for a moment more as if aware his assistance irritated her. “This looks pretty beat up. You travel a lot?”

“Only when I have to.” Given a choice, she preferred a cozy room and a good book to a packed airplane.

He grunted a little as he lifted the carry-on from the compartment. “You carrying the kitchen sink in here?”

“It’s my camera kit.”

“Must be some camera.”

“I’m a photo-journalist, and that case contains several pieces of very valuable equipment. Please be careful with it.”

She reached for the handle, but he continued to hold it. With amusement in his eyes and a teasing smile on his face, he made sure his fingers grazed hers before finally relinquishing his grip. His touch raised goose bumps on her skin, from pleasure or apprehension she couldn’t immediately determine.

“Thank you.” She turned on her heel to join the end of the shuffling line of passengers.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

The hot breath of his whisper lingered on her neck. Intuition told her he’d intended it to. She bit back a hasty comment, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her composure. Despite his attempt to help her, she thought his momma may not have approved of his teasing.

At the exit, she thanked the cabin staff flanking the doorway and breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped onto the jetway. Relief fled when her would-be helper quickly caught up with her.

“Goin’ my way?” he asked as he settled a wide-brimmed cowboy hat on his head.

Trisha shook her head. Heaven help him if that was his only pick-up line.

Striding along the jetway to get ahead of him, she stopped when he overtook her. He winked at her, but before she could vent her frustration with him, he walked away. People coming up behind her grumbled that she was in their way, and she started forward again. Now trailing the large figure by several yards, she kept her distance, hoping he’d accepted that she wasn’t interested in him or his banter.

Annoyed with herself for not being able to take her eyes off his broad shoulders and slim hips, she continued to lag behind. His plaid shirt and denim jeans looked clean and fresh after the long flight, while her clothes were crumpled and creased. Even his boots, though worn at the heel, were clean. He looked every inch a cowboy and so very appealing, but none knew better than she how deceiving looks could be.

Trisha tried not to think about him, but then he passed her while she waited at the luggage carousel. This time he didn’t offer to help.

“Welcome to Calgary, ma’am. Hope you enjoy your stay in our city.” He tipped his hat to her and sauntered off.

“Hope there’s a sunset for you to ride into, cowboy,” she muttered as she grabbed her suitcase and made her own way out into the concourse.

Momentarily disoriented, Trisha stopped to get her bearings. The crowd flowed around her and moved on. She watched families greet each other with open arms. Cab drivers held name cards and waited patiently for their fares. Friends greeted each other with a handshake or a slap on the back, but of her friend Samantha Moore, who had promised to not be late, there was no sign.

Trisha sighed. She’d learnt soon after they’d first met that ‘on time’ and ‘Samantha’ could not be mentioned in the same breath. She’d be late for her own funeral, and how she managed to run a successful modelling agency was beyond Trisha’s comprehension. She reached into her canvas shoulder bag for her cell phone but looked up when someone called her name.

A petite figure sporting spiky white-blonde short hair rushed towards her. Elbows flying, ducking and dodging bodies much bigger than her own, she resembled a demented pixie.

“Hi, you must be Trisha Watts, I’m Dee.” She grabbed the baggage cart and held up a battered photo of Trisha as if it was proof she’d met the right person. “Samantha’s been held up, she’s trying to get a new model under contract, but the girl definitely has her own ideas. Has some outrageous demands, and Samantha’s almost tearing her hair out over it. She said to take you straight to her apartment, and she’ll join you as soon as the ink is dry. Come on, this way.”

Dee’s rapid-fire chatter continued non-stop as she led the way to the waiting car. Trisha could barely get a word in edgewise and gave up in disgust. How like Samantha to have hired a doppelganger.

Dee kept up her verbal onslaught as they drove towards Calgary’s downtown core. To Trisha, one city was much like another. Too many people, too much traffic and, more often than not, too little time for her to explore anyway. In spite of her doubts, Trisha found the compact city skyline far more appealing than she’d expected it to be. An ultramodern angular building bristling with steel and glass caught her attention.

“What’s that place?” she asked.

“Our new science centre.” Dee slid the car easily into the flow of traffic heading into the city. “That’s the zoo on the left and the Bow River right here, and we’re just cutting through Chinatown. Do you like Chinese food?”

“Yes, I do. I also like Greek, Italian and Indian food too, but not necessarily in that order.” Trisha didn’t add her opinion that those foods tasted best when eaten in their countries of origin.

“Calgary’s really cosmopolitan,” Dee continued. “You’ll find all that and more here. But through Stampede, people mostly survive on breakfast fare by day and beer by night. Sometimes we even combine them.”

“Beer with breakfast?” Trisha shuddered at the thought. “You are kidding, I hope?”

“Nope, all the sausages and pancakes you could ever hope for are served up free all over the city throughout the ten days of Stampede.”

The thought of living on a combination of breakfast and beer for ten days made Trisha feel slightly nauseous. She breathed a sigh of relief when the car stopped. The engine purred like a happy cat while Dee pressed a remote control device clipped onto the visor. She hadn’t yet drawn breath as far as Trisha could tell, and the chattering continued as she unloaded the car and led the way to the elevator. Trisha followed, amazed that Samantha’s assistant was still talking.

“But you know Samantha. When I told her it wasn’t really her business, she fired me. Again. Here we are.”

Dee flung open an apartment door. Trisha followed her inside and stopped on the threshold, stunned by the stark white walls and a grey-tiled floor that shimmered like quicksilver. Sunlight poured relentlessly through the large, bare windows adding to the impression of light and space.

“Very Samantha.” Trisha trailed her hand over the back of a zebra-patterned designer sofa. She doubted it would be comfortable. A huge red velvet cushion propped at one end provided an eye-popping color contrast.

“I know.” Dee grinned at Trisha’s surprise. “Everyone has the same reaction to it. Samantha has this great interior designer. He so loved this remodel he’s featured it in loads of magazines. Your room’s down here. Has its own en-suite. Coffee machine’s in the kitchen. Or would you prefer tea? It can brew either. Oh, and wine in the fridge. Anything else you’d like?”

Trisha sat down on the end of a queen-sized bed covered in shadow-striped white linens and tried to catch up.

“Coffee, tea, wine. I think I’ve got it, thank you.” How hard could it be?

Dee wiggled her fingers as a goodbye, assured her Samantha should be with her right away and left.

Trisha didn’t even hear the door close. Peace and quiet at last, thank god, just her and her thoughts which, if she let them, pulled her down to a place she did not want to be. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. No point in dwelling on the past.

Right now, she had a contract to fulfill photographing rodeo stock and interviewing owners and riders. Where better place to do that, the editor at Equine World magazine suggested, than the Calgary Stampede? Oh, and by the way, you don’t happen to know anyone who lives there, do you?

Trisha sighed. Oh, for the days of all-expenses-paid trips. After some consideration, she’d contacted Samantha, knowing that any request she made, for accommodation or otherwise, would probably carry some caveat.

Of course, come and stay with me, Samantha had cooed. You can help me choose pictures of cowboys for the agency. There will be lots of hot cowboys.

Trisha almost smiled at the memory. Having been a photojournalist for almost a decade, she knew she had all the right credentials to help Samantha pick the most photogenic models. Yet a haze of doubt clouded her mind. She owed Samantha a favor, and a pretty big one at that. Her gut told her there would be more to it but heck, it should be a breeze. Shouldn’t it? Pick a couple of photos, for goodness’ sake, and it was done.

The image of the cowboy on the plane drifted into her mind.

“I so hope you’re not one of them,” she muttered as she lay back on the bed.

* * *

The sky could not have been bluer or the ...

Trisha’s eyes flew open. God, when would that dream stop haunting her? Her chest still felt tight with panic as she pushed herself up against the pillows and looked around. Where was she? Then she remembered. With a sigh of relief, she swung her legs off the bed, stood up and stretched the kinks out of her back as Samantha walked into the room.

“What a bitch of a day,” she complained in a voice made husky with whisky and too many late nights.

“Hello, Samantha. It’s good to see you, too.” Trisha couldn’t keep an edge of sarcasm out of her voice at the brusque greeting.

“Oh, hell.” Samantha pulled her into a rough hug. “Don’t mind me, I’m being crabby. How was your flight?”

“Took off from Heathrow, landed in Calgary. What more can I say?”

Trisha subjected herself to a thorough inspection as Samantha held her at arm’s length. “Your hair’s different since I last saw you, and when did you get so skinny?”

“It’s a girl’s prerogative to change her hairstyle and you’re a fine one to be calling me skinny,” Trisha countered. “What marvel diet are you on these days?”

“We’re not talking about me,” Samantha said. “You look like you should be in front of the camera, not behind one. Need an agent?”

Trisha’s insides flipped at the thought. “No, thank you.”

“Hmm. Pity.”

Trisha didn’t miss the speculative gleam in Samantha’s eyes and knew questions were being stored in her friend’s mental filing cabinet. At some point, she would start probing for answers that Trisha would rather not give. Just then, her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for several hours. Samantha didn’t miss it either.

“Do you want to eat out or in?” she asked.

“Whichever’s easiest, but first, I’m having a shower.”

“Go for it.” Samantha sat on the end of the bed. “Everywhere’s going to be crazy with the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth about to start, but it’s still early enough to go shopping and get you duded up.”

Trisha stuck her head around the bathroom door. “Duded up?”

“Yep, pardner.” Samantha tried to hide her amusement behind a serious expression but failed. “From shirts and jeans to boots and a hat, you need everything cowboy. I can’t possibly take you out on the town unless you are dressed western. Please don’t tell me you’re too stuffy for that.”

Trisha snorted with unladylike laughter and closed the door.

* * *

Samantha flicked through racks packed with shirts in a variety of styles and colors. She pulled out a black, then a purple, eyelet shirt for Trisha to try on.

“Here, this purple one will bring out the green in your eyes.” She thrust the shirt at Trisha. “It has darts front and back, so should really show off your waist too.”

Running a practised glance over Trisha’s slim hips and long legs, she then selected four pairs of jeans.

“Here you are, size ridiculous in a thirty-four inch leg.” She added the jeans to the pile of shirts and pushed Trisha into a changing room. “Start trying that lot on. Here’s a pair of boots for you, and I’ll get you a hat.”

“A hat? Are you sure I need one?”

Samantha nodded her head firmly, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll go and find you a belt with a snazzy buckle too. A girl’s got to have bling.”

“What’s so great about bling,” Trisha mumbled to herself as she pulled on a pair of jeans stiff with newness, tucked the shirttail into the waistband and zipped up. She pushed the swinging doors open. “Hey Samantha, what do you think ...”

The squeak from the door hinges covered Trisha’s whispered “hell” as her footsteps faltered. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the customer at the sales counter.

That cowboy again.

She’d judged him to be at least six foot four inches tall and would know that frame anywhere. Stepping back into the changing room, she hoped he hadn’t seen her. He’d irritated her this morning with his goofy grin and smart remarks. One half of her mind never wanted to see him again. The other half juggled with whether she should take another look at him or not.

Or not would be the sensible choice.

Or not lost.

Taking a tentative step forward, she peered around the changing room door.

A fresh, crisp white shirt did nothing to hide his wide shoulders and broad back. It showed off biceps a body-builder would be proud of. His clean but well-worn blue jeans fit snugly on his hips and thighs. He looked down at something the clerk placed on the counter, and she glimpsed the straight-cut line of dark brown hair across the back of his neck.

Something the clerk said made him laugh, and at the sound of it, unexpected and unwelcome warmth swirled in her belly. What was with that? It was bad enough that she hadn’t forgotten his smoky-grey eyes, screened with thick black lashes that shouldn’t be allowed on a man.

As she watched him, he straightened up and flexed his shoulders. Her gaze tracked the play of muscles beneath the cotton fabric covering them, setting every nerve in her body aquiver. He turned his head from side to side to stretch his neck, and she glimpsed the strong line of his jaw and his firm, square chin. Right then, the hope she harbored that he might be some kind of mirage vanished.

Nope, this man was a real-life heart attack on legs. Her mouth dried in an instant, puckering as if she’d sucked on a slice of lemon.

Furious with herself for her reaction at seeing him again, she let go of the breath she held. She stumbled back into the changing room and collapsed onto the narrow, slatted seat. Built more for holding clothes than a dead weight with rubber legs, she hoped it would hold her.

This morning she never wanted to see him again. This afternoon he sent her pulse into overdrive. Somewhere between then and now, the synapses in her brain must have misfired. That could be the only reason for her ridiculous about turn from a cool, collected professional to behaving like a teenager on her first crush.

She peered out of the changing room once more. The clerk busily wrapped something while the cowboy looked on. Samantha had promised her hot cowboys, but this one sizzled like water dropped on hot coals.

Body parts she’d forgotten existed made themselves known to her in an explosive surge. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she bit down hard, wincing at the pain. She would not let this happen; would not let herself be overwhelmed by a complete stranger.

“Hey, you okay in there?”

Samantha’s voice jolted her back into the here and now, bringing Trisha to her feet. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and shook the tension from her arms. Lifting her chin a notch, she shouldered her way through the swinging doors and twirled around for Samantha’s expert opinion.

“Much, much better,” Samantha announced as she held out a white hat.

After a moment’s hesitation, Trisha settled it on her head and tucked strands of her dark brown hair behind her ears. Samantha adjusted the hat slightly before nodding with satisfaction.

“Now, step into those boots.”

Trisha stared down at the silver-trimmed, tooled black leather boots Samantha had found for her. They were gorgeous. She pulled on the right boot, the supple leather wrapping around her foot like her mother’s warm hug.

“Samantha, you’re amazing,” she exclaimed as she put her left foot into the other boot. “These fit perfectly. How do I look?”

“From where I’m standing, you look pretty damn fine.”

Both women looked up at the sound of a deep baritone voice. That such a big man could move so quietly amazed Trisha.

Samantha read her witless expression in one swift glance and agreed with him, giving Trisha a chance to regain her composure.

Mr. Heart-Attack-on-Legs gave her a smoldering grey-eyed once over, and she straightened her spine. How dare he sneak up on her?

“May I?” He reached out and adjusted the collar on her shirt, then wound a wayward strand of hair around his finger before brushing it back off her shoulder.

He scarcely touched her, yet the heat and strength of his fingers seared her skin through the thin fabric. In a whirl of confusion, she sensed tenderness in that touch, nothing like the brash casualness she’d experienced from him that morning.

Against her better judgment, she tipped her head back so she could see him more clearly from beneath the brim of her hat and then wished she hadn’t. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, and the smart reply her mind produced got lost in transit to her lips.

He aimed a slow, mind-blowing sexy smile directly at her. Her heart swelled and bumped painfully against her ribs. He tipped his hat and winked at her as he left the store.

Trisha watched him go, every breath in her body trailing after him and leaving her breathless.

Samantha, a tiny smirk of amusement twisting her lips, eyed Trisha with sly humor.

“I think that you,” she announced, “are definitely in trouble.”


Victoria Chatham

  AT BOOKS WE LOVE

 

 


Thursday, October 10, 2019

When the Writing Gets Tough, Go Shopping.

Find all my books at Books We Love

When the writing gets tough, go shopping!
           
What better place to search for characters than a mall, where people of all shapes, sizes, colors and styles happily gather. Without interfering in their enjoyment, I can study and choose from thousands of character traits, personality flaws and secrets – free to the discriminating shopper.
            I’ve tried shopping at home with catalogs. It sometimes works for a minor character, but it’s hard to tell if I have a good fit without seeing the actual character in motion. All those idiosyncrasies that make my characters special come out in public – their walk, laugh, voice. Perhaps what I’m looking for is the way they hold their head, cling to a boy friend, or talk with their hands. Too much personality remains unnoticed on a still life, one-dimensional photograph in a catalog.
            So I settle down to window shop.
My first “purchase” is not your stereotypical hero. His belly’s a bit too large; his face beginning to show the first stages of age. Gray threads his hair and his laugh is a bit too loud. But he also has the nicest smile I can ever recall and the kindest blue eyes. His gentle gaze speaks of trust and honesty and I immediately realize I want him in my book. He will make the best “best friend” anyone can have.
I turn my head at the sound of male laughter. Cowboys. Are they real or wannabes? They lean against the railing and I study them as they study girls. I have my pick of sizes, the tallest being well over six foot. If I take a composite of the group, I just might have my hero. Let’s see – a mustache from the third guy; the blonde’s hair; and the tall one’s smile, his lips lifting a little higher on the right than the left.
I like the tall one’s attitude. As I watch, his face never changes expressions. He’s aloof, trying to look disinterested. His thumbs are hooked in the belt loops of his jeans; one boot crossed in front of the other. While his body language might indicate he’s bored with this activity and wants something more exciting, his eyes tell another story. Twinkling green, slight crinkles at the corners, they laugh and mock and never miss a thing.
As though one entity, they turn to follow a group of girls when they pass. Red-blooded, American boys to the core, but I’m still not sure I can use them, so I study their walks. Only one has the rolling gait of a cowboy—someone who actually spends time on a horse. It’s the tall one; the guy with laughter in his eyes and the crooked smile.
I watch them walk away, and he turns and touches his forehead as though tipping his hat. And then he winks at me.
Oh, yes, I definitely need a cowboy in this book.

Developing characters is such a fun part of writing a story. They soon take on a life of their own and often go in a direction I couldn’t have imagined. I found my cowboy in Tenderhearted Cowboy. Joe is on a quest that I never thought he could complete, but with Sky’s help and love, anything is possible. You can read more about them on my website and I hope you grab a copy of this historical romance and get lost in Joe and Sky’s story.

Barbara Baldwin

           

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Pets and Assorted Animals in Stories. Love ‘um or Not? By Connie Vines

When I am a guest speaker at an elementary or middle school, public library, or even during a workshop.  Someone always asks about the pets or other animals in my stories. What function do they perform in the story? Do they need to have a function? Can they be a character?  

Since I am an animal lover and owner of a multitude of pets (exotic, barnyard, and typical suburban) at various times during my life, it only goes to reason that I will have them peppering my short stories, novellas, and novels.  My Rodeo Romance Series (understandably) incorporates a cast of horses, sheep, cattle, dogs, cats, etc.  Some of these animals only have Cameo roles, while others are characters in their own right.  My Fun & Sassy Fantasy Series also features a pet as a main character in each story line.  Gertie, a pet Teddy-Bear Hamster, is Zombie Meredith’s BF in Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow”.  “Brede” Rodeo Romance, Book 2 features a horse and cattle dog.  “Lynx” Rodeo Romance, Book 1, features the hero’s horse named Texas. The next book in my series, “Rand” Rodeo Romance, Book 3 features a poodle who belongs to the heroine.  Rand’s interaction with this very unrodeo-like dog is priceless!

For realistic purposes I select animals/breeds that I either have owned, or have working personal knowledge (chickens, turkeys, quail, pheasant, pigs, sheep— bred for. . .well, dinner during my rural days).  My dogs: Greyhound (my favorite & a rescue) Poodle (AKC champion pedigree), and– my husband’s dog, a Chi-wienie (Chihuahua Dachshund mix). I also like to add my horses (Quarter horse, Arabian, and a Paint –a retired rodeo barrel racer) into the mix.  Due to my allergies to cats, my info in developing feline character comes mostly via friends and the Animal Channel.  Now the unconventional pet experiences, were discovered firsthand (I did raise two sons and I have three younger brothers).  Pet mice, geckos, iguanas, horned toads & lizards, hamsters, parakeets, an Amazon parrot, a runaway (flyaway?) cockatiel, and canary have a way of finding a place in my life and my stories. 

Future adventure with pets?  Probably. 

I simply adore baby pygmy goats.  Mind you, I reside in the suburbs of Southern California.  Frequently, my husband reminds me, “You cannot raise a goat in our backyard, there are zoning laws.” 

Of course, I know there are zoning laws.  I also know goats are herd animals.  “We will need to have two goats.” 

“We?” He grunts and goes back to his ‘man-cave’.

If you look at a YouTube video and read the mentioned online article titled: Pigmy Goats. The opening hook states: You should reconsider your choice in pets if you want an animal to stay indoors with you.

 I did find one particular fact of interest—and an unexpected sidebar of living in an all-male household: ‘Goats are messy eaters too, pulling feed out of buckets and leaving it on the floor.  Once it’s trampled, they really don’t want to touch it.’  Reminded me of the bygone days with teenage sons and friends.

While my characters do not always have pet, my characters have often had a pet during childhood, interact with an animal, or (YA stories) would like a pet. 

Why, do I believe animals are important to a story line?

It is a way to show character, good and bad.

How people treat animals will give a reader insight into my main character, or my villain.  I believe treatment of an animal hints at how he/she will treat a vulnerable person (child/spouse).  If the hero seems uncaring and selfish to outsiders, give the heroine a view into an unguarded moment he shares with an injured puppy, or his care of his horse.  His truck may be battered and dirty, but his horse is well groomed, fed, and sheltered each night.

However, my animals need to have a purpose.  Sometimes it may only be comic relief, or a confidant in a YA novel, but unless it is a Cameo role (or red herring), my animals have a personality and a place in the storyline.

Who doesn’t remember, “Call of the Wild”, “Old Yeller”, “Misty of Chincoteague”?

I believe pets, can enrich a story—my novels, as are (in my opinion) most genre novels, a story about life and the human need for love and companionship.

Not every novel calls for an animal to part of the story. 
Not every person wishes to be responsible for a pet.

I did a bit of research and discovered these stats (the info about fish surprised me).

*Stats: 2014, 83.2 million dogs live in U.S. households, 95.5 million freshwater fish live in U.S. household, and 85.8 million cats live in U.S. households.
* Statista.com

So, what do you think?  How do you feel?

Do you have fond memories of a pet? Unfortunate events? (I have a scar on my knee from a rabbit bite.)

Happy Reading,

Connie 




BWL Link

LYNX

BREDE

Tayayia--Whisper upon the Water

Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Perfect Time, Perfect Place, Perfect Setting by Connie Vines


Grauman's Chinese Theater, Hollywood,CA
Corner of Hollywood Blvd & Orange Dr.
When I am writing a novel, character and plot for the “who” and “what” of a story are, in my opinion, are two of the most important factors.  However, setting, the “where” and “when”, comes a very close third.

A powerful setting is almost like a character in its own right. 

The setting is a ‘presence’ in the story.  The setting can become an ‘influence’ on events. 

Without an intimate knowledge and feeling for place, I do not believe a writer can bring the story alive in the reader’s imagination.

Setting is more than just streets, buildings and landscape.  Setting is local history, customs, nature, weather, and legends.  Setting is food, accents, music, fashion, and people going about daily business.
Everyone has a place that inspires him or her. Or, creates a sense of belonging, excitement, or a desire to escape.

My settings are as diverse as my interests are.  In my Rodeo Romance Series, my settings are the western United States.  My heroes hail from a rugged untamed area: Texas, New Mexico, and Wyoming.   Since I have traveled through and vacationed at my chosen settings, I use my firsthand experience and reactions to enrich my stories for my readers.

Montana is cold, very cold (I do not like being even a little bit cold).  One minute it’s storming, the next it’s sunny, and then the sun goes down and it’s freezing.  Since my heroine (Rachel) has lived most of her life in Montana, the cold is not a big deal for her.  When I begin my story, I scrawled a note to self: do not harp on the temperature, or have said heroine run around in circles shouting, “It’s a snow storm—the T-rex of all snow storms!  We are all going to die!”  (However, this may appear in one of my YA novels—be forewarned.)

Montana is Big Sky Country—a nickname Montana has totally earned.  In Montana, the elk, deer and antelope populations outnumber the humans. Cowboy boots and hats re formal wear.  Montana Pro Rodeo Circuits are some of the best in the country. Most importantly, the whole state is just one big small town.

An excerpt from “Lynx”, Rodeo Romance, Book 1.

Rachel melted against the back or her chair, as Lynx’s fingertip brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her body shivered all the way to her toes. Fidgeting with a silver bracelet on her wrist, Rachel didn’t know how to deal with this type of covert seduction. “You’ll have a good time during Cheyenne Frontier Days,” she said addressing her comment to both men.

“Everyone has a good time,” Lynx clarified.

Dan chuckled. “Everyone who’s able, anyway.”

Rachel reached for her glass, glancing at Dan. “I don’t understand.”

Dan pushed his Stetson further back on his head, revealing a bright crop of red hair.  “I landed in front of the angry end of a bull last year and broke my arm. Lynx had a hell of a good time, though.”

Excerpts from “Brede”, Rodeo Romance, Book 2.

Brede waited for her to seat herself before sitting down.

For some reason he’d thought she was kidding when she said she didn’t know how to cook.  It appeared she was telling the truth after all.  The green beans had an almost-scorched smell that even he’d never mastered. . .

The saucepan slipped from her fingertips and clattered to the floor.
She’d tried to tell herself that it was only the storm and the lights would come back on in a matter of minutes. Still, terror that was icy cold and merciless grabbed her by the throat and crushed what little courage she possessed when the cloudy, moonless night turned the room to inky black.
It was happening all over again!

She was alone.

Alone in the darkness. .

Not all of my stories aren’t set in the great-outdoors, or set thousands of miles away from my backyard.  I also use ‘local’ settings for inspiration.  My Sassy and Fun Fantasy Series is set here in SoCal (southern California and up the coastline).  Meredith is patron of the arts and a local celeb.  She lives in LA and vacations in a cabin in Forest Falls. 

 “Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow”.

El Mexicano was the best (and only) restaurant in town. . . Climbing the steps to the porch entrance, Meredith was glad to see little had changed from their last visit. Cozy and rustic, the outside was on the tacky side of eclectic, but the inside was familiar and welcoming.  The host seated them near the wood burning stove. . .Careful to keep her gaze locked on the contents of her mug, Meredith felt cluttered with a million bittersweet memories of happier times.

Look around in your own back yard (or within driving distance) for inspiration.  You may discover the model for your fictional town, a make-believe stellar world, or an unexpected setting for your historical romance.
Medieval Times, Buena Park, CA

Post pictures on your office wall.  Listen to music.  Explore with you senses.


Remember, only you—the writer, can bring the setting alive for your reader.

Universal Studio, Hollywood, Red Carpet,
"Fast & Furious, 5" Movie Premier

Laguna Beach, California
Where "Beaches" was filmed.




Me in 100 + degrees heat, Hard Rock Cafe,
Hollywood, CA







http://www.amazon.com/Connie-Vines/e/B004C7W6PE


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Sunday, June 28, 2015

The Horse in Your Western Novel – Horses are not Zebras or Misguided Unicorns By Connie Vines

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Ten Pet Peeves, or Horse-Related Mistakes to Avoid in your Novel

1)   Misusing the specialized and precise vocabulary of horsemanship, especially the size, color, age and sex of the horse.

2)    Defying the laws of nature. AKA: Creating the ‘superhorse’.

3)   Horses trained or controlled by either ‘mastery’ or ‘magic,’ ignoring the real behavior of horses.

4)   Mixing up Western and English terms and styles.

5)   The stallion!  (Not the mount of choice).

6)   The self-conscious or uncomfortable expert rider.  An expert is an expert—no need to hang on for ‘dear life’.

7)   Good riders are relaxed in the saddle.  No kicking, kneeing, or flapping of elbows are needed.

8)   Forgetting that horses are animals and need to be fed and watered.  Even in modern times, your transportation requires gas, oil, and water.

9)   Talking horses—horses who neigh and, heaven forbid, scream on a regular basis.  Horses are generally rather silent beasts, though they will whinny if parted from their stable mates, or nicker softly in greeting at feeding times.

10) Tada! My personal favorite, and, unfortunately, too often seen in print and on television—the mare who takes all night to foal while the hero and heroine sort out conflict.  (Nature ensures that healthy mares foal fast.  A long labor requires someone calling for the vet—not working out ‘conflicts’.)

The Facts, please:
Since horses are flesh and blood creatures, the faster the horse goes the shorter the distance he can maintain that speed without harm. If the ride involves difficult terrain, jumping, or carrying extra weight, both speed and endurance will suffer.

Modern Endurance Rides: take 11-15 hours to cover 100 miles (part of this time the rider spends running beside his mount).

1860s: The Pony Express averaged nine mph over 25 mile stages.

For additional information, check the records from modern Thoroughbred Racing.

The Terms:

Mare: a female horse.

Stallion: a male horse that is not castrated.  Also called ‘entire’ in England and in the West, a ‘stud’ horse.

Gelding: a castrated male horse.

Foal: a young horse from birth to January 1 the next year. The female is a ‘filly foal,’ the male is a ‘colt’ foal  this may change per region).

Filly: a young female horse, up to 3 years old.

Colt: a young male horse, up to 3 years old.

Yearling: in the year after the birth year.  A yearling is too young to ride!  Most saddle horses aren’t worked hard until they are at least 4 years old.

Height: horses are measured from the ground to the top of the withers in ‘hands’. One hand is four inches. The average horse is 15 to 16 hands.  17 hands is very tall and only unusual specimens reach 18 hands.  Ponies are usually less than 14 hands.

Gaites (‘Paces’ in England): walk, trot, canter, gallop—also ‘pacing,’ ‘ambling,’ ‘running walk’ –describe precise and different ways in which a horse moves its legs. 

Rainbow Colors?  Certainly Not:

The English horsemen use fewer and simpler terms than Western horsemen, partly because English breeding has selected for fewer colors. Essentially two colors are taken into considering when describing horses. The main body color and the ‘points.’ The ‘points’ in this context are the ear tips, the mane and tail, and the lower part of the legs.

Black body, black points: A Black horse—may be smoky black, jet black, coal black, raven black.

Brown body, brown points: A Brown horse—may be seal brown, or standard brown.
Red-brown body, black points: A Bay horse—may be dark bay, mahogany bay, sandy bay.  Every Bay horse always has black points.

Reddish body, self-colored (non-black) points: A Chestnut/Sorrell horse—in the West, reds of All colors. Western horsemen use ‘sorrell’ to describe all red horses.  Light sorrel draft horses are known as ‘blonde.’

Yelllowish body, (generally) black points: Buckskin is the term used in the West.
Other colors and terms (you may wish to conduct additional research) include: A Grey, a Roan, a Palomino, a Isabella, a Paint or a Pinto, White horses and Albino, Piebald, and Skewbald.  There is also, the closest thing to a ‘horse of a different color’, the Appalossa.

Information online:


For fantasy (naming your unicorn):

Caring for your horse:

The dollars and cents factor of horse ownership:

A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence. ~ Pam Brown
Happy Riding,

Connie

Two of my loves: Tulsa and Midnight
(during my rural life in Ramona, CA)


Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Just Me and My Besties--Slugging a Path Through Those 'Sagging Middles' By Connie Vines


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Yes, I have friends, associates, family, and other writers to converse with though out my day.

Yes, I network, attend workshops, and belong to online writing chapters.  I even have other writer friend only a text message away.

But at 3 AM, when I'm slugging my way through a 'not-quite-working' middle of a novel, and I've started talking to myself.  It's nice to have a BFs at your disposal.

While the focus of the movies and television seems to be on helpfulness of minions and the like--I prefer the company of a good listener--or cheering section.

Well, it's not conventional--but then I'm a bit quirky, most writer's are.  After all we do spend quite a bit of time in our own company.

For a person who did not indulge in, or particularly like, dolls as a child  (I held my baby doll by a foot allowing her head bounced around in the dirt).  I did like monster movies (The old Universal Monster Movies).  I collected the model kits and read all the magazines about horror make-up and read bios about the great actors.  So I guess this type of cheering section makes perfect sense.
(See qualifying statement in earlier paragraph).

So did I come up with any sure fire way to get through those 'sagging story middles', with or without the help of Besties?

I've changed to Pandora Radio for evening listen, and Slacker Radio during the day. When I'm working though a snag, B.J. Thomas is usually singing in the background.

Let's face it. the middle of a story can be depressing.  Our hero becomes overwhelmed.  Things look savage and harsh.  Paths disappear (for both the hero and, unfortunately, the writer).

To quote, Nancy Kress, The function of the middle is to develop the implicit promise made by a story's beginning.

After all, a promise is a promise.

This is when we must ask ourselves, whose story is this?
Who are the point of view characters?
What is the main plot line (throughline is the film term)?

Not certain?  Boy, do you have a problem!

Getting a clear focus on your plot line can make the middle of your book easier to write.  Where should the emphasize be--which scenes, which characters.  I used to rely on 3 x 5 index cards, now I use several writing programs and apps.

Since I write in series of threes: chapter 1-3, 4-7, etc. my middle seems longer because it over laps sections.  I also like to have 3 scenes in each chapter, with a scene often breaking at a chapter's end and ending in the following chapter opening.

Still experiencing a bit of trouble?  Choose three novels you know well.  For each summarize the plot line in a sentence or two.

Jane Eyre: Penniless in a region of England she does not know, Jan experiences three bitter days of begging, sleeping outside, and nearly starving.

 Dracula: One of Dr. Seward's mental patients, Renfield, lets Dracula into the asylum where the others are staying, allowing the count to prey on Mina.

It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!:  When Linus sees a shadowy figure rising from the moonlit patch, he assumes the Great Pumpkin has arrived, and faints.

Now, pull out your WIP or a few of your unfinished stores.  Summarize its plot line.  List the scenes.  How does each scene advance the plot, develop character, contribute to the middle plot line?

Do you need to add an additional scene?  Should a scene have more emotional intensity?  I find this to be true in my stories.  My stories are character driven and  the emotional reactions are a force which drives my plot lines.

Keep your characters from having a mid-life crisis by shoring up those 'sagging middles', and relying on your "Besties".

Happy Reading,

Connie

novelsbyconnievines
Word Slinger
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