Learning to Live Without You by Nancy M Bell

 

To find more of Nancy's books click on the cover

Emily, Shady, Max

Emily

Guapo

Spook, Colleen, Phil, Sunny, Emily in the east pasture

As we age there are transitions in our lives.  The biggest, and latest one, in  mine is that I no longer own a horse. That's not entirely a true statement, I never 'owned' a horse, they more aptly owned me. My earliest memory is of riding a pony and being led around under a shady tree at the Bowmanville Zoo in Ontario. My childhood is filled with wishing for horses, it was a part of me was missing until I started working  at Rouge Hill Stables (Highway 2 and Shepherd Ave). While I didn't own those school horses, I loved them and took care of them I spent every moment I could at the barn. Most weekends I led trail rides from 8 in the morning until 8 or 9 at night. I went to school for a break LOL. 

I got my first horse when I was 17. I loved that horse, still do. He was the horse of my youth, probably the only reason I made it through my teens. Tags was the horse of my middle age and Emily was the horse of my old age. There are countless other horses who have touched my life, and I adore all of them. I remember all of them.  If I work at it I can recall the order of the stalls in the school barn at the Rouge, even though the horses sometimes changed. 

I spent my highschool years on  horseback in the magical Rouge Valley which is now a park. The first gallop on the sandy trail beside the river, crossing at the Durnford Crossing, then down the tree shadowed Mosquito Alley past the Fairy Pool at the end. Then the rest area, then either over the river again and through the apple orchard and up the steep Spy Glass Hill where you could look out over the valley and see the Glen Eagles Hotel perched on the edge of cliff to the west. The hotel is long gone now, but it lingers in my memory. If you went the other way you went up and then along the top of ridge where trilliums and lady's slippers bloomed. 

And through everything there were horses. Always Horses. 

Now, I'm learning to live without them. A part of my heart is missing. I suppose as we grow older we lose things. People, animals, beloved locations become paved over or plowed under. And yet, as long as we remember them, they are never really lost. But the place they occupy in my heart is bit less shiny and new.

I suppose everyone of us has things from our youth and lives that we leave behind as we move forward. For me, it is the privilege of caring for horses. But life moves on and we must therefore move with it. The alternative is to stop living and be engulfed by the past. Tempting as that is at times, I'm not ready to do that yet. There are still windmills I need to go tilting after. And books yet to write. 

Until next month, be well , be happy. 

   

My first horse show. Chum (Cherokee's Luck) I was 16

Guapo

Max

Miley

Gibbie

Emily, Phil, Big Bird

     

Cover Reveal for Laurel's Choice by Nancy M Bell

 

To see where Laurel's story begins please click on the cover.

Laurel's Choice ties up some loose ends that have threaded through the Laurel stories that have come before. Starting with The Cornwall Adventures: Laurel's Quest, A Step Sideways and Go Gently which took place mostly in Cornwall, UK. Then her story continued in The Alberta Adventures: Wild Horse Rescue, Dead Dogs Talk and Chance's Way. Laurel's Choice can stand alone on its own merits, but throughout the first 6 books Laurel has grown from a young teen into a young woman and there are two prominent men in her life, Coll Hazel one of the friends she meets in Laurel's Quest and who she has had a long distance relationship with ever since and Chance Cullen, rodeo cowboy and bull rider. 

Laurel returns to Cornwall to pursue a career in the horse industry, she's been accepted as a working student by Suzy Wish an Olympic Three Day Event competitor and coach. 

The Cornwall Adventures series delved into the magic and wonder that abounds in Cornwall while The Alberta Adventures became more of a rescue series, first the wild horses, then dogs from the dog fighting rings and finally, Chance working on saving himself.

In Laurel's Choice, which combines elements from both series, Laurel is back in Cornwall and so of course there will be magic and mythical creatures. Gramma Bella and Vear Du will be sure to show up at some point, not to mention Gwin Scawen and perhaps a friendly sea monster or two.

Horses and eventing will take a prominent place in the story, helping to keep things moving along. So if you love horses and magic with a bit of young love thrown in, watch for Laurel's Choice coming in September of 2023.

Thanks to everyone who has followed Laurel's journey so far. She and I are most grateful for your support. 

Until next month, stay well, stay happy. Enjoy the spring and the newly minted leaves and blooming flowers.    

Mother's Day was Yesterday but I'm Still Gonna Talk About It! by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

  So Mother's Day was yesterday and I'm a mom. Since I usually write my blog posts the day before, I bet you can already tell that this will be the equivalent of the present day filler episodes you always groaned about when you would tune into your favorite TV show for the evening way back when tv guides were a thing they printed in newspapers. Back then--God, I'm getting old--we had to endure all sorts of stuff, cliffhangers, commercials! and the occasional patchwork of show summaries told through flashbacks mid seasons. 

But some of you may want to know what I did this weekend. And if that's the case then you're in for a treat because I can honestly say that my Mother Day's escapades were so darn exciting that they left me with a very sore bum.  

Okay... don't look up sore bum memes on google...
*goes to tear out my eyes*

We went horseback riding! Actually we went glamping at a little ranch and they offered horse rides. It was fun! I had a little black horse named Ray and my husband got a much bigger horse named Blake. Now, I HAVE went horseback riding before, I'm not completely green, however, it was a long, LONG time ago... like longer than the lines at Disney World, or longer than grandpa's toenails or... *wait for it* longer than we've been waiting for George R. R. Martin to pen and publish Winds of Winter...

Ba Dum Tss! That's a wrap. We did the George joke. Roll credits!

So my bum got sore from all the trotting we did. In case you never noticed or knew, I have a small bum, with not much padding, and so I'm pretty sure I wore down my arse to my bum bones. Baby got back, I do not. Fat bottom girls... well, I defintiely don't make the world go round. 

We also got to stay in a lighthouse, which is where the glamping aspect comes in. I don't really enjoy camping as a rule. I hate sleeping in a tent and waking up soggy from all the humidity, but this was a nice little cabin-esk feel with a bed and running toilet and a view to die for all packaged in a thing that quite closely resembled a lighthouse. We ate lots of hotdogs, went hiking, and had a relaxing weekend. Which, if you're a mother you REALLY begin to appreciate after having a little one. Pre-kid me might have been bored out of their mind, but mom me was like... 

More wine please...

I also have great news! Which you will probably hear about more next month but if you managed to read down this far then WHOOT! You get to know first! 

One of the stories I have been working on won second place in the David Addam's Richard Prize for fiction! It's hosted annually by the Writer's Federation of New Brunswick, but as part of my cash reward I am also invited to a gala to do a reading! Yay!

Yay.

 It's pretty bewildering to me actually, because if you've read my earlier blogs you'd know that I was skeptical about winning in the first place. Why? Because the piece I submitted is pretty adult. And in general, adult themed books are not always taken seriously. 

I know, I know, you wanna know what it's about, but I can only give you a clue because, well... stuff! 

Well... it's KINDA a fanfic...

The Past is a Different Place...by Sheila Claydon

 Find my books here

Readers are taken back to the 1800s in Remembering Rose, the first book in my Mapleby Memories trilogy. In the third book, due out in May and still untitled, readers are taken to the 13th century. Until today I didn't expect to travel further back but now I have learned a whole lot about life 50,000 years ago.

Why? Well because my 20 year old granddaughter, who is studying Biology at university, asked me to check a paper, shortly due to be submitted, for flow, and also to advise on losing approximately 400 words without significantly altering the research. 

As it is a scientific paper I had to read it through several times to fully understand it, especially the scientific terms, but once I done that I became really interested. I learned, for example, that animals and humans have domesticated each other. Initially wolves and humans lived in the same area but without interacting, but by the time humans began to develop into agricultural societies, about 10,000 years ago, they were working together. It is thought that a human preference for smaller, more docile and therefore easier to manage dogs, are what led to the breeds we see today.

One of the interesting changes is that wolves could solve tasks by observing the behaviour of others and they could also follow the human gaze to 'see' a problem, whereas domesticated (wolves) dogs cannot differentiate between the intentional and accidental actions of their handlers. Domestication has taught them to ignore cues not specifically addressed to them. Instead, living in close contact with humans has taught them to rely on help rather than trying to solve problems independently.

Cats, of course, are very different and it is thought that initially they probably took advantage of the the mice and food scraps they found around the first settlements. Later they learned to live with humans, becoming more docile and developing behaviour and reward conditioning, but even today, thousands of years later, they are still largely independent, and able to find their own food and breeding partners.

Domestication of horses occurred much later, around 6,000 years ago and, surprisingly, given how important horses have been for transport, farming etc. over many centuries, their behaviour has changed far less than that of dogs and cats. While they benefit from the food, shelter, physical care and protection humans provide, left to their own devices they would still very quickly reassume a feral lifestyle.

There was much, much more. All of it interesting. However I found the animal/human relationship the most intriguing. Probably because I have been around dogs, cats and horses all my life but never, until now, considered how they have evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. And how we have helped them do just that. And how they, in turn, have helped us domesticate ourselves. 

Time- where does it go? by Nancy M Bell

 

To find more of Nancy's work please click on the cover.

Time, where does it go? It feels like only yesterday I was sixteen and galloping through the Rouge Valley near Scarborough, Ontario. My world was filled with horses and the people associated with them. That time in my life is kind of like a golden halo, you know the old saying- the Good Old Days. Of course, life being what it is, there was good and bad in those days. But the constant thread running through it all was the horses and my passion for them. 

It wasn't until I was seventeen that I got my own horse, but I still remember those wonderful patient horses who made up the dude string at Rouge Hill Stables. Considered by some as old, or used up, or just a grade (the equine equivalent of mutt), but they patiently put up with packing non-riders up and down the big hill to gain access to the valley. They did their job without complaining day in and day out. I learned so much from those horses, in my mind's eye I can see them still.

And now, in December I will turn sixty-five. Officially a Senior. How the hell did that happen? My youngest will turn forty in February of 2022. I mean...are you kidding me? Where did all that time go- how did all those years slip by without me really noticing? I have been many things in my life, but through it all the constant has been my horses. Although many horses have made an impact on my life, there are a few that were truly horses of my heart. Brandy was the first horse that was mine, one that no one else could make a decision about. That's the problem with loving horses that don't belong to you, other people can make decisions that take that horse away from you. The second horse of my heart was Tags, a big chestnut quarter horse that looked more like a stocky thoroughbred (and acted like one as well) the third horse, the horse of my old age is Emily. She's twenty-one and still looks much younger. She's been mine since before she was born as I owned her momma. 

I know some men can keep track of events that happened in the past by what car they drove at that time, for me it's what horses were around me that brings back the memories clear and strong. In my heart I am still that sixteen year old kid riding horses in the moonlight through the blooming apple trees beneath Spy Glass Hill, wearing my heart on my sleeve and believing anything is possible if you just want it bad enough.

That idealistic outlook is a bit tattered by the passing years, but I guess I do still believe anything is possible if you just work at it and don't lose focus. The old lady I see in the mirror now can still startle me sometimes, who is she? And behind her eyes I can still find the golden halo of youthful optimism, and always the horses, teaching me courage and fortitude and reminding me patience is a virtue.

 Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

Seasons and Senses

 

            Basically there are four seasons in the year, yet it dawned on me that those four sections of a year are very subjective and are not at all the same for everyone. Not only are they in opposite months in some countries, but some countries and even some states within a country don’t have the unique changes in season that others do.

            This makes it somewhat difficult to write about the seasons. To express the joy of newly flowering trees in, say October, may confuse the reader unless they are fully aware of where the story is taking place. Getting roller skates and bicycles for Christmas is only exciting if you live in Florida at the time, as I did as a child.

            Yet there is so much to be said about each season even without knowing the “where” of it. Spring is often considered the time of rebirth and new beginnings. Opposite on the spectrum is winter, when we tend to hunker down and hibernate, staying close to home and hearth.

            Which is your favorite season? What is it about that time of year you enjoy? I moved to Tennessee in the summer of one year and so looked forward to exploring the Smoky Mountains. But I contracted cancer and spent September through early May in and out of the hospital. I was unable to enjoy the changing leaves or the beautiful sunsets. That year, 2010, was the worse year for snow that the Nashville area had seen in quite some time, and I missed that too. My view out of my hospital window was a parking garage.

            You can’t discuss the seasons without combining it with your senses. After all, there’s something unique about the smell of burning leaves in the fall; how the cold wind of winter makes your eyes water and your cheeks burn. What is the single most memorable sound of summer? For me, it’s the musical jingles of the ice cream truck. Every season has its particular tastes, smells, sounds and sights.

            Have you recently read a book (or in your writing) that pulls you irrevocably into the pages because of the use of senses? You could actually hear the squeak of carriage wheels or the pesky buzz of a bug. Take a book and open it to any page. Read and note any use of the senses. In your own writing, do the same. If you don’t hear, see, taste, feel or smell something, perhaps some edits are in order. And stop to consider – you don’t want to “taste the lemon slice in the ice tea”, but rather know “the zesty slice of lemon made my cheeks pucker.”

            To help and enhance writing, make a list using the seasons and the senses. For each season, list something unique for each of your senses. Do you find it harder to list things for one sense over the others? Are you seeing things aplenty but not feeling them? Have you become immune to certain smells? Keep your list handy because you will find more to add as you approach and inhabit each season or if you travel to an area where the seasons aren’t quite the same as you are used to.

            Another exercise using your senses and or the seasons is to jot down phrases that explain something or someone without exactly explaining them.

            It smelled like home.

            She was a sight for sore eyes.

            It feels like football season.

            Her hair was as bright as the autumn day.

            His demeanor was as bitter as the winter countryside.

            One thing I found when I began writing time travel is that I had to be aware of the difference in sensual things in today’s world and that of the 1800s, where my stories were set. In “Spinning Through Time”, one of the first things Jack notices when she’s thrown back in time is the silence. Where was the traffic noise; the constant calliope of voices? Look for more differences when you read this 5 star novel that one reviewer said is:

“A Gorgeous story, it was lovely from beginning to end. A keeper. One of the best time travel romances I've read!”

Barbara Baldwin

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

http://www.bookswelove.com/baldwin-barbara/

 

When it's Time by Nancy M Bell

To learn more about Nancy's work click on the cover above.

One of the hardest things of having animals in your life is when it's time to say goodbye. In a perfect world our friends would lay down one day and move over the Rainbow Bridge of their own accord. In reality, this seldom happens. Old age, sickness, accidents often force us to make decisions we'd really rather not. November 8th was just such a day. Max, the horse pictured above, has been with me for the last 8 years. He came to me lame with navicular, which we have managed with shoeing and anti inflammatories. We kept him blanketed far more often than the rest of the horses as the cold and wet tightened his muscles up. The horses were in the barn overnight often solely because it was better for Max, who would lie down in the deep bedding when he wouldn't if left outside.
It became painfully obvious last July that our maintenance measures just weren't enough anymore. I called Moore and Company Veterinary and had x rays done of his left forefoot. They showed what I feared, his navicular bone, which is small crescent moon shaped bone located beneath the bulbs of the heel and just a bit above coffin where the deep flexor tendon runs over it, was mostly disintegrated and tendon was frayed. In some less severe cases a vet can perform a nervectomy which basically removes all feeling in the foot. However, Max was a poor candidate for this due to his advanced age of 25 years and the degree of damage in his foot.
After much discussion with two Board Licensed Equine Veterinary surgeons the decision was made to give Max the summer and manage his pain with medicine. It is only a short term solution at this point as the amount of medicine needed to mitigate the condition is also detrimental to his system.

For those of you not horsey, see the image below to give you an idea of the structure of a horse's lower leg and hoof. Photo credit Mid-South Horse Review

As fall rolled around I was faced with the fact I needed to make a decision that was in Max's best interest. Even though my head knew the facts and that this was the best possible outcome, my heart didn't want to listen.
I planned the day to be as stressfree as possible. The vet came to the farm, I called Just Passing which is a company that deals entirely with the respectful removal of dead horses. The only other option to me was to call Alberta Processors which is a company the will come and pick up dead livestock where the body is scooped up and dumped into the back of a high sided truck bed along with dead cows, pigs and heaven only knows what else. Just Passing moves the body as carefully as possible and it goes into a clean stock trailer bedded with clean shavings. I held Max while they sedated him slightly, and then the vet infused the Euthanol. I stroked Max's face and he gave two deep breaths and gracefully and slowly laid down. He was gone before his head lay on the grass. The vet confirmed he was on his way to the Rainbow Bridge and we waited a full fifteen minutes. Emily, his pasture mate of 8 years stood at the fence the whole time whinnying to him, she watched while he went down and then was put in the trailer. Once the trailer left she whinnied twice more and then wandered off. She was depressed for a few days and wanted more attention than usual. Horses grieve in their own way, this has been documented in wild horse herds. When a herd member dies the herd will form a circle around the fallen member and stand that way for long time. Then at some hidden signal they will move off together after touching the dead horse with their noses, each in turn.

I hate having to make the decision to steal the light from any animals eyes, but often it is the kindest thing we can do for them. I would never let any of my animals transition without me being there unless it was physically impossible. It is never a nice thing, but it is the final gift we can give them, to be there for them because they trust us and aren't afraid of strange surroundings or humans. I fight with the feeling that I'm betraying that trust each time. My head over rules my heart with the knowledge that Max was getting more and more unable to move around and I didn't want to come out one day and find him down and unable to get up, or with a broken leg or a catastrophically blown tendon. All things I discussed with the bet.

It sucks when it's time. There is another star in the sky now, shining from the Rainbow Bridge where Max will be waiting for me along with all my other loved creatures when it's my time.

Sorry to be so depressing, writing about things that touch us deeply is cathartic and it is a tribute to those we have lost.

Be well, be happy.

HELLO, I'M VICTORIA by Victoria Chatham

BUY LINK

Hello, I’m Victoria and I’m pleased to meet you. I’d rather get to know you than have to write about myself but as my publisher Books We Love suggested we share something of ourselves so our readers can get to know us, I’m creeping out from under my writing stone.

You can take it from that statement that I’m something of an introvert, a trait I believe many writers share. However, I think I came by that attitude as a form of defence. Being a first born I had something of a Type A personality, taking charge even as a child. Once, on overhearing my parents discussing how they were to get to an upcoming regimental dinner and dance, I marched from my grandmother’s house several blocks to the taxi driver’s house and promptly ordered a taxi for them. I was five years old.

But, being constantly on the move as an army brat  drove me into myself and my books. My Dad was classed as a Permanent Staff Instructor to Territorial Army units, but we were anything but permanent. After the third move when I was about eight, I can clearly remember thinking there was no point in making friends. In a year, or less, we would be packing up and moving on again. I started making myself as inconspicuous as I could at each new school I arrived at and although friendly, I chose to not make close friends. As such I was considered something of an oddity and left pretty much alone. Because I read so much I usually had an answer for everything in class, something else that did not endear me to my class mates although my teachers praised my efforts as they totted up my house marks.

My biggest passions were reading and horses. My parents could never understand where this passion sprang from and were less than understanding when I left home to work in a hunt stables. I was in my element with four horses in my string and loved everything about them from Thor's weird sense of humor, Doctor's pleasure in cuddling, Zulaika's fascination with birds and Tangerine's inability to walk, he was a constant jogger. I was at the age, of course, where boys and horses were on a par, until one boy beat the horses by a head and we were married. We produced three children, before parting company fifteen years later.

I’d tried writing as a teenager, lurid tales about Virginia, Girl of the Golden West. Virginia was my alter ego, the girl I would loved to have been. She could ride, shoot, was incredibly brave and did everything I would never have dared to do. I wrote about her freedom with utter longing. Unfortunately, my parents read one of my scribbled stories and laughed until they cried. Probably rightly, but it was a long time before I took up the pen again.

My working life after the horses and the family was a series of office management positions, some interesting others not. In my mid-30’s I took up horse riding again and gained a great deal of pleasure from being around them again. In between times I had variously been on one committee or another, starting with the PTA, then Cubs and Scouts for my boys and Junior Red Cross for my daughter. I was on our family horse riding club committee for years, helping to organize and run shows.

After meeting and marrying a Canadian, I made Calgary, Alberta my home. While my immigration processing proceeded, I volunteered for various organizations until I was able to legally obtain work in my new country. This time I went into apartment management, something that never had a dull moment. You never knew what people were going to do next from the super nice, young professional man who was arrested for drug dealing, to the cheerful hooker I had to evict under the ‘wrongful use of premises’ clause in the lease agreement. After the apartment buildings I managed properties for a self-storage company. No lack of stories there I can tell you! I guess my childhood managing ways came to the fore in the end.

These days I can look back on my varied positions and see how each one involved record keeping and writing of some kind, usually reports. I ran my riding club’s newsletter for a couple of years, wrote a book for my daughter and finally, with huge encouragement from my new husband, took up writing for myself. With my first writing group I was membership director and assistant newsletter editor, then editor for about two years. As such I attended most board meetings. With my second writers group I again managed memberships before moving on to Program Director for monthly meetings and workshops. Whereas some people are intimidated by organization I find great satisfaction in working out all the parts of the whole and making them work together. I guess that five year old still lurks beneath my skin!

These days, and fortunately retired from formal employment, I continue to write, read and volunteer at Spruce Meadows, the world class equestrian centre just south of Calgary. I enjoy hiking and trail riding in the summer. I snow shoe in winter. I’m involved in the AMBER study, a five year study being conducted by the University of Calgary on the effects of diet and exercise on breast cancer patients.

Yes, I’ve beaten that beast twice now. I was first diagnosed in 2006, had treatment in 2007 and had follow up hormone therapy from 2008 to 2013. One year after that it was back again. In 2014 my course of treatment was very different as I refused chemotherapy, radiation and hormone therapy. Instead I chose surgery for a complete bilateral mastectomy and altered my diet and lifestyle. All the reading and research I did during my first course of treatment convinced me it was not the best for when I faced it again. Along with discussions with my own doctor, my surgeon and oncologist, I consulted with a naturopath and nutritionist. I researched several clinics that were having huge success in treating their cancer patients with alternative therapies. My friend Maxine helped me enormously in researching various superfoods to help boost my immune system. And from my early 30s, when one riding instructor recommended I take up yoga, I still go to class and practise at home most days a week.

I’m happy, healthy and love my life. I have a super group of friends, I visit my family in England as often as I can and have a great deal to be thankful for. While some women worry about maturing (hey, that’s what fine wine does!) I wouldn’t want to be any age again. Been there, done that, I’ll just enjoy now and what’s ahead.

 His Dark Enchantress

The Buxton Chronicles

You Never Know What Tomorrow May Bring by Nancy M Bell

Well, I must say things have changed drastically since last month. I have spent the holidays in Winnipeg, Manitoba at the Health Sciences Centre. Not exactly how I planned to spend Christmas, New Year's and all of January up to this point. My oldest son, who is respected Equine Surgeon, was admitted to ICU on Christmas Eve suffering from some strange symptoms. He has been in ICU ever since and up until last Monday we had no diagnosis. It is without a doubt one of the scariest things I have ever experienced. A huge team of doctors, encompassing more areas of expertise than I can remember, were stumped. Many procedures and tests followed, some of which were sent to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. While they waited for results to come in they began treating him for what they believed was most likely to be the cause. A lot of very terrifying conditions and diseases were talked about, most of which did not have good outcomes. We faced the fact that our son might never leave the ICU alive.
Then last Monday night, January 11, which is actually his birthday, one of his doctors came into the room and said he had some news. A test came back positive for a condition that was treatable! It is a surreal feeling to be overjoyed to be told that your son has a rare form of encephalitis. It was the best news we could have gotten, because it was a treatable thing. The chances of full recovery are very good. We are not out of the woods yet and there is a long road to do down yet, but at least there is a road to walk down with a light at the end of the tunnel.

So, the point of me telling you this is....? Never take anything for granted, ever. Hug your kids, tell them you love them, no matter how old they are. Tell your friends what they mean to you. There are no guarantees in life and this has been brought home to me very clearly. Who would ever guess that a healthy successful thirty-five year old would become incapacitated so quickly. In the space of a few days he went from a highly functioning professional to being hooked up to a machine that breathed for him. Take the time to appreciate the glory of the sunrise, the magnificence of a sunset, the diamond points of the stars on a clear night. Dance in the moon shadows on crisp white snow under the full moon. Don't hate Mondays or wish away the cold winter months longing for spring. Live in the moment of each and every day. Come Hell or High Water live life to the fullest to the best of your ability. Wishing you Peace, Joy, Love and Happiness each and every day of your lives.

You can visit my website, follow me on twitter @emilypikkasso and on Facebook

I am currently working on the next book in the Arabella's Secret series. The Selkie's Song is the first book and is available at Amazon and where good books are sold everywhere.

Life really does imitate Art by Sheila Claydon

Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life . . . Life holds the mirror up to Art, and either reproduces some strange type imagined by a painter or sculptor, or realises in fact what has been dreamed in fiction. Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde isn't the only writer who said so but his quote is possibly the best known.Until recently I shrugged and laughed whenever I heard it because hey, it's just a cliche isn't it? Well actually, no it's not. Why do I say that? Well in a very small but personal way, I've just experienced it.

In 2013 my book Mending Jodie's Heart was published. It's set partly in London but mainly in the North West of England, which is where I live. The idea for the story came when I took my dog for his daily walk and discovered we could no longer use the local bridleway. This narrow sandy path that wound its way through tangled woodland and past a derelict, boarded-up farmhouse had been closed. The untidy briars and bushes that partially hid the entrance had been cut down and in their place was a shiny new gate complete with padlock and a 'Trespassers will be Prosecuted' sign.

Someone very wealthy had bought the old farmhouse and the adjoining fields and woodland and then discovered that a public bridleway skirted his estate. Anxious about the effect this would have on the safety of his young family his decision to close it off was understandable. What he didn't do, however, was consider the locals...walkers and riders alike.  It had been a shortcut to the beach ever since anyone could remember and they campaigned to have it reopened. Eventually the wealthy new owner capitulated. He re-opened the bridle path and protected his privacy instead with wire security fences which were eventually hidden by a thick laurel hedge.

Why am I telling you this? Well the writer in me was already intrigued. Why would someone, however wealthy, close off a well used footpath without considering the effect it would have on local people. Did he have something to hide?  And what was he doing building a swimming pool before knocking down the old farmhouse and building a new house of his own? And what about the trailer that had been erected. Did he live in it or was it just a temporary estate office?  There were a lot of common-sense answers to all those questions but I didn't want to hear them because Marcus, the imaginary hero of my book, had begun to inhabit the house. Not long after that he met Jodie and her horse, and thus Mending Jodie's Heart was born.

By the time it was published the new house had been built and the wealthy man and his family had moved in. Nobody knew what it was like though because by then, like Sleeping Beauty's castle, the estate was surrounded on all sides by high banks, expensively planted laurel, new trees, and the insidious creeping tangle of briar and seaside plants that had been there before and were determined to find their way back. Happy with my own imaginings I didn't care. I'd never wondered what the house was actually like inside because in my mind it was as I'd imagined it when I was writing the book. As far as I was concerned it belonged to Marcus and Jodie, and when several local fans of my books told me they felt the same way I was delighted.

Then the strangest thing happened. The wealthy owner put the hidden house up for sale and naturally curiosity got the better of me. I went onto the sale site on the Internet to check it out, and that's when life really did began to imitate art because it WAS Marcus' and Jodie's house. Every room I'd imagined was there, including the music room, the stage, the separate annexe for Luke, the wonderful master bedroom, the stables...everything, right down to the decor.  There was even room for Jodie's horse therapy school. To say I was astonished was to put it mildly. How could I have imagined this house down to almost the last detail when the last time it was visible to the public it was still a half built, empty shell. Or was it the other way round? Had some magic conveyed my thoughts to the wealthy owner, someone who I've never met. 

For a few days it had an unsettling effect then I began to wonder about other places in other books. Do they exist somewhere outside my imagination as well? It's an intriguing but slightly scary thought because, if they do, then what about the people who live in them...who are they?

Find all Sheila Claydon's books at:

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Sheila Claydon at Books We Love

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:

Naming your horse:
http://www.horses-and-horse-information.com/horsenames/a.shtml 

http://www.equinespot.com/horse-names.html

For fantasy (naming your unicorn):

http://fantasynamegenerators.com/horse_names.php#.VYTRXPlViko

Caring for your horse:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99RH0I-Jj34

The dollars and cents factor of horse ownership:

http://www.moneycrashers.com/cost-owning-horse-alternatives-buying/

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)