A SINGER, SONGWRITER, AND  COWBOY TROUBADOR by Elizabeth Clements

I’m proud to say that Canada has produced an amazing plethora of singers, some  famous world-wide—Paul Anka, Anne Murray, Justin Bieber, Sarah McLachlan, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Brian Adams, Avril Lavigne, Drake, Alanis Morissette, Michael Buble—and some of them even recognized by one name: Celine, and Shania. And that’s just some of the singers that immediately come to mind. But there’s one Canadian I’d like to talk about because there is so much beauty, romance and poetry in Ian Tyson’s songs…“guided by stars that dance the polka to the horsethief moon…and by tomorrow night she’ll be shining gold and bright like a Spanish doubloon.”  Ian Tyson’s rollicking polka melody and description of an Alberta full moon in Horsethiefmoon captured my imagination and inspired part of the title for the first book of my trilogy. I didn’t begin to write it  until after I heard Garth Brooks sing about That Summer, inspiring me to think, “what if he comes back?” And thus, Beneath A Horse Thief Moon, the first book of my trilogy, was born over twenty years ago.

Ian Tyson is a singer, a songwriter, and one heck of a cowboy. He was born in Victoria, British Columbia on September 25, 1933, and grew up on a farm where his love of horses began, influenced by his fascination with stories and illustrations of cowboys, horses and the wild west by Canadian artist,Will James. He was six when he saw his first rodeo and that no doubt spurred him toward a cowboy life years later.

When he was fifteen, his skill with handling and riding horses got him a summer job of guided trail rides for tourists near Banff, Alberta. No doubt, that’s when the beauty of Alberta and the Rocky Mountains truly seeped into his soul.

He wasn’t happy at boarding school, nor later working in the forest services. It’s not surprising that his expertise with horses lured the 19 year-old to become a rodeo competitor for a few years. Unfortunately, one bronc bucked him off and stepped on Ian’s ankle, shattering the bone. While recovering in the hospital, he entertained himself with learning to play the guitar by listening to Johnny Cash. And somewhere in that process, he realized his true calling was to write and sing about the cowboy way of life. Country singer, Wilf Carter, also greatly influenced him in those early days while listening to The Grand Ole Oprey on the radio.

Inspired by his childhood love of Will James’ cowboy illustrations, Ian returned to British Columbia in 1954 to attend the Vancouver School of Art to become a graphic artist. There, the next year, he met Evinia Pulos, a young art student, and a life-long relationship began. At the same time, he made his first musical appearance at the Heidelberg Café in 1956.

   Two years later he graduated and hitchhiked to Los Angeles to try to win Elvinia back. He failed because she felt he was a heavy-drinking charmer with a roving eye who had broken her heart and thus she’d fled to California. Ian never returned to Vancouver and instead headed to Toronto to work as a commercial artist during the day and sing in clubs at night…and write songs.

In the late 50s, Toronto was the heart of Canadian folk music, where Ian met folk singer, Sylvia Fricker. They both performed in local clubs and by 1959 began singing together as Ian and Sylvia. By 1961, they sang full-time and began touring both in Canada and south of the border. They moved to New York in 1962 where they signed their first record deal and their first album, titled, Ian and Sylvia, was released.  They married in 1965 and their son, Clay was born the next year. A highlight of their successful career was a sold-out performance at New York’s Carnegie Hall.

In 1969 they formed the country rock group, The Great Speckled Bird. A career break came in 1970 when Ian was asked to host a Canadian music show, Nashville North. The show was so successful that it was renamed The Ian Tyson Show and aired until 1975, with Sylvia a frequent guest. Sadly, their marriage as well as singing together ended in 1975, although they remained friends. Sylvia was quoted saying their marriage failed because there was a third person in their marriage: Ian never could get over his first love, Elvinia Pulos.

Ian was a prolific songwriter. He wrote Four Strong Winds in 1962, which was an instant success, became his signature song, and remains his biggest hit ever since. In a later interview, Elvinia revealed that he had told her the song was inspired by his memory of her and that he wrote it in 20 minutes. Incredibly, Ian invited Evinia to visit him and Sylvia in New York in 1966 and they resumed a long-distance affair, despite them both being married.

When Ian released another album in 1967, it included a single he’d written called Summer Wages and again Evinia was the inspiration: “And we’ll keep rollin’ on till we get to Vancouver and the lady that I love she’s living there. It’s been six long months and more since I’ve seen her maybe she’s gambled and gone like summer wages.”

In the first five years of its release, Four Strong Winds was recorded by 50 other singers, including John Denver. Someday Soon, was also a smash hit. During their time together, Ian and Sylvia released 13 albums, the latter of which were described as country rock.

            Disillusioned by his divorce and the shift away from folk music because of the “British Invasion”, Ian headed back to his true roots, the beautiful foothills of Alberta, to raise and train cutting horses. When Neil Young recorded Four Strong Winds in 1979, Ian joked that the royalties provided him with sufficient funds to plunk a down-payment on his beloved mountain-view ranch in southern Alberta (where he has remained ever since).

            He gradually became involved in the music scene in Calgary, performing traditional country and cowboy music in local clubs, particularly at the Ranchman’s bar where he met Twylla, a seventeen-year-old waitress twenty years his junior. They began dating and married six years later. A daughter was born the following year. Twylla encouraged Ian to record his new-found love of country songs and by the late 1980s his ballads were climbing the Canadian country music charts. I believe this new contentment inspired some of his best songwriting, which beautifully reflects his love of ranch life and the cowboy way.

Sadly, this marriage also ended in divorce, finalyzed in 2008. Ian never remarried, although he stayed in contact with his ex-wives…and Elvinia Pulos, his soul mate.

Over his 60+ years in the music industry, Ian Tyson has accumulated a lengthy list of awards too numerous to mention them all here except being inducted in 1989 into the Canadian Country Music Hall of Fame. In 2005 CBC Radio One listeners poll chose Four Strong Winds as the greatest Canadian song of all time on the series 50 Tracks: The Canadian Version. Ian Tyson is also the recipient of The Order of Canada, the Governor General’s Performing Arts Award, and in 2019 it was announced he and Sylvia would separately be inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.

Ian Tyson is now 87 and his age shows in the lines in his face.  Around 2005, polyps developed in his throat. Therapy over the next six years helped him gradually restore his unique voice. Then in 2017 he had open-heart surgery. The tubes necessarily forced down his throat this time permanently affected his voice. He said he “misses his falsetto but can fake yodeling and hopes he can make it up with his storytelling.”

Regardless, fans still love to come to his three-man concert. I saw him in my town for the second time just a few years ago before his open-heart surgery. He sang all my favorites, especially Horsethief Moon. I’m smiling as I remember that night, a simple man wearing his traditional white Stetson, strumming his guitar and sharing his love of Alberta, horses and the cowboy way of life.

I could not describe this gifted octogenarian as well as this perfect quote of him: “Canadian Country Music Singer Pioneer Ian Tyson walks with a stiff-legged cowboy gait to the centre of the stage. A preamble to his performance. The walk is an illustration of what being a cowboy is all about. Falls off horses, bruises, broken bones as well as a reminder that the cowboy life is not the glamour of the old western movies. Just listen to some of the great recordings performed by Ian Tyson. An artist who has become a pioneer icon—a timeless singer with a bruised voice who tells stories with the unvarnished luster of truth.”

            The melody of a song can linger in my  mind all day, but it’s the poetry in Ian’s vivid descriptions of Alberta, horses, the Rockies, and a way of life that has me hitting the replay button to let the words paint pictures in my mind and add wings to my spirits. In that regard, Ian Tyson, Marty Robbins, and John Denver had to have been musical soulmates and I’m sure all three are singing and strumming together up in heaven. Thank God we have their albums to listen to and uplift.

            For me, Ian isn’t just a gifted songwriter with a warm, unique voice—he’s also a storyteller, so eloquent in Four Strong Winds, Navaho Rug, MC Horses, Horsethief Moon and his  incredible tribute, The Gift, in honor of the famous painter, Charlie Russel. https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Ian+Tyson+The+Gift&view=detail&mid=20DBED3856C3D3807E4A20DBED3856C3D3807E4A&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCBHS%26ptag%3dN8151D022719AAA0D337D47%26form%3dCONBDF%26conlogo%3dCT2174808%26q%3dIan%2bTyson%2bThe%2bGift

I love this photo of him which illustrates his love of horses. The photo is credited to (Ian Tyson and Friend Photo: © Lee Gunderson / IanTyson.com)

In 2008 he wrote a song. La Primera, about horses, and in 2009 published a beautifully illustrated young adult novel, La Primera: The Story of Wild Mustangs.   His song La Primera spawned a young-adult fiction book – La Primera: The Story of Wild Mustangs (2009).

His song La Primera spawned a young-adult fiction book – La Primera: The Story of Wild Mustangs (2009). An ode to Tyson’s own love of horses, the book features illustrations by gifted equine artist Adeline Halvorson and traces the introduction of Spanish horses to North America, through the evolution of wild mustangs (La

(Ian Tyson and Photo: © Lee Gunderson / IanTyson.com)

Biographer John Einarson, who wrote Four Strong Winds: Ian & Sylvia (2012), says Ian described Evinia as his soulmate and told him: “We’ve been lovers for 55 years…How many people can say that?”

Video for The Gift  https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Ian+Tyson+The+Gift&docid=608030192620801376&mid=94D0AD286FAB500A142B94D0AD286FAB500A142B&view=detail&FORM=VRAASM

Video for Horsethief Moon  https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Ian+Tyson+Horsethief+Moon&view=detail&mid=2FFEC681A90F78D3E3E22FFEC681A90F78D3E3E2&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCBHS%26ptag%3dN8151D022719AAA0D337D47%26form%3dCONBDF%26conlogo%3dCT2174808%26q%3dIan%2bTyson%2bHorsethief%2bMoon

Excerpt Beneath A Horse Thief Moon

 

They emerged from a stand of pines. Moonlight whitewashed the coulees, etching in stark relief every bush and tree. The only sound in the night was the shuffling of their horses and the crickets in the bushes.

A horse thief moon, Sara had called it. In his mind’s eye he relived her unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from his body. Smoothing her callused palms over his heated skin before pressing her breasts against him.

Lovely, lonely Sara.

Damn it, forget her. She's dead and buried.

Anger at his thoughts made him speak. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Yuh'll see.”

Silence fell, broken only by the soft thud of hooves and the dog padding inches from his right stirrup. An owl's hoot drifted through the darkness. Occasionally, he heard a small creature scuttle in the dry grass.

Abruptly, the prairie plunged into another ravine. Through the trees below, the dark shapes of outbuildings huddled like orphans in the moonlight. The unmistakable odor of a barnyard drifted on the breeze. Horses nickered. A calf bawled. Water murmured and gleamed in a silver path around the curve of the coulee while the moon played hide and seek in the rustling leaves of a giant cottonwood.

Surprise kicked him in the gut. “Where are we?” But he already knew.

“Never mind.”

The old Cranston place. Coincidence that an outlaw had brought him to his quarry, a train robber's hideout? Not by a long shot. But why? Was Billy smarter than I’ve given him credit for?

Chase gritted his teeth. I’m gonna get you, Billy. You’ll pay for the grief you’ve caused Big Jake. His eyes narrowed when a low-roofed log cabin loomed in the moonlight. I'll outwit you and take you in. Maybe even tonight.

“Hold up,” the outlaw snarled. His rifle never wavered from Chase. “Git down. Slow-like.”

Chase frowned, staring through the deep shadows cast by a huge cottonwood. Why were they stopping here by the outbuildings instead of the cabin? And where were the lookouts? The fine hairs on his neck and arms prickled. This isn’t a gathering of outlaws. It’s an execution. But why here instead of back at my camp?

 

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JOHN WARE, COWBOY AND RANCHER

JOHN WARE, COWBOY AND RANCHER - Elizabeth Clements

I had already posted my February blog when, too late, I remembered February was “black history month.” However, it’s never too late to share the history of an amazing, legendary cowboy known for his strength, kindness, good-nature and excellent horsemanship.  John Ware was “widely admired as one of the best cowboys in the West even at a time of widespread anti-Black racism and discrimination”.

Many years ago, I visited his cabin nestled near the badlands of southern Alberta, about an hour’s drive from our farm. At the time, his cabin was turned into a museum, but sadly I don’t recall much else except the chinked log walls, the steep coulee slopes and it being a blistering hot July day. We had a picnic in the shade of some poplar trees. I’d like to take a road trip back this summer and bring along my camera. All the photos here are courtesy of Calgary’s Glenbow Museum.

Courtesy Glenbow Museum, Calgary, Alberta

John Ware, the second youngest of 11 children, was born into slavery circa 1845-50 on a cotton plantation in Georgetown, South Carolina. After the Civil War ended, he made his way west, eventually reaching Fort Worth, Texas. He found employment on a ranch where he honed his skills as a cowboy and bronc buster. History has few details about his youth because John could neither write nor read. As a result, most information about him was written long after his death by his friends, other cowboys and associates.

By the late 1870’s, John Ware had become quite an accomplished horseman. He participated in cattle drives north from Texas along the Western Cattle Trail to Montana. In 1882 he met Tom Lynch in southern Idaho who had purchased 3,000 head of cattle and needed experienced cowhands to help herd them to Canada for the North-West Cattle Company, otherwise known as the Bar U. It took from May to September to drive the huge herd to the ranch nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Ware is credited for helping bring the cattle industry to the Calgary area and was the first Black cowboy in the area. Cowboys of his calibre were in constant demand by ranches. Thus, he stayed and worked for several large outfits over the years.

In the mid 1880s Ware was hired by the newly-established Quorn Ranch at Sheep Creek. The Quorn was owned by the Quorn Hunt Club in Leicestershire, England. The club members wished to raise horses for the English market. To this end, expensive breeding stock was shipped to the ranch and Ware, with his excellent reputation handling horses, was placed in charge of that project. 

“The stories that have contributed to his emergence as a regional folk hero centre upon his remarkable horsemanship, his prodigious strength, his good-natured humour and general kindness, and his loyalty to friends and neighbours, as well as his willingness to take novice cowhands under his guidance. Ware is presented as a man of action and few words. All of these attributes are shared by the heroes of the cowboy subculture of this frontier. What distinguishes John Ware is that he was black and that he has become a symbol of racial tolerance.”

In the spring of 1884 Ware participated in the first of two huge roundups of stray cattle wandering in the foothills between Calgary and the Montana border. Can you imagine the sight of 100 cowhands, 500 horses and 15 chuckwagons? The second roundup was done in 1885. Apparently during the second roundup, Ware was very helpful to a “greenhorn”  Englishman, who wrote kindly of Ware in his letters home by declaring that Ware was “the best rough-rider in the North-West,” of the “rough” Montana cowboys, and of Ware’s personal kindness in helping him master range-land skills.”

Excerpt from the Macleod Gazette, Fort Macleod, 23 June 1885
“John is not only one of the best natured and most obliging fellows in the country, but he is one of the shrewdest cow men, and the man is considered pretty lucky who has him to look after his interest. The horse is not running on the prairie which John cannot ride.”

Seeing a lucrative market in cattle, Ware registered his own brand, 9999 or walking-stick branch, in 1884. It is thought that in anticipation of getting his own ranch, he took some of his wages in cattle. Three years later he established his own small spread not far from the Quorn.

He met Mildred Lewis, the daughter of Daniel V. Lewis, a black homesteader and cabinetmaker from Ontario who had moved to the Calgary area. The couple married on December 29, 1892 and over the next few years had two daughters and four sons (the latter two came after they moved to the prairies where one son died in infancy.

With the coming of the railroad, more settlers were moving into the foothills, thus diminishing the former abundance of grazing land. Thus, ten years later, he felt it was time to move his little family, sold his ranch and bought a small isolated prairie homestead for a $1,000. along the Red Deer River near the badlands north-east of Brooks. Here he could expand his herd and take care of his family, which had expanded with the birth of the last two sons.  No sooner had he set up his cabin in 1902 when a spring flood destroyed it. He immediately rebuilt a larger cabin, but on higher ground. 

Three years later in late March 1905, Mildred fell suddenly ill with typhoid and pneumonia and died. Most of their children were sent to live with Mildred’s family in Blairmore near the Rocky Mountains south of Calgary. Tragedy struck again just six months later on September 11th. John’s horse tripped in a gopher hole and landed on John, killing him. His funeral was held in Calgary and was attended by many ranchers in the area who “mourned him as one of their community’s most respected members”.

Two sons, when they grew up, joined the No. 2 Construction Battalion, the only all-Black battalion in Canadian military history.

Some people are simply larger than life and as often happens with time, become a folk hero when truth and legend blend. One of the legends about him is that he was so strong and agile that he “walked over the backs of penned steers without fear”. There are also legends that he “could stop a steer head-on and wrestle it to the ground; break (train) the wildest broncos; hold a horse on its back to be shod with horseshoes; and easily lift an 18-month-old steer and  throw it on its back for branding”.

These can be viewed as slight exaggerations, but it also indicates how well respected he was by 19^th century society where anti-Black prejudice and discrimination were common.

His skill as a horseman was proven when he participated at the Calgary Stampede.  "Skilled with the lariat, he pioneered steer-wrestling and won his first competition at the Calgary Summer Fair of 1893, setting a precedent for what would become a highlight of the Calgary Stampede."

There are several places named after John Ware in southern Alberta near his first ranch: Mount Ware, Ware Creek, and John Ware Ridge. In Calgary, there is John Ware Junior High as well as the 4 Nines Dining Centre in the John Ware Building at the Southern Alberta Institute of Technology (S.A.I.T.).

Canada Post honored John Ware in 2012 by issuing a commemorative stamp “to recognize his legacy, not only as one of the first Black cowboys in Canada, but as someone who blazed a trail as a horseman and a rancher”.

Excerpt from Beneath A Horse Thief Moon 

He dropped a kiss in her hair. “Get some sleep, Sara. It’s been a long day and tomorrow will be busy with branding. The ranchers have agreed to cull and brand their own stock.”

“How can I face them, knowing what they think of me?”

“Sara, stop it. No one's pointed a finger at you. I've spent the last three days with those ranchers. They hold you in high esteem, the way you've kept this place together. Not by a word or a gesture have they indicated anything else.”

The corner of her mouth lifted with a grimace as she turned away. “It's only a matter of time. I can't remember meeting one other red-haired woman, let alone hearing about one.”

“Sara, I know you're tired, but let's talk.”

She paused in the doorway, her eyes sad. “There's nothing to talk about.” She disappeared into the darkness.

Mentally kicking himself now, Chase strode to the barn door. Out in the yard, the fire had been recently doused, the air redolent with the acrid smell of wet smoke. He watched her pick her way around the dark shapes of men curled inside their bedrolls. She stopped to pet Fang, then closed the door. She didn't even light a lamp.

Link for Diamond Jack’s Angel/Hot Western Nights

 Anthologyhttps://www.amazon.com/Western-Nights-Karen-Michelle-Nutt-ebook/dp/B07T9F21B5/ref=pd_rhf_se_p_img_3?

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Once Upon an Epiphany

Once Upon An Epiphany  - Elizabeth Clements

Writers are often inspired by what’s around them, be it scenery, a person, an event, a song, or even a movie. That would definitely describe my writing inspirations, be it for fiction or poetry.

For some reason last night I wanted to watch something different from my usual fare of westerns or crime/action movies. I wanted to get lost in another world, and there’s none better (for me) than the magic of Kate and Leopold, a delightful, romantic time travel that bespoke of a slower, gentler time:1876 New York vs New York 2001.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FeyhlLZYrg

Time travels are so much fun, especially when the past leaps into the future and the time traveler is gobsmacked (I just love that word) by all sorts of modern technology. Leopold is catapulted into an unfamiliar world of televisions, telephones, and microwave ovens. Going from the present to the past can just as easily create all kinds of perils when the traveler brings unfamiliar things  along, such as antibiotics whose miraculous healing powers can brand the person as a witch or warlock. In those suspicious medieval times, people often reasoned with fear rather than logic and miracles were due to hocus pocus and witchcraft. I would love to see some of Sandra Hill’s Viking time travels made into movies. Her books are a hoot to read. I have one anecdote that involves reading her book, Frankly, My Dear while snuggling up with my cat—but that’s a story for another time.

Kate and Leopold has a special place in my heart and his name is Hugh Jackman. Hugh…er, Leopold, darn, I mean Josh—is tall, dark and handsome, carries himself with elegance and grace, and has a delightful accent (you can take the man out of Australia but you can’t take Australia out of the man)…but I digress.

You see, back about sixteen or so years ago I was finishing writing  Beneath A Desperado Moon, the third book of my western trilogy set in 1899 western Canada. I loved my Josh, but I couldn’t really “see” him. He was just a handsome, elegant figment of my imagination—until I had an epiphany half-way through that  delightful time-travel movie called Kate and Leopold.  

At the time, my Josh was kinda like a paint-by-number outline waiting for the right colors to truly bring him to life. I knew Josh’s history, that he’s the second son of a long line of wealthy English dukes. He had no desire to become a cleric nor join a regiment, so in 1889 he opted to board a ship bound for Canada and became a “remittance man” like so many of the noblemen who had fled to the colonies. Yet Josh wasn’t content to sit idly and indulge in the indolent entertainment of most of the ex-pats while he waited for his monthly “remittance” from his family back in England. He loved his new-found freedom from pomp and ceremony and over the next ten years eagerly explored all that the Canadian and American West had to offer. His excellent horsemanship won him the notice of a retired U.S. marshal in Montana who invited him to be a guest on his ranch. Through that friendship he also became friends with two U.S. marshals: Chase Reynolds and Mike Sutton.

When I wrote Chase’s story, Beneath A Horse Thief Moon was a stand-alone until his friends arrived. Mike immediately charmed me with his humor, while Josh was a bit of an enigma—an elegant,  handsome, reserved man who didn’t say much but his green eyes missed nothing.

Mike secretly yearned to have a life like Chase, so he whispered in my ear to find him a love like that. Not to be outdone, Josh brushed my hair back and murmured the same request in my other ear. What was a poor girl to do when the English rogue entreated with such potent charm? No wonder Molly didn’t stand a chance.

Months later I happened upon the movie, Kate and Leopold and at some point I realized Leopold was the crayons to color my Josh—fastidious, perfect posture, perfect manners, elegance with knife and fork and ever the gentleman despite the circumstances that currently directed his life. At last I really “saw” Josh. Western life had softened the sharp edges of proper English society but he never strayed from the path of human decency and kindness. Isn’t it wonderful when a writer has such an epiphany!

That happened to me one other time in the mid-80s. I was writing my third contemporary romance in which my heroine, Samantha, was a singer and the hero was a pianist…until I had an amazing epiphany while watching The Johnny Carson Show. I wasn’t paying close attention when Johnny introduced a singer who was making his first appearance on national television. I think in those first few moments of hearing him sing, it brought home the realization that a song sung beautifully in a foreign language needs no interpreter to make one appreciate and understand what a God-given talent is saying. I had chills. I remember my hubby looking confused when I excitedly exclaimed, “That’s him. That’s my __ (whatever name I’d given to my hero at the time and who I ruthlessly kicked to the curb). I remember silently willing Mr. Carson to repeat the singer’s name, to no avail. And there was no repeat button let alone a tv remote control back in the 80s. That remote was two feet pushing one out of the chair to manually change the volume or channel.

Then, just like with Leopold, I “saw” my fictional hero as I watched that singer steal into my heart. Two weeks later, he unexpectedly reappeared on Johnny’s show. Luckily, we tuned in nightly to watch. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person blown away by the Spanish crooner. Johnny said the switchboard lit up after the show with hundreds of callers who wanted to know more about this amazing Spanish singer and to bring him back. It was a first, back in the day, for an “unknown” to be asked for a repeat engagement and in two weeks. And finally, I knew his name as I watched mesmerized… again. Have you guessed his name by now? Julio Iglesias.

Needless to say, my original hero was gone, so gone that to this day I don’t even remember his name. Julius had taken over. Well, the funny thing about choosing that name was that half the time when I was talking to someone about my book, I was saying Julio instead of Julius. The names were just too similar. So, tired of correcting myself, I changed Julius to Raphael, a name I’ve always loved. The other funny thing about this anecdote is that I created a history for Raphael. Pure imagination, but here’s the kicker. A few years later I found a small little soft-cover biography of Julio and was blown away by how closely my imagination had created a similar background for Raphael without me knowing a single thing about Julio’s life. Talk about having a cosmic connection. That third book is finished, but is collecting dust somewhere in a closet or box in the basement. I called it Out Of Control and perhaps one day I’ll find it, update it and get it published. Stranger things could happen, eh?

Speaking of that book, it actually became a pivotal point in my writing as it brought about another epiphany, but this time it wasn’t me who had the aha moment. Shortly after my first book was rejected by Harlequin in 1983, Alberta Culture offered a week-long writers retreat. The romance workshop category was conducted by Judith Duncan who wrote Superromances for Harlequin.  She saw something in my writing that gave me hope. Months later, after I’d sent her several chapters of my latest story, we were discussing Samantha and Raphael over the phone when she suddenly let out a gasp and went silent. Even after all these years I still remember the amazement in her voice from her epiphany as she described two scenarios. “Imagine Samantha in a long green gown with jewels in her hair, singing on a concert stage…or imagine Samantha in a white pant suit flagging down a taxi in New York…which heroine would you choose to write about?” There was no hesitation on my part: the historical heroine. In her infinite wisdom, she had suddenly realized my writing style was more suited for historical romance.

However, that story was so entrenched in my mind as a contemporary that I knew I couldn’t turn it into an historical. So, when I returned from a great vacation in New Brunswick in 1987, I’d come up with a new story, I phoned Judith and told her about it and she said “I hope it’s an historical.” It wasn’t, but I quickly realized my Rachel could just as easily be traveling East on the train in the 1880s instead of driving a white convertible in the 1990s, and it became my first historical…also collecting dust somewhere.

By the way, since the mid-80s, Julio became my favorite singer and remains #1 to this day. I think he’s #1 with a lot of other fans, too. Besides his incredible voice, I have always loved his humility. And his son, Enrique, ain’t bad, either <grin>.

So, there you have a little glimpse into my heart and mind and what makes me tick as a writer. After my initial rejection in 1983, fear of failure, as in having my manuscript rejected, kept me from submitting to an editor for a dozen years, despite Judith’s encouragement. In 2004 Beneath A Horse Thief Moon won the Readers Choice Award at a romance writers conference in Calgary. The editor I met there blew me away by asking  for both books (I had hoped she’d ask for three chapters). Months passed; my hopes soared. And crashed when I received “the” letter in 2005. It was a wonderful rejection letter. At the same time, my mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and my writing went on the back burner again and stayed there long after my mother’s passing. 

Then in 2017 a dear on-line friend I’d never met urged me to submit to Prairie Rose Publications and I promised I would. My conscience wouldn’t let me procrastinate because I believe in keeping promises. So eternal thanks to Judith Duncan for her encouragement, Jacquie Rogers for her “prodding” and to my editor, Cheryl Moss Pierson for publishing my stories. And to writers reading this blog if you haven't become cross-eyed or gone to sleep over this long post—never give up on your dreams.

Josh’s story, Beneath A Desperado Moon, will be published some time this year. In the meantime, here’s a little excerpt when we first meet him in Beneath A Horse Thief Moon.

“Ma’am, is this man bothering you?” a deep male voice drawled.

Sara jumped.

Chase reached for his Colts.

“Forgotten us already, have you, Chase?”

Thank God!  Chase whooped and leaped off the porch. “What's to remember, Josh?”

Managing his startled horse, Joshua Hunter laughed, his teeth white against his black mustache. He was dressed in solid black from his Stetson to his dusty boots. Behind him on a black stallion, grinning broadly, was a golden bear of a man in a brightly striped Mexican poncho.

“A fox in a hen house makes more noise than you two. About time you got here.”

Sara never moved, just stared. “You know these men?”

“Sure do. Friends of mine from Montana.”

“What are they doing here?”

“I asked them to come.”

“Why?”

“Because you need protection, Sara.”

“I can't afford to pay two men.”

“I can.”

“The last time I checked this was still my ranch.”

“Only as long as you can hang onto it!”

“Woman trouble?” Josh said, his voice smooth as cream. “Need some help?”

“Nothing I can't handle.” Chase shot Josh a warning look. “Keep your paws to yourself, Josh. That goes for Mutt back there, too.”

Laughing, Josh held up his hands. “Whatever you say, Chase. You are the boss.” He made no effort to hide the amusement in his green eyes or from his voice.

“I don't want anything to do with any of you!” Sara snapped.

“Sara doesn't mean to be rude. She's just been through a rough time fending off outlaws and cattle rustlers.”

“Does that include fendin’ you off, too?” the bear of a man said, barely controlling his mirth.

“That is all right, ma’am,” Josh cut in. “No offense taken.” Dismounting, he removed his Stetson, revealing rumpled black hair, and stuck out his free hand. He smiled when Sara hesitantly shook it. “I am Joshua Hunter. My friends call me Josh. And this big galoot behind me is Michael J. Sutton. Everyone calls him Mike…amongst other things.”

Mike whipped off his brown hat, revealing a long rope of wavy golden hair tied back in a tail. He leaned down from his horse and swallowed up Sara's small hand in his big one and in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder, said, “I'm Mike, Miz Sara. And you can call me anythin' you want just as long as you call me for supper.” His huge grin could swallow Texas.

Sara laughed, surprised that she liked Mike instantly and was not intimidated by his size.”

“Can you forget about your gut for once?” Josh teased.

Mike grinned. “I try, but it keeps growlin' at me.” The blond giant dismounted and stood a head taller than his friends.

Sara looked up, a long way up. “Oh, my, your Mama must have fed you real good.”

“Yup, she surely did, and twice on Sundays.”

Everyone laughed.