10 Years, 17 Books

 

10 main titles. Five spin-offs. Two novellas. Thousands of pages. Millions of words. This December marks ten years since the Dartmoor Series kicked off with a bang back in 2014. After a decade of twists, turns, kisses, shootouts, chase scenes, and tense kitchen table conversations, the series is finally complete. Everyone who knows me in real life would be shocked if they read these books. Everyone who knows me through the books is hopefully happy where things ended up at the end of Lord Have Mercy. 

It's a series for anyone who likes: 

• family dramas where the families take care of their own (Ghost struggles, but he gets there in the end)
• high-stakes action and mystery
• loveable ensemble casts full of outlaws
• rough and tumble men who are good to their women
• realistic dialogue and family dynamics
• morally gray characters who grow and develop over the course of a series
• ongoing plot lines mingled with happily every afters
• big, chunky books that read like old fashioned Southern epics
• shows like Sons of Anarchy and Yellowstone

The chronological reading order of all 17 volumes is:

1. Fearless
2. Price of Angels
3. Half My Blood
4. The Skeleton King
5. Snow In Texas
6. Secondhand Smoke
7. Tastes Like Candy
8. Loverboy
9. American Hellhound
10. Shaman
11. Prodigal Son
12. Lone Star
13. Homecoming
14. Long Way Down
15. The Wild Charge
16. Nothing More
17. Lord Have Mercy 

My mottos is "never say never." I'm marking the series as complete for now, and leaving it on a high note, but the door's always open for adding to it if interest in Lord Have Mercy picks up at some point. It would be folly to write books based on book ten when it hasn't been the best seller of the bunch, so, for now, we'll rest easy after our latest trip to the swamp. 

If you're expecting a little quiet time this Christmas season and are looking to get totally immersed in a thrilling fictional word, may I humbly suggest a biker series like no other. 

Thanks, y'all, for ten wild years of Lean Dogs 💝

National Day of the Horse

AB
(Airiel's Southern Snow)

 

Happy National Day of the Horse! There are days for dogs, and cats, and chocolate, and coffee, and wine - why not a day for the most majestic of four-legged friends?

If you're reading this blog, then you know that its address is "hoofprintpress." If you've followed me on other social media for any length of time, you'll know that I'm an equine enthusiast. My daily schedule is ruled by feeding time and stall cleaning; I say "whoa" in public when I shouldn't; when the wind kicks up, I automatically tense up, no matter where I am, in anticipation of a spook. Whenever possible, I draw extended metaphors between writing books and training horses. 

Kit Kat
(Kid Tastes Like Candy)

When I was a four, a relative at a Christmas party laughingly asked if I would be willing to trade my dad for a horse. I said yes. There was more laughter. I probably didn't mean it - but I did desperately want a horse. My parents tried to get me interested in ballet, in jazz, in gymnastics, and, in middle school, band. But I couldn't be swayed: I wanted to ride, and it was all I wanted to do. I finally started taking lessons at nine, and got my first horse, my darling Skip, at ten. Needless to say, I never looked back. 

Horses have worked their way into more than a few of my books: Whatever Remains, The Skeleton King...and any subsequent book in which Briar Hall or Emmie make an appearance. I was initially hesitant to include equestrian sports of any kind in my work. It felt like a niche interest; also, I didn't want readers to think I was writing myself verbatim into my books. But horses are a part of everything I do; the lessons I've learned in the saddle and in the barnyard, what I've learned about human and animal behavior is entirely wrapped up in equestrianism. Even when I was writing about people, even when no horses appeared in a story, I was still writing about them. All my most dynamic and original characters are based upon animals, rather than humans. Mercy. Ghost. Ava. Reese and Tenny. All built from a quadrupedal base personality. Leaving horses out of the mix meant setting aside the area in which I have the most expertise. Also, the horses I've known over the years have provided some of my best biker road names: Sly, Loverboy, Candyman, Cowboy, Talis, Maverick. 

Bambi
(Doe Eyed Kid)

Horses have shaped my life completely. I don't know who I would be without them. If you'd told me ten years ago that I would have three mares, I wouldn't believe you. I always considered myself a gelding girl. But here we are, and they're such sweet girls, and I'm so excited to get back in the saddle in the next couple of years. 

Speaking of writing, and equine influence, and being back in the saddle, the drakes in the Drake Chronicles are very horse inspired, and I'm working on book six as we speak! It's still early stages, so I have no idea when I'll finish, but it's slowly taking shape, and, if possible, it would be wonderful to carry the series all the way to its conclusion. If you've been patiently waiting for the next installment, thank you! We're getting there. 

#TeaserTuesday: AOTE

 

*Drops cryptic teaser but tells you not to worry*

In all seriousness, though, please don't panic. Things are going to seem dire for parts of this book, but no one is going to mess up irreparably. The long-term plan I've had all along is still in full effect... save one romantic development. Like the teaser says: nothing is as it seems. It seems like Amelia is going to become a part of a certain relationship, but she's not. Oliver is behaving questionably, but he's not a traitor. Hold tight, let me cook, and it'll all turn out okay, promise. 

No release date yet; I'm still in very early stages and taking the writing slowly, but I'm hoping I'll have time to keep chipping away at it! 

Until then...

***

When his helm, pauldrons, breastplate, gauntlets, and grieves were all stowed in their shallow wooden chest, he straightened, and came face-to-face with his reflection in the looking glass atop the washstand.

Who is that? was the first thought that sprang to mind. 

Horse Life Lately

 

Happy December, everyone! I'm back after an unplanned hiatus. It's been a stressful few weeks, but things are feeling much more settled, now, as am I, after making myself quite literally sick with anxiety. 

Things look different around the farm lately. If you follow me on Instagram (@hppress) then you've seen me post about saying farewell to Max, and hello to the newest addition, Bambi. 

I blogged a few weeks ago about my mini, Lily, passing away. It wasn't wholly unexpected; her health had been declining slowly, and then took a swift downward turn, and there really wasn't another option but to help her cross over. In the wake of her loss, Max, who I found as a companion for her last year after her brother died, was alone in their paddock. Going out with my full-size mares wasn't an option - I tried it, and it did NOT go well; thankfully I got everyone separated with no harm done - but he was completely distraught if he couldn't see and touch them through the fence. That meant I had to keep the girls cooped up in a small paddock so they couldn't venture out of his sight... which meant that Kit Kat had too much energy, and AB's hoof health suffered as a result of the lack of circulation. 

I started by searching for a mini or small pony to be Max's pasture companion. That proved an unsuccessful endeavor. I had a hard time finding Max last year; it was chance, fate, and the kindness of a stranger reaching out in response to an "in search of" Facebook post I made as a last-ditch effort. The best option I found this time around was a yearling, but I had to ask myself: What if he and Max didn't get along? They would make it work, obviously, just as Max and Lily made it work. But more than making it work, I wanted Max to be happy. He was a wonderful blessing to have for a year, helping Lily through her final days, but, ultimately, what was best for Max was to go home to his owner, Amy, and that's just what he did two Saturdays ago. The look on his cute little face when he got off the trailer and saw where he was, when he saw his old friends: so very rewarding. 

Thank you, Max. You were wonderful. 

Because my barn has three stalls, and we've always had minis, we've only ever had two full-size horses at a time. That means that when you lose one, the other is alone, and then you're in a mad scramble to find a replacement friend. We decided, then, with a free stall, to introduce another horse. I love my AB, and hope she lives forever, but she's turning 24 this spring. 

Enter Bambi. 

She's a 2yo Quarter Horse/Appaloosa filly I actually looked into buying when she was a foal. The breeders decided to keep her, and I wound up with Kit Kat the next year. But now, Bambi's a part of the Riddermark herd. 

Look at her little spots! I've got her on a high fat/protein diet in an effort to put some more meat on her bones, but after a stressful couple of weeks, she's settled in nicely, and is learning the ropes from my other girls. She's really sweet, and became instant friends with Kit Kat. 

I'm *hoping* to get back to something like a more normal schedule, but between having two project babies and holiday craziness, I make no guarantees. 

Hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving, and hope to be around again! 

#TeaserTuesday: The Famous Fillette

 

Bob Boudreaux was a face she’d only ever seen in photos that were more than twenty-years-old, but she would have recognized him straight off, despite the intervening years and the graying hair, based on the way the Dogs were seated. Bob sat at the corner-most table, facing the doorway through which she and Colin entered, the front of his cut weathered from long decades of wear, and resplendent with patches. The man beside him was a good ten years younger, slight, but with a serious face, and his own impressive bevvy of patches. His VP, she thought. The others, ranged across the rest of the tables, drinking beer from tall glasses, were his killers. His honor guard. They glanced over their shoulders and flicked disinterested glances up from their hands of cards; she knew they were cataloguing everything about her, and were surprised by her presence at Colin’s side, though Bob was the only one to show it outwardly.

His brows lifted, pressing a tall stack of sun wrinkles up his forehead. “Colin,” he said as they approached the table, “not to stick my nose in your business, son, but I thought your old lady was a blonde.”

“She is.” Ava pulled off her cap and smoothed the crown of her ponytail. “I’m Mercy’s old lady.”

The VP – stone-faced in a very Walsh-like way – went blank and blinking with surprise. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Bob echoed.

“Bob, meet Ava Lécuyer,” Colin said in the voice of a man who was very, very tired of his life lately.

“Wow,” Bob said, and then folded his arms and grinned. “The famous fillette, in the flesh.”

Ava couldn’t decide how she felt about that, so she said, simply, “Hi, Bob. You got a boat we can borrow?”

 

Technically, Ava's been Lean Dog royalty since birth. Even before he was president, Ghost held a position of high esteem among his brothers, and was a legacy member besides. 

But there's a difference between holding a title and living up to it, and one of the cool things about Lord Have Mercy was the chance to write Ava as someone who's fought, and bled, and killed for the club. To see her as a living legend in her own right, alongside Mercy. I always regretted not bringing her and Bob face-to-face in Fearless, but the meeting finally happened, eight years later. 

If you haven't yet embarked upon the arduous journey that is the final installment of the Dartmoor Series, you can do so through the link below:

Lord Have Mercy: The Complete Novel

It's Not You, It's Me: When a Book Isn't Doing it for Ya

 

The most useless recommendation of any book is the old reliable "You should read it! It's so good!" To what is "good" referring here? The sophistication of the prose? The author's deft hand at subtle metaphors? The expert grammar and punctuation? Vivid and lifelike characterization? I would argue that "good" usually refers to a reader's enjoyment of the book, rather than any technical aspects of the writing, and enjoyment is wholly subjective and not at all possible to quantify. Not only is enjoyment a personal sensation, attributed to taste, sense of humor, life experiences, etc., but it can also be affected by transitory measures: a reader's current mood or mindset; a sense of community with other readers thanks to a book's popularity; trends and fashions within the industry; the correlation between a book and another popular piece of media. Sometimes the right book strikes us at the right time and earns a spot on the favorites shelf; sometimes the book holds that spot forever after, but sometimes a reread knocks it down. 

In my quest to whittle down my tbr, I started a book this week that's been on it for a while. A trad pub book from an author whose books I've enjoyed before. I won't name it, because I don't do unfavorable reviews, but more than fifty percent through it, and feeling let down, I was inspired to talk about that particular sentiment. 

It's happened to all of us: we start a book that we should enjoy: right genre, right synopsis, even the right author, one whose voice we've connected with in the past. But once we get in between the pages, we find ourselves underwhelmed. Even irritated, at moments. I'm going to finish the book, because the author's writing is still top notch, but I don't think it would be fair to write a lukewarm recommendation for it simply because I'm struggling to connect with the main character. That's why I'm not enjoying it as much as I'd hoped: the character's voice. 

It happens! In crafting this character, the author made her feel very real. That takes undeniable skill, but, in this case, it's made the character someone who I wouldn't want to spend any time with in real life. I've read books about reprehensible characters I quite enjoyed, and this character isn't even reprehensible! I'm just not "feeling it" with her. She's not dastardly, merely annoying: like rubbing a cat's hair the wrong way. 

I've seen readers write several-thousand-word, scathing reviews about characters who annoyed them in this way, and their assertions that a book was "bad," or that the author was "stupid" or "unskilled" are ridiculous. For instance: Aidan is immature, yes; that's who he is. That doesn't mean the book is "bad." Writing can be poor: when an author doesn't understand punctuation or uses improper grammar. Sloppy sentence structure, repetition, unclear meaning, or a failure to follow through on a story's setup are all signs of weak writing that reduce a book's quality. But there's always a risk that a well-drawn character, one written with keen human insight, will annoy or repel readers. This isn't a sign of poor writing: rather, it's a sign that the author has been so successful in executing her vision that audience reactions are as varied and passionate as the reactions to real-life situations.

In the case of this book, it really is a case of me not gelling with the character. It's me, not her. All that I can do is hope I enjoy my next read better and move on. And give props to the author: if she wasn't so good at this, I wouldn't feel any sort of way about the book. 

Goodnight, Lily

It's been a sad week around here. After a sudden, swift decline, we said goodbye to my mini, Lily, on Monday. That's her on the right in the photo. "Lil' Chocolate Chip," as a friend at my old barn called her on her very first day. She joined the family when she was just three months old. Tiny, and feisty, and way too big for her little britches. She was exactly eleven months her brother, Spoof's, junior (that's him on the left), and for twenty-three-years they shared a stall, and a pasture, and every moment, waking and sleeping. By the end, both of them suffered from Cushing's Disease, and struggled to maintain a healthy weight. Excessive coat growth coupled with tooth loss, and a host of other struggles left them tired, but still very much them. That will forever be one of the saddest parts of horses aging: their minds stay sharp and active long after their bodies begin failing them. 

Spoof passed on this day last year. It was a blessedly peaceful affair: I went down to feed one evening and found him lying still in the shade of his favorite napping tree, already gone. 

Not quite twelve months later, I had to make the decision to let Lily go, too. My vet suspects she had some sort of cancer, based on her symptoms. She was ready. Now she's with Spoof again; she missed him so terribly. 

She was buried Tuesday morning. (Thank you, David! You did a wonderful job.) In the days since, everyone in the little Riddermark herd is adjusting to the new normal. I had hoped that Max might be able to go out with my big girls, but between KitKat's pestering and AB's incomprehensible studdish reaction, I don't think that will work. I guess I'm in the market for another mini or small pony, now. In the meantime, I'm trying to shower him with reassurance, pets, and extra cookies. 

I'm hoping to get back into my reading/posting routine in the days to come. I'm actually taking on some freelance work - yay! - and considering doing some commissions. I don't have an official interest form worked up yet, but I'm curious if anyone's in search of ghostwriting services? You can drop me a line if so. I might be able to squeeze in some indie jobs on weekends.

Take care, everyone. Hug your pets. ❤