Author Spotlight with Davalynn Spencer ( + Giveaway )
Posted by historythrutheages
Today I’m happy to welcome author Davalynn Spencer for an author spotlight and giveaway.
When did you first discover that you were a writer?
In the sixth grade, my teacher gave the class a story-writing assignment to which I latched on like a bucket calf. We had bucket calves at the ranch, which is why I use the analogy, though my story was not at all farm or ranch related. It was a science-fiction story about an alien that came to earth looking for a mate.
Scary, I know.
It was my first and last sci-fi.
But the teacher liked it enough to have me read it to the entire gathering of sixth graders one evening during our week-long stay at a science/conservation camp. All the other students in my class participated in “commercial” skits in between my chapters, and I believe that was the true entertainment for the evening.
Tell us the range of the kinds of books you enjoy reading.
Romance has always played a big part in what I like to read and still does. (Maybe it was the whole alien/human thing from sixth grade.) I enjoy reading both historical and contemporary tales, suspense, mystery, women’s fiction, time-slip, etc., just so there is a strong romantic thread.
I read Westerns written by authors like Louis L’Amour and Stan Lynde because I want to learn how cowboys talk and think or used to talk and think back in the Old West. I pretty much know how they talk and think today because I married one and gave birth to another.
How do you keep your sanity in our run, run, run world?
I’ve heard about sanity. I’ve heard it was a state of mind in which one does not talk to imaginary people living in their head who wake them in the middle of the night with story ideas and confuse themselves with real people. If that is the case, I am not at all sane, so I’ll simply address how I fit all that I do into “regular life.”
A basic day begins with a mile walk (unless the wind is blowing, and then I stay inside and exercise with a woman on television). I spend time with the Lord every morning, reading a devotional book or delving into a personal study of specific scriptures. My prayer time involves listening, but not as much as it should. I do a lot of asking too.
After breakfast, I go to my desk with the goal of beginning my workday at 9 a.m. I usually hit that mark and sometimes beat it by an hour. I take intermittent breaks to make sure the blood is still flowing through my legs and brain, run errands, pull a few weeds, chop a little kindling (depending on the season), and check on my companions Blue the Cowdog and mouse detectors Annie and Oakley. By 6 p.m. I’m fried and retire to the sofa for supper and a good book (see the previous question).
On more pain-oriented days, I tackle such monsters as marketing, promoting, letter writing, bookkeeping, etc. but I much prefer the creative side of writing which involves, well, writing.
By Sunday I am ready for that Sabbath rest we read about in the Bible, and I’m quite fond of it. I think God knew what He was talking about.
Reader question: During our recent stay-at-home challenge due to the virus, what was one thing you resorted to as an encouraging, personal activity that you would like to continue doing once things get back to so-called normal?
I will give a randomly selected commenter an e-book copy of my latest release and Book 3 of the Front Range Brides series, An Impossible Price.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Bestselling author and winner of the Will Rogers Gold Medallion for Inspirational Western Fiction, Davalynn Spencer is the wife and mother of professional rodeo bullfighters and can’t stop #lovingthecowboy. When she’s not writing Western romance, she teaches writing workshops and wrangles Blue the Cowdog and mouse detectors Annie and Oakley. Connect with her at www.davalynnspencer.com.
Book link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B088KTZKMP/
Quarterly Newsletter sign-up and free e-book: http://eepurl.com/xa81D
Amazon Author: https://www.amazon.com/Davalynn-Spencer/e/B002EZUEZK
Page 1 of An Impossible Price:
OLIN SPRINGS, COLORADO
Late March 1885
The bay stallion pawed at the stock-car wall and tossed its head. Quick as a rattlesnake, its back leg struck. A partition splintered, sending wood fragments showering over crates and barrels.
The horse had fought its constraints for the last four hours—all the way from Denver. It was only a matter of time before the battle between bolted wood and brute strength was decided. Clay’s money was on the horse.
The rhythmic clack of iron wheels began to drag, and Clay pushed to his feet, bracing against the louvered wall of the car. Already heavy with horse sweat and manure, the air thickened at the screech of steel on steel, fear tainting the mix. A long blast of the whistle drew his horse’s ears forward.
“It won’t be long now, Duster. We’re almost home.”
His buckskin’s dark eye widened with uncertainty. Its shoulder and leg muscles bunched for balance. Clay took hold of the rope that tethered the gelding and rubbed its neck and shoulder, telegraphing calm.
A general stock car wasn’t his first choice for either himself or his horse, but the Denver & Rio Grande had nothing else for livestock. He’d chosen the speed of a train over the length of the trail between Kansas City and Colorado, but he’d refused to ride with human passengers and risk injury—or worse—to his unattended horse. The bay stallion was a perfect example of why.
The car jerked against its couplings, sending a nearby horse to its knees. Billowing steam hissed along the rails, and the train inched toward a full stop. Olin Springs. Clay eased out a tight hiss of his own. They weren’t off the train in one piece yet.
Memories of his first arrival rose like smoke from the stack—riding into town beaten, broke, and bitter. His outlook now was a whole lot better than it had been four years ago.
Expectation rippled through him, as well as the mixed bunch of horseflesh tethered to rings on the walls. Clay had secured a forward corner, farthest from the stallion and somewhat protected with the outer wall on one side and a flimsy partition on the other.
Anticipating the slide of the car door, he untied Duster and turned him to face daylight. Behind them, the stallion reared against its rope. Any minute now.
Freight crewmen slid the door wide, and Clay led his horse down the stock ramp into sunshine and fresh air. They’d been too long cooped up.
As they hit solid earth, a panicked whinny sent a chill up Clay’s neck. He looked for someone to hold his horse and took a chance on an older boy in tall boots.
“Hold him steady and I’ll make it worth your while. And get back out of the way.”