My writing life predated horses, but whereas writing took me many years to appreciate I liked horses immediately. They are big. They eat grass. They are scared of everything. They won’t kill you if you touch them, though they could (a big attraction for boys). A bond of trust was clearly integral to the experience. I have never outgrown my fascination with their character and ability.
I trailrode my way into Western competition, but eventing was the sport that lit my passion. My interest in horses continued into college, where I was the founder of the University of Texas Equestrian Club. I put together a show jumping event for intercollegiate teams across the country, and brought in an audience of about 2500–which was about 2400 more than any jumping event had done previously probably since.
The writing side of my life began in Boston amongst the old bookstores that once crowded the alleys near Harvard Square. In those cramped quarters were the evidence of mankind’s existence, stacks of illustrated books detailing every known era of civilization. A gloomy air of doom was in the musty air, for the bright path of corporatization was looming with chain restaurants and luxury condos on offer. The bookstores are gone now, an incalculable loss I think, but seeing the waning tide provoked me into writing about it. And that is how this rider turned writer and The Legend of the Great Horse was born.
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