Barbara Neville's Blog - Posts Tagged "western"

***SPOILERS***
This review contains spoilers!
[Following is the official OnlineBookClub.org review of "On the Rocks" by Barbara Neville.]

On the Rocks is a space Western set in an intriguing future. The greatest strength of this book is its narrator, Roxanne Rockefeller, a profane, feisty cowgirl. Neville has created a genuinely fresh and well-developed character in Roxanne, a young woman who rides out in her best riding finery, complete with guns, a knife… and grenades.

Early in the book, when it seems that Roxanne is a bit too prone to swearing (take a guess at which cuss word is repeated as the first seven words of the book!), Roxanne gives a spirited defense of her filthy mouth, which both humorously justifies her style of talking, while adding depth to her character. I would have thoroughly enjoyed it if the novel were all about Roxanne rambling about the state of the world and her opinions on everything, but as it stands, On the Rocks launches into a page-turning adventure, although some passages are confusing and I had to reread some chapters where certain events seemed to be worded in too vague a manner.

Neville’s wild frontier is set in what is probably the future, where the world outside of the free wilderness is ruled by a seemingly benevolent but truly manipulative government, where history is heavily edited to fit the regime’s agendas, and selling meat is profitable business on planets where people are compelled to be vegetarians. There are numerous elements of this fictional universe that remind me of one of my all-time favorite television series, Firefly, and this book can be strongly recommended to fans of the Firefly/Serenity universe.

Unfortunately, this futuristic setting is a bit more sparsely described than I would have liked– it would have helped if Neville fleshed out her fictional world’s mythology a bit more to show a bit more about its development. If On the Rocks is meant to be the start of a series, then I retract that criticism, since future books might by necessity expand upon Neville’s involving fictional world.

Over the course of this book, Roxanne explores, and meets a variety of people with diverse backgrounds, but these characters are united by their shared genuine love for the cowboy lifestyle. The great joy of this book is watching these characters go about their travels, interact, converse, and reflect upon what they want from life.

I give this book three out of four stars.

I actually wrote that the other night. I was tired, the kid, Hammer, had more to say. This guy is a fictional character.
The next day, I’m at the Tucson Festival of Books, signing books, schmoozing, whatever that is. I’m going to these fabulous presentations by authors, whose books I have been reading most of my life. One of these well known authors, whose mysteries you’ve probably read. And whose name I have unfortunately lost in the mix. It would have been Anne Hillerman, Margaret Cole, J. A. Jance. Or else one of the Robert B. Parker Heirs: Ace Atkins, Robert Knott or Reed Coleman. In any case, all six, of course, mentioned character. Because their characters are great. Their characters rule there books, awesomely. People in the audience as well as the authors spoke of them as if they were real people we all know and expect to walk in the door and join us. Anne Hillerman pointed that out, too, or was it Margaret Cole?
The thing one or more of them mentioned that I want to talk about here, is a pretty universal fact. Even though we authors are creating the characters and should therefore be able to create their personalities, twitches, habits and, well, everything; it’s not the best way to go.
A character at original formation, short of the author getting out the big stick and beating them with it, will grab the ball and run.
Now me? I’m a liberated parent. I let them.
We’ll take the case of Hammer for my illustration. He made a small, bit part, a mere guest appearance in my fifth book. Just to make a scene more interesting. A war veteran, like most of the characters in my books, but grievously and forever wounded. His bit part was a one off for “Rogue Lightning”. I needed Hammer for a few scenes. Then, a few more scenes.
Okay, the scenes became big. Maybe a couple of chapters, just to move the plot forward. Sure, no problem.
Hammer disagreed.
He grabbed the reins and sunk in his spurs. And, it was fine, I like Hammer. He’s a killer, literally and also a big lovable nineteen year old, pathologically happy kid. Think of that friend you have who is always happy, always says he having, not just a great, but a fabulous day.
That’s Hammer. We have great fun with Hammer all through book five. He’s the perfect character, easy to torture. Plus, he always bounces back with a smile.
Okay, there’s the rub. Book six. Hammer’s back for his farewell lines. It was a good run kid, thanks for the memories.
I start a new chapter. Might be the first chapter. Hammer’s there, tapping on the virtual door, saying, “Hey, I’d be perfect for this scene.”
So, I’m sitting here at the keyboard, thinking; ‘Well, yeah, he would. And he’s funny.’
Uh oh, I like funny, especially smartass humor. He and Annie play well off of each other.
The kid has a smart mouth, a handsome smile. He’s tall, good looking, muscular. He’s, in my head and on paper, irrepressible. And with, all the scene stealing, irascible.
A blatant stealer. Wolf, Spud and Buzz want space too. They’re fun, funny, sexy. Handsome, muscular, tall. They all have their own smart mouths. Quirky humor. They’re all different, have their own strengths and weaknesses.
But Hammer, damn it, there’s something about this kid. Annie mentions it, too. Book eight? Hammer’s still there, stage left, grinning.
I often wonder, is Hammer ruining my books? Should I knock the guy off? I have the power. Maybe. Or is Hammer that one character, the pivotal character that everyone loves? Like Spenser, Jim Chee, Hawk. Especially Hawk.
I’m not biased here. I still love the other guys. Annie has been known to say, “Whichever of the guys I’m with is the one I like best.”
Me too. The guy, whichever one of the four, in the scene is awesome. I often think, if Annie chose one and settled down, which would it be? And that’s the answer, the one I’m writing at the moment. As soon as I switch to another, he seems like the keeper. Could be any of them.
But, Hammer? Book nine is about twenty-two percent done, mostly with Hammer scenes left over from editing book eight. ‘Cause he’s stealing space. Still. Bastard.
Damn it, I may never get rid of the big lovable guy. Not sure I want to.

Rogue Lightning (Spirit Animal #5) by Barbara Neville
I actually wrote that the other night. I was tired, the kid, Hammer, had more to say. This guy is a fictional character.
The next day, I’m at the Tucson Festival of Books, signing books, schmoozing, whatever that is. I’m going to these fabulous presentations by authors, whose books I have been reading most of my life. One of these well known authors, whose mysteries you’ve probably read. And whose name I have unfortunately lost in the mix. It would have been Anne Hillerman, Margaret Cole, J. A. Jance. Or else one of the Robert B. Parker Heirs: Ace Atkins, Robert Knott or Reed Coleman. In any case, all six, of course, mentioned character. Because their characters are great. Their characters rule there books, awesomely. People in the audience as well as the authors spoke of them as if they were real people we all know and expect to walk in the door and join us. Anne Hillerman pointed that out, too, or was it Margaret Cole?
The thing one or more of them mentioned that I want to talk about here, is a pretty universal fact. Even though we authors are creating the characters and should therefore be able to create their personalities, twitches, habits and, well, everything; it’s not the best way to go.
A character at original formation, short of the author getting out the big stick and beating them with it, will grab the ball and run.
Now me? I’m a liberated parent. I let them.
We’ll take the case of Hammer for my illustration. He made a small, bit part, a mere guest appearance in my fifth book. Just to make a scene more interesting. A war veteran, like most of the characters in my books, but grievously and forever wounded. His bit part was a one off for “Rogue Lightning”. I needed Hammer for a few scenes. Then, a few more scenes.
Okay, the scenes became big. Maybe a couple of chapters, just to move the plot forward. Sure, no problem.
Hammer disagreed.
He grabbed the reins and sunk in his spurs. And, it was fine, I like Hammer. He’s a killer, literally and also a big lovable nineteen year old, pathologically happy kid. Think of that friend you have who is always happy, always says he having, not just a great, but a fabulous day.
That’s Hammer. We have great fun with Hammer all through book five. He’s the perfect character, easy to torture. Plus, he always bounces back with a smile.
Okay, there’s the rub. Book six. Hammer’s back for his farewell lines. It was a good run kid, thanks for the memories.
I start a new chapter. Might be the first chapter. Hammer’s there, tapping on the virtual door, saying, “Hey, I’d be perfect for this scene.”
So, I’m sitting here at the keyboard, thinking; ‘Well, yeah, he would. And he’s funny.’
Uh oh, I like funny, especially smartass humor. He and Annie play well off of each other.
The kid has a smart mouth, a handsome smile. He’s tall, good looking, muscular. He’s, in my head and on paper, irrepressible. And with, all the scene stealing, irascible.
A blatant stealer. Wolf, Spud and Buzz want space too. They’re fun, funny, sexy. Handsome, muscular, tall. They all have their own smart mouths. Quirky humor. They’re all different, have their own strengths and weaknesses.
But Hammer, damn it, there’s something about this kid. Annie mentions it, too. Book eight? Hammer’s still there, stage left, grinning.
I often wonder, is Hammer ruining my books? Should I knock the guy off? I have the power. Maybe. Or is Hammer that one character, the pivotal character that everyone loves? Like Spenser, Jim Chee, Hawk. Especially Hawk.
I’m not biased here. I still love the other guys. Annie has been known to say, “Whichever of the guys I’m with is the one I like best.”
Me too. The guy, whichever one of the four, in the scene is awesome. I often think, if Annie chose one and settled down, which would it be? And that’s the answer, the one I’m writing at the moment. As soon as I switch to another, he seems like the keeper. Could be any of them.
But, Hammer? Book nine is about twenty-two percent done, mostly with Hammer scenes left over from editing book eight. ‘Cause he’s stealing space. Still. Bastard.
Damn it, I may never get rid of the big lovable guy. Not sure I want to.
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Proposed chapter 1 of Book 8 "Broken Warrior":
“What?”
I just sat up. Jolted out of sleep, fast, scared. The blankets are tangled around me. I look around. It’s gone.
There’s someone sitting on the couch, they’re facing the other way, toward a big window. The back of their head seems fuzzy.
“Nightmare, babe?”
He’s looking over his shoulder, across the back of the couch, at me.
“It was a bear,” I say, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the fuzziness of sleep. “He walked over to me, then stood on his hind legs. He put his paws on my shoulders. His paws, the claws were huge.”
“Grizzly,” he says, nodding.
I stop to breathe. It’s still playing in my head. Real. I take a breath.
“Then, he leaned his head in toward me, like he was gonna kiss me, but he had those hairy bear lips. How can you kiss that?”
He chuckles.
I shake my head to get the cobwebs out. It hurts. I pick up the flask and have a jolt, for the pain.
“Anyway,” I say, “as he got close, he opened his mouth. It was huge, like my whole head would fit inside.
“He turned his head and I realized he wasn’t a grizzly. He was covered in scales, they rippled, refracting the light in a million colors. He was a velociraptor.”
“Shit,” he says. “Them again?”
I hold my hands up shoulder width apart, showing how big.
“His head was like this,” I say, “His teeth were huge, like scimitars. I turned my head and saw his dinosaur hands on my shoulders. I looked back and forth. He had three fingers. Three on each hand with huge ivory claws. He leaned closer, all I could see was his gaping mouth and pointy tongue. His huge teeth were closing over my face. And his claws were sinking into my shoulders. Blood was oozing out.”
I stop to catch my breath, scared by the telling of it.
“Then, I woke up.”
“Wow,” he says, standing up. “You need a hug.”
I see his claws and scream.
“It’s okay, babe,” he says. “I’m here.”
He’s walking closer.
“Stay away,” I say.
He looks confused.
“Oh,” he says, raising the claws. “Dro….”
It’s garbled, I don’t understand.
“What?” I’m looking around. I don’t see a way out. “Fuck. It’s me or them.”
“Babe,” he says. “It was just a dream.”
He’s still walking toward me, wild hair floating around his head. He’s huge and naked. His multicolor scales gleam in the light streaming in through the window. His forearms are covered in black feathers.
He reaches out with those claws. I put my hands on the bed under me and shift backwards, as fast as I can. My back hits the headboard. I look to both sides. He’s too close, I can’t escape.
He tilts his head, his iridescent scales rippling with the movement. When he breathes, flames shoot out of his mouth and nose.
He looks down, then up, and says, “Wait, you’re joking, right?”
I open my mouth, but no noise comes out. A silent scream.
“No, babe, it’s okay,” he says, looking down again. Moving his claws behind his back.
But, I know. I already saw them. He’s a shape shifter. Grizzly, dinosaur, man.
I scream and scream again. I pull the covers over my head and curl in a ball. I’m telling myself; stay still, maybe he can only see movement.
I hear his breathing, imagining the fire. I hear him grunt and turn. I hear the noise as he softly pads away.
It gets quiet. I stay there, hidden in the covers. I’m scared for so long, it’s exhausting.
***
I wake up. My bladder is about to burst. I have to leave the comfort of my blanket cave.
I open my eyes and peek out. He’s gone. No bear, no velociraptor. Which was it? Both, only the one, but he was both.
I get up, piss and find my clothes. I shower off the sweat of the dream. The hot water washes it all away. I dry off, wiping my breasts and my long legs, enjoying my lithe body. I check it out in the full length mirror. It looks strong.
I go out into the big room again. The bed is beyond the dark leather couch, against the far wall. The kitchen is closer, tucked into an alcove, with a square dining table between it and the couch. There’s a pool table and a drawing board off to the left.
The view out the big window is of sand and pounding surf. There’s a tide pool with a patient heron, standing stock still, fishing in it.
I sit on the couch and look out. Watching the surf, and wondering. There’s an open book laying on the end table. I feel disoriented. Nothing seems real. Where am I?
 

The latest book is available now for preorder on Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Warrior-...
It is 99 cents now, will go up to $2.99 or $3.99 on May 5th, when it comes out. All preorders will be 99 cents.
Ebook format only at the moment. Paperback coming soon. I am working in a few last minute inspirations.
The book is now #4 in Hot New Releases, Western Science Fiction, #5 in Travel Adventure Fiction [and , wow, just above a Stone Barrington (Stuart Woods). That won't last.] It's #28 in Women's Adventure. All Hot New Release lists. Anyhow, we'll see if high placement, however transitory, helps sales.

I like a lot of dialogue in books.When I read the first page of a novel, that is what I look for, snappy dialogue. A born smartass, I look for friends who insult each other with regularity, like Spenser and Hawk (Robert B. Parker/Ace Atkins). Or Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti (Stuart Woods). How about Peabody and Emerson (Elizabeth Peters)? Now, there's a dynamic duo. I read those to my kids. And still read the new ones myself. Great works.
There's a difference between the three. Two are written in first person. Amelia Peabody and Spenser show us an engaging world seen through their eyes. Whereas, Stone Barrington, while written from his point of view, is third person. I love all three series, but the first person is me. I like the personal touch that only the "I" can give me. As much as I swallow up every book in the Stone Barrington series, I miss that special first person view.
Another good one is Stephanie Plum and Lula (Janet Evanovich). I love this pair of nutty bounty hunters. Once again, we have Stephanie telling us her story. It's much more personal. Of course, all five (to give Ace Atkins his due, he is the heir to the Spenser novels and doing a bang up job) do a top notch job of all the rest. Which we mustn't forget. Atmosphere, scenery, the five senses. And research, they call it fiction, but a great writer sets their fiction in reality. The tiniest detail can throw a knowledgeable reader off their game. It's an entire world we're creating. I usually get my dialogue first, then go back and fill out the location feel, look, sounds and smells. And, please get your plants right. I was at a winery recently where some out of town tasters were waxing on about the smell of sage in the local wine. Uh oh. Yes we're in a desert here, but not the Great Basin Desert. No sagebrush. The power of suggested misinformation (Desert=Sagebrush) ruled their noses. And, of course, different plant types live at different elevations. Author beware!

For the new writer, there is no end of advice. Get lots of reviews. Reviews don't matter. Read a lot. Use Facebook ads. Show, don't tell. Or show , don't tell is bad advice. Write, write write. Listen to the plethora of online seminars.MOst of which don't tell you quite enough, but have a fabulous $10,000 product that they will sell you for $600 bucks. Hey, they may be fabulous and well worth the money, I don't know.
Okay, reviews: I used to read reviews before I went a movie To a rock concert. I missed out on seeing Elvis, because I read a bad review in the newspaper. Then, he died.
I've watched countless movies I loved or hated based on reviews that told me the opposite. Well reviewed books? No surprise, same thing. There are huge selling authors who tell, don't show. Not my thing. I just started listening to a New York Times bestselling author's latest book. It tells and tells and tells, I am a third of the way in. Will someone please speak? I usually like her books, have read most of them. But not my first choice. Could be yours. We are all individuals. I like dialogue, I greatly prefer first person. I like to be shown. One of my favorite movies, which I've watched over and over because good movies are hard to find, is Armageddon, which I like for the witty repartee between the actors. Firefly is the classic. I like action, too, but the snarky dialogue is what grabs me.
Spenser and Hawk (or Z), Elvis Cole and Joe Pike, Stone Barrington and Dino, Stephanie Plum and Lula, Longmire and Vic. I especially love Vic's smart mouth. The buddy thing; Danny Glover and Mel Gibson in the Lethal Weapon movies.
The list isn't long enough, I want more. I like the smartass, the plot is less important. As Ace Atkins said recently (and I paraphrase); if you're reading Spenser for the plot, you're missing the whole point. Sure, that may be the opposite of what you like. Sly Stone said it best, "Different Strokes for Different Folks." I want to be drawn in, be a part of the conversation, be in on the action. Be the protagonist or be in love with him, either way. Be the most badass cowboy in the saloon. But, hey, maybe that's just me.

It's raining outside, after a hundred plus degree afternoon. It isn't supposed to rain. June is southern Arizona's driest month. San Juan's Day (June 24th) is the average return of the annual monsoon, a hundred miles south of here in Hermosillo, Sonora. Ours usually hits us in the park on the 4th of July. With the hundred degrees morning and early afternoon and the rain, mostly light now, I've gotten a lot done indoors on the keyboard. I've updated the new book. Cowboy Dictionary is the name. It's in preorder on Amazon. It is a compilation of the cowboy vernacular terms my characters use and plus Hawaiian pidgin, and some Spanish. Plus character descriptions. It's set up to accompany the series as word has it that some found it entertaining in and of itself. A short book, very short at ten or eleven pages. And I added another three thousand pages to book ten. The rain is reminding me to add atmosphere. Which is what I started doing this morning, then I got sidetracked by plot. Such is life. I follow the muse more than the outline. Don't really have an outline yet at 24,500 word in. And, I recommend you follow your muse. It's fun. And don't forget to read, it opens new worlds

I have dipped my toe into the idea or releasing the next book in chapter form, for reading participation. I decided to give it a try with the newest book, which is a fork in the series road, but not a complete departure. It's based on history (but fictional) travel guide into a, more or less, real world. Anyway, comments and advice are welcome, this is a rough draft. None of the chapters are complete until the book is, I do ongoing editing and expansion. Here we go:
“After seventeen days of travel, I came upon a 'rancheria' of the Indians who follow these cattle (bison). These natives are called Querechos (Apaches). They do not cultivate the land, but eat raw meat and drink the blood of the cattle (bison) they kill. They dress in the skins of the cattle, with which all the people in this land clothe themselves, and they have very well-constructed tents, made with tanned and greased cowhides, in which they live and which they take along as they follow the cattle. They have dogs which they load to carry their tents, poles, and belongings.”-Francisco Coronado, 1541.

1 Amigos

They fire three warning shots.
We hit the dirt.
“Olle, amigos,” someone behind us says. “Levantanses. Y manos arriba.”
I hear the click of a hammer engaging and rolling the cylinder of his gun.
We stand up.
“They said hands up,” I say, raising mine.
“I think we got that from their tone, darlin’,” says Crazy, hands already in the air.
The rest are at hand high attention, too.
“Que pasa?” I ask, peering over my shoulder at them. One is dishwater blond, in a light colored suit, pale and pasty all ‘round. The other two are dark brown with black hair, dressed in white, campesino style.
“Son Indios,” says one of them.
“No. Hablan Ingles,” says the other.
“Mebbe some of ‘em do,” says the white eyes.
“I got English and blue eyes,” I say.
“You ain’t Injin?” he asks.
“Am I wearin’ moccasins?” I ask, looking pointedly at my cowboy boots.
“Okay,” says the white eyes. “What’s you're business here?”
“None of yores,” I say.
“Watch it, cowboy,” he says.
“Do you need glasses?” I ask. “I’m a cowgirl.”
“Shut up,” he says. “Them others is Injins.”
Three of us are dressed cowboy. The other three are in beaded buckskins.
“I got a badge,” says Crazy, dressed cowboy today.
“Huh?”
“Let me explain,” I say. “Okay?”
“Por favor,” says the other guy.
“Good, but partly in English. My Spanish is rusty. Okay?”
White eyes nods.
I turn around, see the ends of their gun barrels still pointing at us, and say, “We’re not wild Injins. We’re lookin’ fer renegade Apache. These here are our scouts.”
Hey, on the spot story invention. Woo tah.
“Ain’t no Apache down south here,” says the white eye.
“No, we come down by ship from Frisco, goin’ ta catch the train north,” I say.
“I see,” says the white eye.
“I’m a deputy U. S. marshal,” says Crazy. “Badge is in my pocket. Can you lower them guns?”
“I reckon I’ll think about it,” he says.
“We’re in a hurry, boss,” I say to Crazy Horse. “Don’t wanna miss our train.”
“We’re lookin’ fer a place to buy some ridin’ horses,” says Crazy.
“Ranch down that next road, on the end, ask there,” says white eyes, finally lowering his six shooter. “Sorry about the misunderstanding. Good luck.”
“Thank ya kindly, gents, ” says Crazy, shaking their hands.
They walk on down the main road.
We turn into the ranch road.
Once they’re out of sight, I say, “Well, that’s a fine introduction to Mexico,” I say. “Barely arrived and we’ve already been waylaid.”