Delores Goodrick Beggs is a prolific award-winning author in fiction,
non-fiction, and poetry, having started in high school when she would often
awaken with a dream demanding to be captured on paper. She scribbled notes while
relaxing in her favorite lounge chair and stuffed the treasured horde of paper
slips into the creases between seat and armrest, handy to pull out later as
needed. Her ideas still refuse to go away until captured on paper. She turned her notes into her first stories, often writing during short-lived Kansas thunderstorms that barely thinned the sweltering heat of Pony Ring Ranch where her father raised horses and ponies. She wrote her first collection of fiction on a mountaintop in California while watching her part-Appaloosa mare assert mischievous independence in the exercise corral. Delores grew up influenced by the warmth of hounds and the tolerance of horses. Her cowman father bought her first horse, Black Velvet, when she was only five years old and recovering from a devastating bout of spinal meningitis which permanently affected her hearing. Her nonfiction book, How Can I Talk With You, is an outline of the coping skills she used growing up. The Arts Council of Santa Clara County, (CA) awarded it the 1992 Artist Fellowship in Creative Nonfiction
Excerpt: "Good colt. I'm Stemson Arroyo Smith, by the way."
Each crisp word shot a thrill of pleasure through her. Her eyes widened, and she smiled. He didn't drawl the way Tennyson's cowboy friends did. Cultured, she thought, and with a deep voice she could hear well.
"He needs work, a lot of work."
"A little at a time will do it. He's young yet."
"The house is over there." She nodded in Tennyson’s direction, drinking in the wonderful experience of not having to tilt her head in order to hear him.
Stemson made no move to leave.
Mauranie ground her teeth and clenched her fists, staring at him. She glanced past him to where Tennyson stood pressed against the veranda rail, her body rigid again, a grimace on her face.
"My sister sometimes keeps her suitors cooling their heels. I warn you, yours will be a long wait if you remain here. Tennyson’s hand-made boots have never seen the inside of a corral." Mauranie turned her back to Stemson and clicked the colt into motion.
"My business is with Mauranie Wells." His deep voice caused her to pause and turn back to better catch his words. "I daresay it’s you? Scott Ringer at the feed store in Mescal Flats told me your sister is a blonde. So you see, I am, after all, where I should be."
Warmth started in the core of her being and spread to engulf her. At the same time, uncertainty struck her. Had she heard him right? This nice man had come to see her? She well knew how her poor hearing sometimes tripped her up. She tensed. She had to check if she'd heard him right. She drew Showman to a stop and led him to the pole fence where the stranger stood.
"Me? What can I do to help you?" She scanned the crinkled corners of his silvered eyes, letting her gaze drop down smooth cheeks darkening with new afternoon shadow. Her tight muscles relaxed. She lifted her gaze and stared into the smile of those silvery-blue eyes. http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-290/From-The-Heart-Book/Detail.bok
Horses, hounds, heartEach crisp word shot a thrill of pleasure through her. Her eyes widened, and she smiled. He didn't drawl the way Tennyson's cowboy friends did. Cultured, she thought, and with a deep voice she could hear well.
"He needs work, a lot of work."
"A little at a time will do it. He's young yet."
"The house is over there." She nodded in Tennyson’s direction, drinking in the wonderful experience of not having to tilt her head in order to hear him.
Stemson made no move to leave.
Mauranie ground her teeth and clenched her fists, staring at him. She glanced past him to where Tennyson stood pressed against the veranda rail, her body rigid again, a grimace on her face.
"My sister sometimes keeps her suitors cooling their heels. I warn you, yours will be a long wait if you remain here. Tennyson’s hand-made boots have never seen the inside of a corral." Mauranie turned her back to Stemson and clicked the colt into motion.
"My business is with Mauranie Wells." His deep voice caused her to pause and turn back to better catch his words. "I daresay it’s you? Scott Ringer at the feed store in Mescal Flats told me your sister is a blonde. So you see, I am, after all, where I should be."
Warmth started in the core of her being and spread to engulf her. At the same time, uncertainty struck her. Had she heard him right? This nice man had come to see her? She well knew how her poor hearing sometimes tripped her up. She tensed. She had to check if she'd heard him right. She drew Showman to a stop and led him to the pole fence where the stranger stood.
"Me? What can I do to help you?" She scanned the crinkled corners of his silvered eyes, letting her gaze drop down smooth cheeks darkening with new afternoon shadow. Her tight muscles relaxed. She lifted her gaze and stared into the smile of those silvery-blue eyes. http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-290/From-The-Heart-Book/Detail.bok
gfadelores@verizon.net
http://www.goodrickbeggs.wordpress.com
http://deloressworld.blogspot.com/
Breaking Point - Available now!
Charming Champion - Aug. 2012
Substitute Lover - Dec. 2012
My sister and hubby raise Appaloosa's - they were the first horse I ever rode. How awesome growing up on a ranch! Oh, the eyes got me!! Great excerpt.
ReplyDeleteThanks Delores for stopping by. Thank you, Linda, for visiting and leaving a comment. This Western tour is great fun.
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