Pony Dreams

Good morning and welcome to Tuesday Blog Share. Today, we’re looking at Pony Dreams, a story of a teenage girl’s deepest desire to become a Pony Express Rider. Abby has dreams, big dreams. She loves horses, wishes she could help her family train the ponies in their corral for the Pony Express, but her biggest desire is to ride for the mail venture.

BlurbThe Pony Express brought mail across barren desert, endless prairies, and over steep mountains from April 3, 1860 to October 24, 1861. The telegraph has often taken the most blame for the Pony ceasing operations, although there were other reasons. One-hundred-forty-five years later, the internet made the telegraph obsolete. The romance of that time lives on, in the memories of those who heard the tales of this great venture…
Mina Weston Anders bursts into her home to tell her great-granny that the telegraph is no more on January 27, 2006. A story unfolds, as Granny talks about an ancestor that Mina resembles…
Abigail Grace Weston's starry-eyed dream is to become the first female Pony Express rider. Ma, Pa, and six overprotective brothers won't even let her near the corral to train mustangs for the mail venture, so she gives up her dream to sneak out and talk to the ponies, teaching them to accept her weight on their backs.
Then her life changes and all her dreams are dust. Or are they?

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Excerpt
If anyone had asked me to describe fifteen, I’d tell them it was near an impossible age. Everyone expected me to act like a lady and wear dresses all the time. I had to pin up my hair instead of letting it swing in the breeze in two long braids. Ladies didn’t run around without a care in the world, nor could they allow the sun to tan their skin.
Being a lady stinks.
What I wanted deep in my heart was to wear pants and train horses from sunup to sunset. No one in my family listened whenever I begged them to let me help with training the horses, so a lady I was. They told me to get about my chores. To stay out of trouble, I did those awful, everyday jobs but with hate in my heart. That was all I, Abigail Grace Weston, faced—never-ending, boring housework day in and day out.
I would never get a break from this boredom, as a lady in the nineteenth century never had a chance to think for herself, nor did she really run her home. A man always took care of a lady. This was one of the strictest rules ever, and I learned it at an early age. No one ever let me forget it; no matter what dreams I had—like the forbidden desire to one day becoming a Pony Express rider.




About K.C. Sprayberry
Born and raised in Southern California’s Los Angeles basin, K.C. Sprayberry spent years traveling the United States and Europe while in the Air Force before settling in northwest Georgia. A new empty nester with her husband of more than twenty years, she spends her days figuring out new ways to torment her characters and coming up with innovative tales from the South and beyond.                                                                                                  She’s a multi-genre author who comes up with ideas from the strangest sources. Those who know her best will tell you that nothing is safe or sacred when she is observing real life. In fact, she considers any situation she witnesses as fair game when plotting a new story.

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