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BIO Mary Lynn Archibald is a freelance copywriter and author of two memoirs: Briarhopper: A History, and Accidental Cowgirl: Six Cows, No Horse and No Clue. She has also been published in Chicken Soup for the Single Parent's Soul.
News Contact: Mary Lynn Archibald Cloud Healdsburg, CA 95448
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707•395•0542 Phone/Fax
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With One Stroke of the Pen, Their Dream of a Peaceful Rural Escape Evaporated. Before They Knew What Happened, They Were Ranchers.
“We’d planned to relax on 120 acres of lush beauty, but instead found we had inherited six cows, two cats, a flock of wild turkeys, and a working cattle ranch,” says Mary Lynn Archibald, author of Accidental Cowgirl: Six Cows, No Horse and No Clue, a delightful memoir of 12 years on a Trinity County, CA cattle ranch, dealing with deer hunters, poachers, marijuana growers, critters, temperamental rural water systems and wandering cows.
Says Ray Raphael, author of An Everyday History of Somewhere and a dozen other books, “So you want to move to the country? Before closing escrow or mounting your horse, try galloping through the pages of Accidental Cowgirl. You might die laughing, but if you survive with your dreams still intact, at least you will have been warned.”
Archibald is the author of two memoirs and a regular contributor to New York Times Affiliate, The Press Democrat, as well as Today’s Home and ACRES magazines and others.
This charming tale of love and loss in the mountains is hilarious and poignant by turns and a great, fast read.
Writing Samples “Why would you want to go to a writer’s conference?” My husband asked in his typical, irritating way. “I thought any writer worth his salt would have no time for such frivolity because he (and here, I assume he meant also, she), would be too busy writing.” As usual I found myself annoyingly at a loss for a concise and snappy comeback; one that would shut him up and also make me feel better about the extravagant amount of money I was about to spend on myself. The fact that the money I was spending was my own did not help to mitigate my guilt over spending it. After all, I had plenty of other items on my priority list–you know, the one every writer keeps with things on it like food and toilet paper and printer cartridges, and checks that need to be sent fairly regularly to the phone company, the power company (so they don’t turn off your modem or your computer), and those little emergencies your children seem to have on a regular basis. I mumbled some platitude about wanting to convince myself I was a writer in fact, rather than someone who was simply writing—that is to say, malingering (though I didn’t tell him about the malingering part—that is my secret). To my surprise he bought it, at least for the moment. This gave me the leisure to search for real answers to his question. Why was I going, indeed? To rub elbows with other writers and share knowledge, certainly. To see and be seen? Not so important as it was in my youth. To spend a pleasant weekend with like-minded folks in a gorgeous setting, of course. To learn, primarily. But learn what? Having been an English teacher in a former incarnation, I thought I had a pretty fair grasp of grammar and sentence construction, and although if you ask me I’ll deny it (angst being so fashionable these days), writing is usually fun for me. Likewise, I don’t need to learn how to conquer writer’s block, how to be “creative,” (whatever that means), or how to deal with the vagaries of fame and fortune, should I ever be offered a crack at those. What I needed to learn from attendance at a writer’s conference was howt o justify my fun, and we all know that means knowing how to write work that not only sells, (I love to eat, and would rather eat lobster than hamburger—there it is, in all its shameless simplicity), but work to which I can be proud to attach my name. To me this meant that I would not be writing a blockbuster like “Celestine Prophecy,” or “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus”—or their many sequels—anytime soon. Therefore it follows as the night the day, that I would probably not be deluged with movie deals or six-figure checks, but my hope is, as always, that I will be able to sleep well and soundly at night and still be able to face myself in the mirror every morning. So I took my virginal self to Asilomar that June, full of anticipation, hope, and lust—for learning, that is. And more than that, full of hope that I would come back as someone who without stammering, could call herself a writer. by Mary Lynn Archibald It began inauspiciously with a bureaucratic mixup on the part of the management, which resulted in a nearly three-hour wait in the registration line and many frazzled nerves, but once we got past that, things moved along nicely. Besides, I met some lovely new friends whil standing in that line–shared pain has a way of bonding folks like no other experience–with some of whom I am still actually speaking, at least once a year when I send my holiday cards. The general session on Friday night held an unexpected gem. John Musker, who had been with Disney 20 years, talked about his work on their last few animated hits (The Little Mermaid, Aladdin and Hercules were current at the time). His enthusiasm, humor and straightforward style were refreshing and entertaining. The weather on Saturday was perfect—sunny and mild, but that made it hard to sit inside. The workshops I attended were: “The Art of the Memoir,” (of which I had to miss a lot because I had an appointment with a real live agent); “Slushpile Snorkeling,” (nothing new here); “Focus Your Fiction,” (fast-paced and meaty; and “Using Real People in Books and Plays;” (could have been stated in fifteen minutes rather than several hours); and “How to Make Yourself Irresistible to Any Agent or Publisher,” (I haven’t nailed that one yet). Hearing Saturday night’s keynote address was another unexpected pleasure. Olivia Goldsmith (First Wives’ Club), was witty, well-informed and helpful. After Olivia, the Redwood Writers in attendance were invited to our writer’s club branch founder’s room for a Champagne party. She was presented with the Jack London Service Award for outstanding service to the membership, and though I’d only seen her in action once (I was a brand new member at the time), I could tell that she deserved it. A woman who gets things done, she was part of the committee which advocated the passage of a bill designating the third week in October as “Writer’s Week,” and is now the State President of the California Writers Club. Sunday, I attended the Editor/Publisher’s Panel (mildly helpful), and “Focus Your Nonfiction,” which was taught by the same teacher I had loved on Saturday in the fiction class. She gave us so much useful material it took me weeks to absorb it, and her lively presence made the whole weekend worthwhile for me. The food was plentiful and mostly edible (you know how it is with institutional food), the company was great, the setting was perfect (Asilomar, California, close enough to Monterey, Carmel and Pacific Grove to be interesting), and I had a terrific roommate–terrific because she was absent except for those all-important girl-talks in the dark. It was almost like being back in college. I got what I needed from my first writer’s conference. Did I mention all the books I bought? My favorite was, The Portable Writers’ Conference, edited by Stephen Blake Mettee. I figured that in the long run it would help me save money, because if I had all that publishing wisdom “Learn from over 45 Editors, Agents and Authors!”, I wouldn’t have to pay to attend any more writers’ conferences. I also got to see up close what real live agents, editors and published writers look like, and you know what? They look a lot like me. —End— |
Too Cool! Accidental Cowgirl and Singing Cowboy to appear at Santa Rosa Barnes and Noble! Mark your calendar for June 14th at 2 P.M. Leave your six-gun and chewing tobacco at home (there will be no spittoons provided), and join us for a rollicking good time. Copies of Mary Lynn Archibald's hilarious book about a 12-year attempt to run a working cattle ranch with no experience whatever, Accidental Cowgirl: Six Cows, No Horse and No Clue, and Scott Gerber's CD, Cowboy Songs, will be available for purchase and signing by the author and the musician after the performance.
