Free Kindle Book: The Shopkeeper: 9/14 through 9/18

Honest Westerns. Full of dishonest characters.

This week

The Shopkeeper Kindle version is free to promote the 8-book series. 

FREE September 14 through September 18

Get your free copy today!

Free ebook promo for the Shopkeeper

 

Honest westerns. Full of dishonest characters.

The Shopkeeper ebook will be free from Monday, September 14, through Friday, September 18, 2026. The Shopkeeper is the first novel in the Steve Dancy Tales, an eight-book series. Try the first one for free. I'm sure you'll want to buy the rest of the series.

The Shopkeeper has 2,850 reviews on Amazon with a 4.4 rating and 1,822 reviews on Goodreads with a 4.0 rating. 

Try it. You'll like it.

The Future of the Western Genre

For the last couple of decades, enthusiasts have lamented the demise of Westerns. The rest of the world went about their business, ignorant that anyone cared about a genre relegated to a few obscure shelves at the local bookstore. Westerns were hugely popular for over a hundred years. Not only were Westerns popular in the United States, but the whole world devoured them. The Western was a staple of fiction, Hollywood, television, and daydreams. What happened?

Overexposure, for one thing. In 1959, there were twenty-six Western series on prime time television. On the silver screen, John Wayne banished his Winchester at countless bad guys. Paperback Westerns could be found in abundance in any drugstore, most of them with Louis L’Amour’s name on the cover. The big names did some wonderful, quality stuff, but the demand was so great that a lot of trash made it into print and celluloid.

The common perception is that the Western genre is moribund. Yet somehow, Larry McMurtry and Cormac McCarthy made a good living off Westerns. (Their books, however, are seldom stacked up with the straight-to-paperback variety of Westerns.) Robert B. Parker temporarily abandoned private eye Spencer to embrace the western genre for a trilogy about two guns for hire. In film, Appaloosa grossed a respectable $28 million at the box office, while 3:10 to Yuma grossed over $70 million. Productions like Godless, Yellowstone, and Old Henry keep the genre alive. DVD sales of vintage Westerns do well, and Louie L’Amour, Zane Grey, and even Max Brand still sell a respectable number of books.

So, the Western isn’t dead, but it’s just as certainly not the rage, especially for the upcoming generation. Thrillers, fantasies, sci-fi, and romance novels garner all the shelf space. Action movies sound tracks are filled with revving motors, not thundering hoofs. And television … well, television just broadcasts another police drama. In fact, the Western excesses of the late fifties are being repeated today with cop shows. Perhaps tired audiences are ready for a resurgence of Westerns.

Perhaps. But what type of Western? Probably a new breed. There have been three distinct western eras. I called them: wholesome, the flawed hero, and the violent eras.

The wholesome era lasted until the late fifties. It was epitomized by Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy, and a host of other cowboys sporting white hats. Instead of killing bad guys, they shot guns out of their hands. If someone was killed, they damn-well deserved it, and their death would be bloodless, with a pledge-like hand to the chest to cover unsightly bullet holes. As in all eras, there was overlap, and during the later stages of the wholesome phase, Wayne and others made more realistic Westerns—but these, of course, were quarantined to movie houses, and only at night.

The flawed hero of the sixties wasn’t the antihero of today. He merely had faults; like Josh Randall, the bounty hunter portrayed by Steve McQueen in Wanted Dead or Alive or the gambling Maverick brothers who proudly proclaimed themselves cowards. Richard Boone wore black and looked mean as a gun-for-hire in Paladin. The Magnificent Seven were reluctant, saviors of a small Mexican village—and flawed to a man. Again, overlapping eras. The spaghetti Westerns of the late sixties took the genre into new territory.

From the seventies on, the antihero ruled a frontier filled with slow-motion violence. The violent era was ushered in by Sergio Leone with his Man With No Name trilogy (1967) and Sam Peckinpaw with The Wild Bunch (1969). From then on, red dominated the color spectrum and the hero was only a step removed from the bad guy. The raw realism was inappropriate for television until cable brought Deadwood (2004) into our living rooms.

What’s next? Luckily, these eras overlap, so seeing the direction of the Western genre is not guesswork. Larry McMurtry, Cormac McCarthy, and Robert B. Parker pointed the way. The future of the Western genre is historically accurate storytelling. A story can take place in the past, the present, or the future. If the story occurs in the past, we call them historical novels—except for Westerns. They get consigned to a niche genre that still carries the taint of pulp fiction. But a story that takes place in the nineteenth century American frontier has as much legitimacy to be called a historical novel as Ken Follett’s World Without End.

McMurtry, McCarthy, and Parker have found the key. Good writing, sound plots that move with assurance, and great characterization. They concentrated on characters that are forced to deal with hardships and human frailty at a particular point in history. These are the basic elements of good storytelling. A Western historical novel can indeed be action-adventure, but it can also borrow elements from the detective, suspense, romance, mystery, and other genres. Lonesome Dove took from all of them.

The world has tired of cookie-cutter cop shows, superheroes, and endless permutations of suspense tales about secret societies that are about to take over the world. Westerns may very well again rule the page and screen

Now Available: Maelstrom, A Civil War Novel!

The story of the greatest rivalry in American History.

 Buy at Amazon

Is the Mythology of the Old West Dead?

 “The fascination that the Old West has will never die." John Wayne

The mythology of the Old West has been denigrated by the people who set literary fashion. They say it is idealized, simplistic, tired, and, above all, untrue. The good guys were never that good. Frontiersmen and settlers displaced noble people already occupying the land. Coarse immigrants came in droves to desecrate a pristine wilderness. Eulogized heroics usually involved vigilantism, which offends those who honor the rule of law.

The same mythology escapes criticism in fantasy and science fiction, so why is it disparaged in Westerns? They’re all made-up stories, but morality plays in these other genres find acceptance. The battle between good and evil, selfless sacrifice, idealized heroics, and venturing away from home are popular themes in extremely popular genres. Few doubt that the Harry Potter series, Lord of the Rings, or the work of Arthur C. Clark and H. G. Wells are respectable literature. An argument could be made that similar themes are even reflected in nursery rhymes. Could the difference be that the Old West actually happened?

Before we answer this question, we should take another look at the mythology of the Old West. It’s about more than gun-slinging paladins. There are three major elements, with many tributaries. The first is the romance of a new beginning. Second, in this new world, the battle of good versus evil is clearly defined and won by good. The last element is the lone warrior who sets things right.

The West, outer space, the future, or a make-believe land represents a new beginning in a fresh place away from home—the shedding of disappointments and a chance to start over. The romance and adventure of the frontier draw people desperate to escape the travail of their current existence. We’ve seen this in real life with the migrations to the New World and the Old West, but today many people satisfy this longing vicariously with fiction. If you’re poor, your family makes you miserable, you’ve committed an act that offends society, or wanderlust has gripped you, then the adventure and limitless opportunity of a frontier beckon like a siren’s call. Emigrating to a frontier means you get a do-over in a land with no rules, no fences, no referees.

Real life is a greyscale, somewhat skewed toward the darker side of the spectrum. A new life in a new world wouldn’t entice us if we had to bring our old baggage. As envisioned, the new world is black and white. There’s strength in righteousness, perseverance and risk are rewarded, good people do right, and bad people get their just deserts. This is a world of hope. Hope for riches, hope for justice, hope for a different path in life. Good fights evil and good always triumphs. This is a theme that has been part of storytelling in every society since the first cave drawings.

A raw frontier is dangerous, so good needs help. Elements and carnivorous animals threaten at every turn. People fight ruthlessly to claim a piece of terrain for themselves. No civilization means no restraint on bad people doing bad things. Help comes in the form of an idealized hero, possibly an anti-hero who overcomes his moral deficiencies to help the innocent. This is usually visualized as a lone warrior, like the one eulogized by Tom Wolfe in The Right Stuff. The hero is capable of violence, but he is essentially good. The gunman in Westerns carries a simple solution on his hip. Frodo has the ring and Potter his wand. In these mythical realms, the hero risks his life to save the day and demands nothing in return.

Western mythology beguiles us because it promises a world different from our own. Hard work gets rewarded. We have freedom of movement by horse and train.  We get vicarious revenge against the unpleasant people in our lives. And riches. Wealth comes from the land and the land is free. The whole package is wrapped in idealized virtues that make us feel safe and hopeful.

And we can experience it all by reading in our favorite easy chair.

Which brings us back to our question. Are these themes less acceptable in Westerns because the Old West actually existed?

 Yes.

History shows that the idealized frontier was a myth. This gives fantasy and sci-fi a huge advantage, since they aren’t bound by reality. In the real Old West, bad guys often won. More accurately, the strong and willful won, many times using bullying tactics. In the gritty real world, Native Americans were vanquished by hordes of pioneers. Miners raked the surface of beautiful countryside and then ran off when there was no more easy money. Historical records make it easy for someone to say, “but it wasn’t like that.” Does this mean that Western mythology is inappropriate for fiction?

Not entirely. Authors need to approach Westerns as historical fiction. Larry McMurtry and Cormac McCarthy already did. They told stories that incorporated elements of Western mythology, but they used gradation in their storylines and nuanced stereotypical plots. Their books are populated with realistic characters, and they get the facts right.

Fantasy and science fiction can get away with an idealized, binary world, but Westerns must navigate the nineteenth-century frontier with realism and respect for the genuine experiences of pioneers and Native Americans. The mythology of the Old West is dead … but the stories continue.

Honest westerns. Full of dishonest characters.

Maelstrom now available

Book 2 in the American Exceptionalism Series

Maelstrom, A Civil War Novel
Ebook, Hardcover, and paperback

“I enjoyed this.” 

Harold Holzer, Lincoln Prize winner and Chair of The Lincoln Forum

  

"See Lincoln as you've never seen him before as he navigates the maelstrom of the Civil War."

Larry Schweikart, NYTimes #1 Bestselling author

Maelstrom tells the story of the greatest rivalry in American history. Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis led their nations in a must-win fight, and Maelstrom shows how each dealt with the same issues, countered the other’s moves, led their respective governments, and used their political powers to sway the outcome.

Read the first chapter free HERE.

The Virginian, A Classic Western Revisited

“When you call me that, smile.” The Virginian

The Virginian was published in 1902 by Owen Wister (1860-1938). The novel received critical acclaim and was a huge bestseller, eventually spawning five films, a successful play, and a television series. The Virginian was an instant success, selling over 20,000 copies in the first month, an astonishing number for the time. It went on to sell over 200,000 copies in the first year and over 1.5 million before Wister’s death. This minor classic has never been out of print. Beyond the multiple works that carry its name, The Virginian has inspired hundreds of stories about the Old West. What made this novel so appealing?

Critics credit The Virginian with establishing Old West legends and genre stereotypes. Sergio Leone’s protagonist had no name, and the Virginian’s name is never mentioned. He’s a laconic cowboy who lives by his own code and was extremely capable in every undertaking, including fighting with fists, guns, or words. The book’s lament for a dying way of life is recounted endlessly. Like Jake Spoon in Lonesome Dove, the Virginian hangs his friend after he turns outlaw. The buildup to the final shootout has been repeated countless times.

Can the book’s enduring popularity be attributed solely to being first? Many dime novels preceded The Virginian, but most were shoddy. Wister wrote the genre’s first literary example. A fresh story helped generate sales at the century’s turn, but more was required for sales to last over a century and for the story to be retold on stage, in movie houses, and on television.

There are three qualities that make The Virginian timeless. It’s a classic fish-out-of-water tale that appeals to both sexes and realistically portrays life on the frontier.

The narrator, Wister himself, is a city-dweller from Philadelphia, on an adventure in the Wild West. The love-interest, a schoolmarm from the East, can’t fathom the Code of the West. Even the Virginian is a transplant. Not only is this a fresh tale, but one told by fresh eyes, wide-open in awe of all about them. This stark, new world is described by people from another part of the planet—a part with civilization, comfortable social norms, and constable-imposed order. The Virginian is partly autobiographical, and Wister draws on his contemporaneous journals to inject a sense of wonderment into the story. Wister liked the Old West, and he gets his readers to like it as well.

Runaway bestsellers are read by both sexes. The Virginian’s plot follows classic Western lines, appealing to men. More importantly, Wister describes male comradeship in a male-dominated culture. Pranks, ribbing, athletic prowess, and rough language will be recognized by men who have played team sports or served in the military—at least those who participated before women entered these previously exclusive domains. To men, the Virginian’s world feels familiar and comfortable.

Wister offers two plotlines for women. Molly Stark Wood, a Vermont heroine, faces struggle in a foreign land and culture. From a family proud of its education, she is horrified by random violence and vigilantism. Her ability to overcome fear and bring order to her part of the frontier shows rare female bravery in Westerns. In most lesser stories, women need a valiant knight. Molly, however, manages on her own, and how she does so adds spice to The Virginian.

The Virginian is also a love story. The hero doesn’t ride off into the sunset; he marries the heroine. And he goes to Vermont to meet her family. The clash of cultures flips when the Virginian takes tea and banters with nonplused eastern ladies.

Wister wrote fiction, but he experienced the nineteenth-century Old West and wrote from personal experience. Many incidents in The Virginian came from his journals. This gives the story an air of authenticity that lesser works lack. Probably only The Virginian and Roughing It, by Mark Twain, give us actual observers’ descriptions of the Wild West. The lifestyle, implements, and ethos of the era ring true in both books—even if a bit exaggerated (again, in both books) for entertainment purposes. When we read historical fiction, realism allows us to live in another time.

 As I read this book, I thought how cool would it be for the Easterner to be more than an observer. What if he became personally involved in the adventures of the Wild West? And that’s how The Virginian inspired the Steve Dancy series. As homage to the original, the first scene of The Shopkeeper opens with a whist card game—the same game Wister's cowboys play in the bunkhouse.

The Virginian is more than just the first of its kind. It’s a well-told story with sophisticated subplots. Though the century-old style can seem difficult, you forget the formality once you are engaged in the plot. This novel will still be selling in the twenty-second century.

Springtime in Arizona

We lived in Arizona for twenty-five years, then my wife and I moved to Nebraska to be close to our grandkids. Our lives were busy, so I rarely thought about my home state. A few years ago, I felt nostalgic for my old stomping grounds, so we bought a condo in Scottsdale to escape the Nebraska winters. 

Every morning before breakfast, I walk the desert hills of our neighborhood. The weather is perfect and spring wildflowers are now blooming everywhere. There is a stillness to the Arizona atmosphere that I have seldom encountered elsewhere. I used to say that there were two places in the world where you could deplane and immediately know your location by the feel of the air. One was Hawaii and the other Arizona. Different feel for each, but each unique. I also miss the desert landscape. Nebraska is flat, but in every direction, the Arizona skyline is serrated with craggy hills and mountains.

If it doesn't bite, and it's not poisonous, then it's not native.

Since I used to winter in San Diego, I could get good Mexican food anytime I wanted, but I forgot that Mexican food in Arizona is spicier and the variety is greater. Not as many taco shops, but more high-end restaurants, some of which serve outstanding Mexico City cuisine.

The homes have a style unlike any other region of the country. Land is cheap, the temperature hot, and slab foundations means that even the largest homes are single-story with windows deeply recessed into the walls to ward off the sun. The architecture gives neighborhoods a spread-out, open feel that's close to the ground. The big sky and vibrant colors invite you to enjoy the outdoors.

I encountered something I didn't like. With boom-town growth, traffic has become increasingly clogged, especially during work traffic hours. It's not as bad as Los Angeles but frustrating just the same. When we moved to Phoenix in 1991, it took me thirty minutes to drive to work in off-hours and thirty-five minutes in work traffic. A five-minute penalty. That's all. That was nearly thirty years ago, and the city's breathless growth has never paused. Now it's congestion galore.

Phoenix is called the Valley of the Sun. It's a fitting description because the sun dictates so much of life, architecture, and clothing styles. The sun isn't just a hot ball in the sky. Arizona has some of the best sunrises and sunsets in the world. And great nights. There is nothing like a cocktail and swim after supper in the warmth of a summer evening.

Damn. If my grandchildren weren't so cute, I'd move back full-time in a heartbeat.

Pine, AZ, a short drive from Scottsdale