Grace Justice Evans
Damsels in distress need not apply.
I always liked the Old West period of history, but as I considered the classes I attended, novels I read, and movies/TV shows I watched, I realized that women have been overshadowed by larger-than-life western men. With their angry grunts, meaningful glares, and husky one-liners, they ride off as wounded conquerors, ready to fight another day. Often portrayed as pioneers or prostitutes, a woman’s strength and courage have taken a backseat while Billy the Kid, Jesse James, and John Wesley Hardin stole the spotlight.
I didn’t want to be portrayed as a helpless harlot or a priggish paragon. Where’s my wild mustang while I brave the perils of an uncertain frontier? I was inspired to write this story shortly after finishing The Strong Shall Survive. While my first book came to me in a dream, this one became deeply personal as I confronted my own prejudices.
I had strong opinions about women in the sex industry, looking down on saloon women and feeling they had little place in our history. In movies/TV, they are superficial, secondary characters with little to offer but fleeting amusement. In truth, these women were not helpless damsels; they fought wars for causes they believed in and rebelled against society standards to become lawyers, doctors, and business owners. They built schools and churches, persevering under difficult circumstances and thriving with nothing but sheer stubbornness and determination. These are the women who should have been my heroes, but their exploits remained quietly in the pages of unread history books.
While scowling at a historical picture of another woman of “loose morals,” I realized I was basing my opinion on hearsay. I never took the time to look at the facts. I condemned them, insisting they were weak or lazy because of the vocation they chose. Never once did I consider that these women had dreams and goals, suffered heartbreak and hardships, and endured loneliness as society ostracized and humiliated them.
Through research, I found humility, and learned that these women were business savvy, resilient, and often generous with their time and hard-earned money. They were nurses during battle and epidemics, and they contributed funds to build churches and schools. They lived, laughed, and dreamed, all the while being seen as unworthy of wife status and disparaged by society women who felt threatened walking down the same side of the street.
Though my books are fiction, they reflect what I’ve learned. I’ve come to admire and respect these women, and I hope to one day make them proud. I want to capture their essence and do them justice, allowing them to live once again.
These women are my inspiration. They prevent me from writing anything but brave, strong-willed female characters who finally get to play the part of hero, sometimes villain, and occasionally both.
Much like the rose that is both fragile and thorny, women represent strength and beauty. Therefore, I write of women who are flawed and fearless, vulnerable but resilient—driven damsels that ride their own horses into colorful sunsets. I write about a world, part fact and part fiction, where harlots can be heroes and a delicate balance between grace and justice reside. I carry them forth into my stories, their voices an echo where I hope to entertain and inspire. For I firmly believe that as women, we are each the hero of our own stories.
