December 2025 Quarterly Newsletter

Dear friends,

Hoping this newsletter finds you all in good health.

With the end of the year fast approaching, our thoughts turn to the Christmas season, holidays, and the start of a new year. At the end of every year, I wonder where that year went, and when I look back and study my movements, it becomes clear—I’m always busy doing something. It sometimes feels like an age thing: the older we get, the faster time seems to fly, but for me, it’s about packing in as much as I can while I can.

Looking back at this year, I realised it’s been seven years since I released Racing Dream (2018). I was inspired to write the Racing Series after working in the horse racing industry as a young woman. The story follows Annabel Martin’s dream to win the Melbourne Cup. For those who don’t know, the Melbourne Cup is Australia’s most prestigious horse race—it literally stops a nation—and it’s the highest honour for any jockey in Australia.

In 2015, Michelle Payne was the first female jockey to win The Cup on Prince of Penzance. I’d completed Racing Dream a few years before she made history, and it wasn’t until after her win that the book was published. It was an exciting time, and the start of my novel-writing journey. I followed up the first book with Racing Time and Racing Fate.

Fast forward to November 2025, and a second female jockey, Jamie Melham, wins the prestigious race on Half Yours, a five-year-old gelding trained by father-son team Tony and Calvin McEvoy, exactly ten years after Michelle Payne’s 2015 historic win. Jamie Melham also made history by becoming the first female jockey to win both the Caulfield Cup and the Melbourne Cup in the same year, achieving a ‘Cups Double.’

Every jockey’s journey starts somewhere, and I wanted to capture that in the opening chapter of Racing Dream. An extract which begins five years ago:
                                                       ***
A heavy frost blanketed the Oakbank Racecourse, leaving the land white and brittle. Andy pulled the ski hat down over his ears and hunkered into his padded anorak jacket. Pressing his chin into the woollen scarf coiled around his neck, he plunged his hands deep into his pockets. His nose dripped, his eyes wept, and, while stamping warmth into his feet, he mused that, for a location in a country known for its heat, the Adelaide Hills in South Australia had to be the coldest place on earth.
A shot of pain burst from the spurs in his heels. Idiot. That’s what he was. Standing out here at this godforsaken hour, waiting for another one of those rich kids he hated. The trouble with being forty, but with a sixty-something body, he couldn’t afford to be fussy. The money was good, and with barely enough in the bank to cover his ongoing medical bills and everyday living expenses, Andy needed to take whatever work came his way.
In the distance, a pristine silver Mercedes entered the main gate and made its way along the narrow strip of tarmac. Typical. He’d told the girl’s father to park in the trainer’s car park, but the guy drove toward the stables and stopped not far from where Andy stood. His girl climbed out, closed the door, and waved goodbye to the driver. That’s a bonus, Andy thought; the father isn’t staying. She turned and crossed the grass to where Andy waited. For some reason, he’d thought she’d be tall, which would have put paid to any desire she might have to become a jockey, but it was a small bundle of energy that walked toward him. Her breath drifted in the air, and she tossed her blond ponytail.
“Hi, are you Andy?”
The father had said she was sixteen, but she thrust out a hand with adult confidence, and her slender fingers slipped easily into his grasp. Her soft touch told him she’d never done a hard day’s work in her life, and he frowned at her expensive designer outfit of polo neck skivvy, beige jodhpurs, and tailored navy-blue riding jacket. At least she’d had the sense to wear regulation ankle boots instead of some fancy, high-polished, show-jumping style. She carried a hard hat and looked like she was about to ride dressage in a highfalutin competition. “Annabel Martin?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
Her private school accent fuelled his misery further. She oozed privilege. “Okay, my name is Jones. Mr. Jones.” His brusque manner didn’t offend her, and her smile stayed in place. She must be thick—a small consolation—money couldn’t buy brains.
She smiled, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and head home to have quality time with his wife, Mary. Too bad they sorely needed the money.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jones. I’m excited you agreed to take me on. My dad told me you were a champion jockey five years in a row. I hope to be one myself one day.”
She was composed as she smacked warmth into her palms. He flinched as a stabbing pain travelled from his knee to his ankle—the cold doing its work. His suspension and recurring injuries reduced him from champion jockey to riding work for second-rate trainers, and he filled the gap with jobs like these for the rich and famous.
“Yes,” he grumbled, “my racing days are long gone.” He leaned forward and kneaded his knee with his fingers.
“Are you all right, Mr. Jones?”
“I’ll live,” he moaned. “Good thing I’m not a horse. They’d have put me down years ago.”
She laughed.
He frowned, straightened, and looked carefully at her. “Your father said he saw a bright future for you in dressage. He gave the impression he’d only arranged this meeting today to placate you…” Silence, just even breathing. He’d hit a nerve. “Does he know you want to be a champion jockey?”
“Not really, Mr. Jones. So if you don’t mind, can we keep my ambition between us?”
Andy figured, whatever Annabel wanted, Annabel got. She was another rich, pampered kid. Like the many that had passed through his hands, she probably knew sweet fuck all. Good luck to the father; he was going to have his hands full with his indulged darling in the not-so-distant future. “Whatever makes you happy.”
Her smiling eyes creased at the edges. She seemed older than any sixteen-year-old he’d ever met. Damn it; he was cold and grumpy, and she was anything but. He just wanted to be at home in his warm bed with his even warmer Mary. Maybe someday he’d listen when she told him to stay put. He hadn’t listened for the last thirty years. But she was right: working at Oakbank in the height of winter sure didn’t help his arthritis. He wasn’t in a position to knock back the race committee’s permission to use the track for jobs like this—teaching riding technique and race strategy—it helped pay the never-ending bills, so he shouldn’t complain. He glared at Miss Confidence instead.
“Before we make any decision on your future,” Andy said, unsmiling, “let’s see what you know about thoroughbreds. I’ll get James to help you saddle the horse. Follow me.”
“Does James work for you?”
Andy glanced sideways at the girl. “No. But he helps me out with jobs like this when he’s not busy.”
Annabel nodded. He led her into the central stall area. In Andy’s opinion, the Oakbank Racecourse and picturesque townships nestled along the Onkaparinga Valley had a lot to offer tourists and locals alike. The racetrack was underutilised, with only a few official racing events held during the year. Some local trainers used the facilities during the week to train their horses. Today, however, the concrete stalls stood quiet and empty except for one that housed Andy’s horse.
“James,” Andy called out.
A head of short, spiked black hair appeared from behind the horse. “Here, Andy.”
“Help Annabel saddle Hot Velvet?”
“Sure.” James ducked under the barrier, his black eyes widening, and reached out a hand. “James McKenzie. I’m helping Andy out today.”
Annabel took it, and James pumped vigorously. Andy had heard girls around the track twittering about young James’s good looks. He supposed he had that classic handsomeness with his square jaw, high cheekbones, expressive dark eyes, and fit physique. He was taller than five-foot-nothing Annabel, but still came within the height range for a jockey.
“Ciao,” she said cheekily. Their instant body language peeved Andy even more. The last thing he needed was hormone-driven youngsters in his stable.
“Are you a jockey?” she asked.
“Yes.” James released her hand. “I’ve just started at Hosking’s stable at Morphettville.”
“How fabulous.”
“Andy helped me secure the position.”
“I made the introduction, and you did the rest.” What was it about young people that grated? It must be their possibility of a bright future, one he no longer had. “Show Annabel where the tack is. I’ll be next to the parade ring.”
He turned to walk away, but their lack of movement drew him back to them. The last thing he needed was these two going all gooey-eyed on day one. They were the poster kids for racing. It could happen. “Come on. We don’t have all day.” He hated his cranky tone, but it was hard to maintain a happy persona when his body screamed a daily protest. Mary called him Mr. Grumpy and she wasn’t far wrong.
“Onto it,” James returned. He rolled his eyes. “He must have got out of bed on the wrong…”
Andy lost the conversation as he turned to walk away. Kids.
Minutes later, the clip-clop of hooves drew his eyes back to the stalls, and Annabel appeared, leading the horse, her hard black riding hat now in place, completing her wardrobe.
The kid was a picture. Long blond hair, aquamarine eyes, porcelain complexion, young, vital, and rich as Bart Cummings. Fuck, he hated being poor.
He gingerly stamped his feet against the cold and coughed to clear the tickle in his throat. “Take the horse into the parade ring over there.” Andy nodded in the general direction. “Let’s see what you know.”
James stopped beside him, his vision glued to Annabel as she led the horse onto the frozen turf and sprang into the racing saddle. He leaned over to Andy and whispered, “She looks uncomfortable with the short stirrups.”
“If she wants to be a jockey, she’ll have to get used to them.” Andy blew heat into his hands. Along with a whole lot of other things she probably hasn’t thought about.
“She’s got a great seat.”
Andy glared sideways at him and arched an eyebrow. “Yes, James, she sits the horse well.”
James, fortunately, stopped speaking, and Andy turned his attention back to Annabel. She adjusted the reins and nudged the gelding in the ribs. The horse let fly with his hindquarters. He leapt forward, mouthing at the bit, trying to grab it between his teeth. Annabel fought to control the horse’s head, and when he thrust it down between his legs, Andy thought she was going to sail over it. But she used her shoulder and arm muscles to rein him in, and the horse snorted his disgust but complied.
Hunching farther into his jacket, Andy found his curiosity awakened. Annabel used her hands like a professional—no uncertainty, no fear, and her body remained perfectly positioned in the saddle. She praised the horse regularly, using an encouraging tone, and dropped her hand down the gelding’s neck, stroking and petting. The horse’s skin quivered, and Andy could have sworn, if Hot Velvet could have, he’d have purred in delight.
“She’s got something,” James said, a smile in his voice.
“What would you know?” Andy mumbled. The kid’s wrong. She’s got more than something.
Andy scrutinised her every move as she put the horse through its paces. He acknowledged she was a natural rider—something he didn’t often see. But he kept his thoughts to himself. Half an hour later, he called her over to him.
The kid glowed with happiness as she dismounted and bounded over to him.
“Okay, so you know a bit about riding,” he conceded. “What do you know about racing?”
“Nothing, Mr. Jones. I’ve been to the races and watched it on TV. I’ve never ridden in a race, and I don’t know the strategy behind riding a winner. All I know is, I’m a good rider and want to learn the rest.”
Her candidness was surprising. A pleasant change from the previous well-heeled brats that thought they knew everything and knew nothing.
He smiled at her for the first time. “Return him to the stall and give him a feed. I’m sure James will give you a hand. And when you’re both done,”—Andy turned away, smacking warmth into his hands—“come over to the office.” A smile touched his lips. He cut across the betting area and entered through the secretary’s office door. Settling into a chair near the gas heater, he shook his head to himself. Who would have thought it? He’d found another star.
                                                                 ***
(The newsletter images are of the book release at the Oakbank Racecourse, where the story started) 

I hope you enjoyed the extract. The Racing Series was my first attempt at writing a series in which characters cross all the books. The West Series, book seven, Tempest, is now available. Book eight will be available early 2026. All my books are available on Amazon in e-book (Kindle + Kindle Unlimited) and paperback.

A heads up on my current work. I’m venturing into the paranormal. This story is set in the Faroe Islands, which is a country we visited last year (2024). It’s a glorious place to set a story. Look out for that one in 2026.

I would like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

​Until next time, stay safe.

Suzie