Showing posts with label supernatural. Show all posts
Showing posts with label supernatural. Show all posts

An Interview with Jane Jordan, Author of 'The Beekeeper's Daughter'

Jane was born in England, and grew up exploring the history and culture of London and surrounding counties.  After some time spent in Germany in the 1990’s she immigrated to Detroit, USA, eventually settling in South West Florida. She returned to England after a fifteen-year absence, to spend six years in the South West of England living on Exmoor.  Here, inspired by the atmosphere, beautiful scenery and the ancient history of the place, she began writing.
Jane is a trained horticulturist, and also spent time working and volunteering for Britain's National Trust at Exmoor's 1000-year-old Dunster Castle.  Gaining more insight into the history and mysteries surrounding these ancient places, and having always been intrigued by the supernatural, inspiration came for her fourth novel, The Beekeeper's Daughter, a supernatural thriller. 
Jane Returned to Florida in 2013, and lives in Sarasota.
Mayra Calvani: Please tell us about The Beekeeper’s Daughter, and what compelled you to write it.
Your Name:  Jane Jordan - The Beekeeper’s Daughter is my fourth novel.  My other books are primarily set in modern day, so I liked the idea of writing in a different time period, especially the Victorian era. A time when vast estates where owned and run by aristocrats and society’s elite, and when there was such emphasis on class hierarchy.
I liked the idea of a romance between the higher and lower class. Knowing that in Victorian times any such affair would have been taboo.  Although, Exmoor was so far from the big cities of Bath and London, consequently, far away from the rules of polite society.  This gave me some creative license to play around with.  Even so, the story had to ring true and I needed to address the issues that any such liaison would have presented.
As the story developed I knew exactly how it could work, and why Alex would be drawn to Annabel in the first place.  Her beauty was not enough.  There had to be another, a more powerful connection, and this becomes startlingly clear as the story concludes.
M.C.: What is your book About?
J.J.:  The Beekeeper’s Daughter is a historical romance set in the Victorian period. The location is on Exmoor, in the South West of England.  The story explores the relationship between Annabel, ‘The Beekeeper’s Daughter’, and Jevan, the blacksmith’s son.  Their relationship is sensual and dangerous, and Annabel’s ability to charm bees is the dark undercurrent in the story.  
When Jevan shatters her world by leaving Exmoor, Annabel forms a friendship with Alex, a wealthy landowner and heir to the foreboding Gothelstone mansion. But all is not as it seems.  Evil intentions ensnare her into a dark legacy, which will ultimately threaten the lives of those she loves most.
A devastating love triangle, an ultimate betrayal and a diabolical intention lead Annabel to uncover a disturbing truth. Then, she is forced to embrace her inherent power and destroy a powerful witch.
M.C.:  What themes do you explore in The Beekeeper’s Daughter?
J.J.:  I explore the lore regarding bee charming, life on Exmoor in the Victorian era, especially the lives of the cottagers, blacksmiths and wealthy landowners. 
The city of Bath features as well as a Victorian asylum.
The most fascinating aspect for me was the witchcraft element, setting the perfect scene for a witch burning when the book begins, and later, writing the transcript of an actual witch trial, from the 15th century, which is uncovered towards the end of the book. 
M.C.:  Why do you write?
J.J.: I love to write. It’s a form of escapism from the real world and from the stress of life. It transports me to another place and into the minds of the characters I write about.  Writing keeps me sane when real life is difficult or too stressful.
M.C.:  When do you feel the most creative?
J.J.:  When I am alone and it is quiet, sometimes in the middle of the night is when I feel most creative.
M.C.:  How picky are you with language?
J.J.:  I like wording to be accurate for the time period.  The witch trial transcript is in old English. This was important as it gives an authentic feel to this chapter and ultimately the book. Using old fashioned spellings and grammar, helps create the mood of the scene.
M.C.:  When you write, do you sometimes feel as though you were being manipulated from afar?
J.J.:  No.  The stories and ideas come from me. I draw on experiences, old stories that have been handed down, or old legends and folklore indicative to the places I write about.
M.C.:  What is your worst time as a writer?
J.J.:  When I am roughly half way through a book, by that time I have the beginning and the end, and know what the story entails, but because my books tend to be complex in detail, I have to make certain they completely make sense. Bringing every aspect together is my biggest challenge.  I do not like to leave any question unanswered.  
M.C.:  Your best?
J.J.:  The moment the book is finished is an amazing feeling of achievement, and knowing that all the hours of writing researching and editing have been completely worthwhile. 
M.C.:  Is there anything that would stop you from writing?
J.J.:  No.  As long as I had a piece of paper and a pen, I would write.  In fact, sometimes when I feel I have sat in front of a computer too long, I grab a notebook and write long hand.  It allows a different level of creativity to emerge.  With a computer everything happens fast, whereas longhand allows your thought process to slow down.  Some of the best story lines I have written started off in a notebook. 
M.C.: What’s the happiest moment you’ve lived as an author?
J.J.:  My first three books were self-published so the best day for me as an author was finally getting a traditional publishing contract for The Beekeeper’s Daughter.
M.C.:  Is writing an obsession to you?
J.J.:  It can’t be an obsession because I have too many other responsibilities at the moment.  But I would say that I need to write. 
M.C.:  Are the stories you create connected with you in some way?
J.J.: I draw on personal experiences and my character’s traits are often based on aspects of my personality, or from people I have known. 
M.C.:  Ray Bradbury once said, “You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” Do you agree?
J.J.  Yes.  Every aspect of life can bring a story out of an author.  I have written many short stories just based on a significant moment in time, or a brief encounter with a stranger.  Stories are everywhere. Even in the most mundane circumstances you can create an interesting point of view, which can often develop into a whole plot.
M.C.:  Do you have a website or blog where readers can find out more about you and your work?
J.J.:  My website: janejordannovelist.com


Chapter reveal: Q Island, by Russell James


Title:  Q ISLAND
Genre: HORROR
Author: RUSSELL JAMES
Publisher: SAMHAIN PUBLISHING
Purchase on Amazon

About the Book

Epidemic! An ancient virus surfaces on Long Island, New York turning its victims into black-veined, infectious, psychopathic killers. Chaos and madness rule.  In desperation, the military quarantines the island, trapping Melanie Bailey and her autistic son, Aiden. Somehow, Aiden survives the infection. He could be the key to a cure—if Melanie can somehow get him to the mainland.

Gang leader Jimmy Wade   has his own plans for what to do with a boy who might be a cure. He and his men launch a heated hunt for the boy forcing Melanie and Aiden to avoid Wade’s tightening grip as well as the growing legions of the infected. Can they escape what’s being called Q Island?  Can anyone get out alive?
A taut, tense, terrifying thriller that teems with intensity, Q Island is an eerily realistic tale. With a chilling plot, compelling characters, and a pulse-quickening storyline, Q Island will leave readers breathless.  Earning nods as one of this year’s best horror novels, Q Island is an extraordinary story exceptionally well-told.

About the Author


After a tour flying helicopters with the U.S. Army, Russell James now spins twisted tales best read during daylight. In addition to two horror short story collections, Tales from Beyond and Deeper into Darkness, James is the author of seven paranormal thrillers:  Dark Inspiration, Sacrifice, Black Magic, Dark Vengeance, Dreamwalker and Q Island. His next novel, The Portal, is slated for release in 2016. Visit him at www.russellrjames.com

CHAPTER ONE   

A convoy of six yellow school buses rumbled downhill and into deserted downtown Port Jefferson. They drove past the piers of moored pleasure boats and into the parking lot of the Port Jefferson Ferry Company.
The big, white ship bobbed against the dock, perhaps the largest victim of the quarantine. The boat’s car deck ran along the waterline, and an enclosed passenger cabin made up the second deck. A booth-sized bridge created a third deck from which to con the vessel. A wide, sloppy, red cross painted on the ship’s side dripped rivulets of dried paint, as if the cross had been bleeding. The ferry’s engines fired up. Gray smoke rolled from its stacks.
The buses stopped side by side. The doors swept open. Men armed with rifles or shotguns stepped off of each bus. They formed a rough skirmish line between the buses and the abandoned town, ready to defend against the infected, or anyone else who tried to stop them.
One man waved an arm signal. The buses emptied. A trail of women and children hustled out the open doors. They bustled and fussed as they popped open strollers, belted in kids and strapped on backpacks. Then they surged up the wide metal ramp and onto the ferry. The half circle of men pulled back to the dock’s edge.
The metal ramp began a slow, clunking climb as two chains cranked it skyward. Inside the gearing, something slipped. The chains unspooled and the corrugated ramp slammed down on the concrete dock. The crash of steel on stone rolled out from the harbor and echoed through the desolate streets. The men whirled to face the town at this potential infected call to arms. Safety catches snapped off.
The ramp began a second sweep upward. At two feet off the dock, the drive motor wailed with a grinding, shearing noise. Something snapped like a rifle shot. The ramp stopped moving.
The ship’s great engines revved. The water at the stern churned in a soup of green and white. Mooring lines slid from the ship’s side, and it inched forward against the incoming current. From openings around the waterline, white bedsheets spray-painted with black letters appeared. Each unfurled and displayed one word, like an old Burma-Shave ad—
Only. Women. And. Children. Aboard.
One of the men on the dock turned to face the ship. His shaved head glistened in the sun. A long moustache drooped down to bracket his chin. The red logo on his black leather jacket read Road Demons. He gripped his rifle with hands sheathed in studded half gloves. He squinted at the ship and scowled.
A woman ran to the stern. She wore a bright-red sweater. A blue streak ran the length of her long, dark hair. She gripped the rear railing with one hand and held a bundled baby to her chest with the other. She released the railing just long enough to wave.
Road Demon smiled and raised a gloved fist in response.
Gunfire erupted from the town. A wave of the infected surged across the parking lot. Several fired wild shots from pistols as they ran. The rest carried weapons that ranged from bats to metal bars.
The men on the dock didn’t dash for the bus, unconcerned about their own safe escape. They dropped to one knee and returned fire. Gaps formed in the front rank of the infected. Replacements filled it. The mob drove forward.
The men got off one more volley. Then the infected surged through and over them. The first rank mauled the defenders, tearing at them with bars and blades and teeth. The rest rushed past to the ferry.
The crowd on the ship let out a collective scream. The ferry’s nose dipped as the passengers ran from the endangered stern.
At the dock, three infected in a flat-out run launched themselves at the retreating ferry. The first fell straight into the water. The second landed with the ramp’s edge across its chest. It scrambled for a handhold on the slick metal surface and then slipped off into the wake from the ship’s spinning propellers. A red patch surfaced in the water and dissolved.
The third one cleared the growing gap with ease. It landed on both feet, arms spread for balance, knees flexed against the impact. It looked up with triumphant blood-red eyes.
Two women rushed the boarder. Before it could rise, one grabbed each arm and swept it back off its feet. It clawed and snapped at the women as they dragged it back, and threw it off the edge of the ramp. It hit the water with a splash and bobbed to the surface.
The women high-fived in victory. Blood seeped from a fresh, curved wound on one woman’s arm, the size and shape of a set of human teeth. She noticed then looked in panic at the other woman. The wounded one shook her head in a slow plea for mercy.
The other woman showed none. She lowered a shoulder and without hesitation body checked the wounded woman into the water. The ferry chugged forward. She surfaced, spit a mouthful of seawater and dog-paddled toward shore. The infected who was bobbing a hundred yards behind her swam to intercept.
The ferry sailed out of the harbor, bound for Connecticut, in search of compassion.
Thirty-two minutes later, a black smudge rose from the horizon when the USS Sailfish torpedoed the ferry. An armed volunteer civilian flotilla ensured there were no survivors.