An Appalachian Elementals Historical Dark Fantasy Side Tale.
Benjamin Schnell is the possessor of secrets he wishes he could bury beneath the rich Nolichucky river flat dirt he farms alongside his dear friend, Conall. But secrets lead to lies, lead to more secrets, and all eventually come home to roost in a bed of distrust, even on the 1779 Appalachian frontier.
After Ben is injured, he realizes there are odd things happening around him that others cannot see. Corner shadows take human shapes, lightning bugs dance in broad daylight, and the farm’s strange owner, Master Gow, returns with an offer Conall cannot refuse if Ben is to live. But making a deal with Master Gow will take them deep into the mountains to where a haunted king reigns and Fire balances Water in a delicate natural friendship.
Ben must learn self-acceptance and trust if he and Conall are going to survive because there can be no secrets in the mountains, only truth.
Another rich tale from the Appalachian Elementals world focusing on complex families containing rich LGBTQIA+ characters.
- So Striking Balance? What’s it about?
(looks around) Nice place. Thanks for having me. I appreciate the opportunity to share my newest work with your readers. Striking Balance is the personal journey of Beatrice Benjamin Sophia Scott Schnell Gow. The tale is best described as magic realism meets the American Revolution meets the Appalachian frontier. Ben’s deepest secrets lead to lies, lead to more secrets, and all eventually come home to roost in a bed of distrust in a world where Fire and Water maintain a careful friendship and haunted kings reign. Striking Balance is late 18th Century Appalachian Dark Fantasy. Evil not only reigns, it’s strong enough to win, and it’s up to Ben to save the day… if he’s able.
- What does literary success look like to you?
My idea of success is not like most authors, I’m quite certain of that. I want to supplement my retirement a little, give my household a small cushion, but since I’m disabled I don’t want to wreck my insurance situation. It’s complicated, but that’s how the system works in America.
- What kind of research did you do for Striking Balance?
In a word, loads. There are seventeen annotated sources at the back of the novel if anyone’s interested, a combination of theses, books, websites, YouTube channels, interviews, and even a record liner. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy every moment of said research, especially since I once upon a time taught research writing on the collegiate level, but it is hard work from beginning to end.
- Do you listen to music as you write? If so, who are some of your favorite artists? Is your playlist sharable?
I always listen to music as I write because I think it helps set the mood, but I believe I developed the habit when my children were young to drown them out so I could concentrate (sorry, kids). No, it’s fine, they’re grown now, and they know this is why I played the music loud. These days, it’s mainly habit but I enjoy it nonetheless and my YouTube playlist is long and contains a bit of everything. Here’s the web address: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwBjF_VVFvE&list=PLlfRTJ_vkiJfIk6fy6rPs2hT3f3NrMRXU
- So you’re an artist too? Does that play into your writing and if so, how?
I’m a cover designer and a mixed media artist so my hand is in far more than Striking Balance’s storyline. I created both the print and ebook covers, designed the interior scrolls in the print copy, and have crafted the accompanying mixed media book that holds thirty-six spreads (double-page pictures), one for each chapter, in Striking Balance. The spreads are inspired by the novel’s chapter epigraphs and not the chapters themselves so they don’t tell the story, but they’re certainly fun interactions with the text once you’ve each chapter. I’ll begin sharing the book on my website beginning on release day at jeanngfellersauthor.com.
- What did you edit out of this book?”
(raises one brow then points to the nearly empty cutting room floor) Striking Balance is 130k in length. I took out very little.
- What are the ethics of writing about history?
History is history unless you’re writing alternative history, that is. So do your research and do the era justice. Period. If you don’t it not only shows, it makes you look sloppy and foolish as a writer.
- How do you select the names of your characters?
(leans close and whispers) They tell their names. Seriously, they do. (pulls back) Or I see them on road signs. That’s what happened when I named the protagonist in the Appalachian Elementals Series, Cent. But in Striking Balance? Bea was a side character in Keeping House, a tiny package of dynamite that everyone respected and/or feared. I simply had to know her story, so… Bam! Ben was born in a story set some two-hundred-and-fifty years earlier.
- What was your hardest scene to write?
The barn fire. Hay. Liquor. A drunk with a clay pipe. Animals. Evil fey king. (sighs) It broke my heart.
- Do you Google yourself?
On rare, and I do mean rare occasions I do a vanity search just to make certain there isn’t a bad tie in to my name. Yes, this means I sometimes stumble across a negative review, but that’s a risk you take when you put your work out there. It’s part of the game. However, for the most part, things are good.
Wow! Ten questions already? Well, that went fast. Striking Balance, check out the book, the playlist, and the mixed media interactions on my website for a unique experience.
Thanks for having me. Stay safe and healthy!
Jeanne is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour – enter via Rafflecopter:
I open my eyes to whitewashed walls and sunlight streaming through large open windows covered by gauzy curtains. This is a quiet space reminiscent of my youth. The window is wide to the afternoon air, my pillow is soft, my bed comfortable with sweetgrass, and I rest beneath the lightest of patchworks. And my shirt ‘tis cotton. Heaven. Yes, I am certain I have reached the hereafter. Perhaps I can see Mutti again and—
“Get back here ye’ fool!” I turn my head in time to see Alexandria pause before a window. Her face is flushed, and her hands are in fists at her sides. “Get back here wit’ mah pie!”
“Come get it, you flightless baggage!”
My thoughts of Heaven erode when Alexandria launches into a long line of Scots-Gaelic curses of the likes I have not heard since I left the mine. This is not the Alexandria I know and respect, not the voice of a proper lady at all. She hisses as she threatens to cut off his twiddle-diddles with her kitchen knife, cook them in the pottage, and feed them back to him.
“Return Lexy’s hard work, boy.” This is Master Gow’s voice, but ‘tis also not, higher in tone but equally powerful, and I wonder if he has a sister. “And the crust best not be broke!”
“But… ow!” I am unable to see what occurs next, but a man crosses in front of the window with a pie in his hands and something or someone I cannot see is dragging him. “Ow! King Dane, please! I am sorry, Lexy, real sorry!”
King? This woman who I suspect is related to Master Gow is named King Dane? Whatever… My cough returns, deep and fluidic, but ‘tis clearly not to be my death so I look for something to spit into.
“There’s a bucket of sawdust at your bedside, Benjamin.” Master Gow’s sister speaks from just outside the window. “I’ll be there shortly to talk with you.” Her voice turns away. “Go cut two days of wood for the main kitchen,” she tells the man who is still apologizing to Alexandria.
“But I got hides to scrape and…”
“Do it! Then scrape them hides.”
“Ow! Yes, King Dane.”
I crawl deep beneath my quilt when their voices fade. Where am I? At this point, I have no clue, but I believe I am alive. The table beside my bed is laden with bottles, jars, a fleam and cup, but there is also a mug so I sit up, examining the contents, water, before I drink.
I startle when the door to the apartment swings open. “Ah brought ye soup an’ tea.” Ceardach deposits a tray onto my lap. There’s also buttered bread on the tray, along with bacon, eggs, and a bowl of beans.
“Thank ye, but I need to…”
“Of course.” Ceardach pulls the tray away. “Th’ pot’s under th’ bed.”
I hesitate, but my need is too great so I swallow my pride, thankful when he moves to stand in the doorway with his back to me.
“Ye need tae drink more.” Ceardach returns to my side when I am abed and pushes the pot under the bed after he examines the contents. “An’ ye best get over bein’ bashful right quick. Someone will use it against ye.” He drops the tray onto my lap, “Eat.” pulls his pipe and pouch and begins filling the bowl, watching as I take up my spoon. The food has most certainly been made under Alexandria’s watch. I can tell by the seasonings, and… I am nearing famished.
“Slow an’ steady. Let one bite settle afore th’ next.” Ceardach lights his pipe so quickly I see nothing but a flash. The outside din continually grows while I eat, but Ceardach pays it no heed. I hear hammers striking anvils, a proliferation of swearing, wood being split and stacked, the sounds of a wider community. The smells coming through the door would be enough to turn my stomach if I was not so hungry. Baking bread, multiple privies, wood, ash, dirt, burning wood, herbs, and… I smell iron and sulfur, but none of it quells my appetite to the point I cease eating.
“Am I in a town?” I shovel more into my mouth.
“Of sorts. Ye will grow accustomed tae it all.” Ceardach blows out a billow of white smoke that rings his head then drifts away. “Yer cough an’ congestion will fade in time.”
I nod and bite into my bread. My appetite must be part of my recovery, a drive for nourishment so I might heal quickly. There is another bed I have ignored until now, unmade, with blankets folded neatly at the foot. “Where am I?”
“In the kingdom.” He points to my water. “Drink.”
“But…”
“Drink first.”
I am obedient, but he tells me to empty the mug before he will speak further. “Good, now—” Ceardach raises his head. “Ah, here’s yer answer.”
I attempt to sort through all I see, but ‘tis difficult. Is this Master Gow or—
“Stop gawkin’. ‘Twill get you slapped ‘round here.”
“If not hit or cut,” adds Ceardach. “Sit, Dane. Ah will step out but stay close.”
“Aye, Ceardach, thank you.”
I see a woman’s face, a man’s work cap atop her head. “You’re still under my protection. That hasn’t changed, but the rest…” She wears trousers and a calf-length smith’s apron over a man’s red check work shirt with rolled sleeves. “You’re starin’ even longer than Conall did.” She pulls a tobacco twist from her apron pocket and bites off a piece. “Are you as tongue-tied too?”
“I…” This woman bears the same tattows as Master Gow. “No, sir, I mean, miss, I mean…”
“You’ll address me as King Dane ‘til I tell you elsewise.” My spit bucket slides across the floor to her feet. “How will you address me?”
“I…”
“Say it, Benjamin.” She spits into the bucket. “‘Tis important you know my station ‘round here.”
“Yes, King Dane.” But this is a woman. How does she warrant the title of king?
“And you never disobey your king, right, Benjamin?”
“Yes… King Dane?”
“Smart man. ‘Tis why I chose you, but I made Conall in the process, an excellent deal I am pleased we could accommodate.” King Dane seems amused by my gaping mouth. “Calm yourself. I hear your heart poundin’ from here.”
Jeanne lives in Northeast Tennessee with their spouse and five crazy felines. Their home is tucked against a small woodland where they regularly see deer, turkeys, raccoons, and experience the magic of the natural world.
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