Jane Dougherty

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Author of Trilogy

I am pleased to present a writer from France that I found on WordPress! I wrote a brief review for her short story titled ‘Enders.’ She’s an amazing writer based upon this alone, but she is much, much more.

Jane DoughertyMy brief interview:

1. You have a family and pets; how many children and what are their ages? Any quirky or fun facts, please share. How many and which types of pets?

I have five children. The eldest is twenty-five, the youngest just turned fourteen. I’m sorry but if I gave out any fun facts about them my life wouldn’t be worth living! The number of pets is debatable. There are three residents, a rescue Spanish greyhound and two cats picked up (literally) in the street outside. Branwell is semi-resident, refusing to move in unless the dog goes. I’m not sure how many roof cats we feed as many of them look pretty similar. They are known generically as The Fluffies.

2. Please tell us about the transition from England to France, how you coped, language problems, etc. Are women different in these two countries?

Jane DoughertyMy parents moved to England when I was a baby, and I claim honorary Yorkshire nationality. My first job when I left university was in the wine trade. Husband (to be), who was still a student in France thought it was a brilliant idea, assuming it would be a doddle to get posted to France. It wasn’t a doddle, partly because the wine trade in UK is about selling wine to people in UK, not swanning around in foreign parts. I did get sent to Paris after about a year of pestering by bluffing my way through an interview. The head of the Paris office was so thrilled at the opportunity to show off his English, the interview to test my level of French was carried out exclusively in English!

The language turned out not to be a problem although my French was pretty rudimentary to begin with. The ‘total immersion’ treatment is the only way to get the hang of a language properly and quickly.

I’m not sure what you mean about French women being different. French society is certainly very different to British society, much more deferential and ‘traditional’ in many ways. What first struck me about French women was how feminine they appeared. I arrived with my Doc Martens and army surplus bought at Camden Lock and found myself surrounded by women, even elderly women bustling around in high heels, glitzy outfits and a lot of makeup. It made me smarten up my act when we lived in Paris, but I’m old enough now not to care what people think of the way I dress, and the Doc Martens are back.

3. I’ve read one short story of yours, are all your books in the same genre filled with angst, desolation and emotional tugs?

Jane DoughertyThey are certainly all emotionally charged, though with the desolation I think we touched bottom in The Subtle Fiend. I like emotion and if it’s missing in a book that I’m reading I don’t enjoy it. The Green Woman series is about the defeat of a regime that embodies many of the things I find abhorrent—misogyny, segregation, intolerance, religious fascism, and social tyranny. It was never going to be a bundle of laughs. The series that picks up the story three years later, set in the utopia founded by the refugees from Providence, is lighter in tone. Perhaps because the story is about defending something good rather than destroying something evil, and the villains are for the most part human beings, flawed like all human beings, but never wholly bad.

If you want to get an idea of the world of The Green Woman you can’t do better than read the first volume of the trilogy, The Dark Citadel. But if a whole novel written by an unknown quantity seems daunting, try a short story like Midnight Visitors to get a feel of what Providence is like and of my writing style.

Here’s the trailer for The Dark Citadel

In grim grey Providence Deborah dreams
Subversive dreams of a beauty lost.
To feed their darkness the Demon’s priests
Must quench Deborah’s light, her life the cost.

Jonah is waiting in the desert wastes
To take her hand and guide her through
Abaddon’s perils that lurk in the night
To the Green Woman’s Garden where dreams come true.

They march with an army of legends and myths
In their hearts a weapon the Demon fears.
Armed with their love they can change the world
Though the road to victory be bathed in tears.

Jane Doughertyby Jane Dougherty

Thank you for visiting the gardenlilie blog. Hopefully, you learned something about Jane Dougherty and caught a glimpse of her riveting written words. I know I learned the phrase Raison d’etre, which means reason for existence in French, when I read her Enders story. Below are the links for her books on Amazon.

~Caroline/gardenlilie blog

The Amazon links

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Citadel-Green-Woman-Book-ebook/dp/B00JW86TYM

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Dark-Citadel-Green-Woman-ebook/dp/B00JW86TYM

And links for Midnight Visitors
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Midnight-Visitors-Jane-Dougherty-ebook/dp/B00K8DYOC4

http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Visitors-Jane-Dougherty-ebook/dp/B00K8DYOC4

 

Little Old Spider

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Ghost Over LightI remember it all so well …

 

My grandma sent me to the basement to retrieve the three missing costumes. She was cleaning up after her annual Halloween party and I’d been dropped off to help her out.

After I gave her tea and toast in bed, for her headache, she told me to check the back room in the basement for the missing items.

“Okay, no problem grandma, anything else?” I questioned.

“Yes, there is. Turn on my CD player and put on that wonderful opera singer. You can turn it up loud, too! Thanks, honey,” she replied.

I did as complied. It seemed as I left the room the sun was setting; I waved goodbye, not sure why. She smiled and began her quirky hand movements flowing with the music.

“Old people,” I muttered to myself. They’ve seen it all. I’d get her to tell me a story tonight when I bring her dinner to her at eight. She ate late on weekends, she told me, as it reminded her of the good old days.

You see Grandma had had a slight stroke, nothing serious, she just needed TLC my mother, the nurse, told me. TLC stood for tender loving care.

I walked the long hall headed for the steps and out of the corner of my eye, I swear I caught a glimpse of a ghost just above the light. That didn’t scare me but I did take a second look after I blinked. I hadn’t even been scared of the costumes last night at the party or trick or treating to the houses. I was seven now and pretty much a big guy.

Her music faded as I opened the basement door and entered the passage below to her dungeon, I mean very old house. My nose smelled something foreign, probably old clothes of Grandpas, who’d been dead five years now. I pulled the chain for the light at the bottom of the stairs. Broke. Great, I thought. I’d have to walk in the dark to the backroom. I’m a big guy, I told myself a couple more times.

My body shivered when the cricket let out its joy tune. My hands now felt like I had rubbed lotion on them and when I swallowed, three cotton balls coated my throat. Geez, I thought as my eyebrows curled up with the pull of my forehead. I felt for the door and hoped the light wasn’t broken inside the back room. Darn those cousins who played back here last night and left their costumes for me to get. Next time I saw them, they owed me a favor.

My hand, with no blood supply, turned the nob while the hairs on my forearm stood in the attendance line at a foreign military school I’d never been to. It opened. Good. Why didn’t I bring a flashlight? I thought. Shut up! Just get the costumes.

I walked slowly in the dark and lost my footing. I heard the door slam shut as I fell to the cold slab of basement cement.

Later on …

The back of my head hurt but I opened my eyes and saw her staring at me.

Was she a good witch? Her eyes glowed green and she wore black with orange and green striped leggings and, then she came for me rustling along on her broom. I blinked.

Was I dreaming? No. I saw her. She turned and howled, and she lost her pointed hat as she swooped back over me. That’s when I saw him Dracula walking my way. Man, I need to bust out of here, I thought.

I couldn’t move, I must be pinned down. Wait. Someone help me.

Scream for grandma, I decided. “Grandma,” I screamed but it was all breath, not a sound.

I heard a noise as Dracula made his way over to me. I blinked my wet eyeballs, but he was still coming for me. I turned to see where the noise was coming from and my eyes became glued to a vision I’d seen on television. Grandma told me not to watch the zombie show. Oh no.

At this point I fainted, I’m sure I did.

When I woke the vampire was looking over me licking his lips, smiling. They were glowing red and dripping the hot juice right on me. My neck hurt, I couldn’t touch it. I still couldn’t move.

Who would save me from this terrible nightmare, except I wasn’t dreaming. It was real. I said a quick prayer for any angel that might be in my presence. I sure hoped the zombie went for the vampire and then the two of them got knocked over by the witch, evil or good. She might be my hero.

Just then the door opened and, someone said, “Here he is!”

“Oh, honey are you okay?” asked my mom.

“No, I’m not!” I yelled back.

“Your head is bleeding,” she said as she flashed a light upon me. “And it’s all over your neck!” She exclaimed.

My heart skipped a beat and tried to jump from my chest like a frog.

“What?” I asked. “Mom, get me outta here.” I stood up and ran from the room towards the steps. Mom said be careful of the spider web at the top. She flashed the light on the staircase.

I replied, “A little old spider doesn’t scare me mom, nope, never.”

Spider and Web

~story by Caroline Clemens

~photography by Kim Troike

~for KellieElmore#FWF

~http://kellieelmore.com/2014/10/31/fwf-free-write-friday-boo/

Just Do It

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Rache's 100 Word Photo PromptRochelle Wiseoff Fields Photo Copyrighted

 

Just Do It

I wrote a song for my uncle, but he left on tour … for a year! Johnny told him I could use his old studio. My heart skipped two beats.

“One stipulation,” he whispered.  “You can not leave until you have your song.”

Ten days later after 12 hour stints and no dust left in the place, my recording was ready. That is I had the notes, the pauses, even my voice. As I was all alone, just me and two windows, my mind made it real.

I called my uncle on tour in Japan and played him my recording. I didn’t hear him speak, only silence. Then a voice I recognized as Johnny’s said, “Tell him to meet us in Nashville at Christmas.”

 

by Caroline

for Rochelle Wiseoff Fields 100 Word Friday Photo Prompt

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/10/08/10-october-2014/

Autumn Awe

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Leaves Today is October 1st and Fall is all about change. The word awe means wonder or struck by something. What are you struck by? What are you in wonder over? For me it’s the cool air, beautiful colors and apples, cider, too!

When you are a kid you play in the leaves, then you are told “don’t play in the roadside leaf piles because a car might run you over.” As a kid you keep exploring until someone tells you what not to do. I guess that’s partly how you learn. Today, I imagine (know) kids are taking pictures and sharing to the net, all the glorious colors and fun things to do.

Apples

 

My favorite apple used to be Macintosh and now it’s a Pink Lady or a Crisp. What’s yours?

When I was a kid there was Washington Red and that was it. Do you make pie or crisp or candied apples?

If you do, think about sharing that with me. I’d love to make October all about sharing.

Apple Cider I’d like my  gardenlilie blog to go in another direction and let other people showcase their talents, whether they be writing, poetry, gardening, crafts or whatever.

This will be all about freedom of expression.

Oh yea, my favorite is apple cider when it comes to apples and what can be made from them.

Pink RibbonsOctober is also Breast Cancer Awareness month and there are some awesome ladies who’ve conquered this beast.

If you have a story to tell, feel free to share or you can email me and I’ll share it for you.

I’m not really a pink lady myself (you know if somebody tells me to be pink over blue, then I’ll choose blue~are you one of those?) but it does represent the cause and everybody knows what it means.

Go girl power!! We are in AWE of you!!

ReflectionsLastly, October and the beautiful display of colors has us reflecting our lives in this world. Slow down and appreciate the world, reflect what you have accomplished and what you hope to do.

I look forward to sharing others talents here on my blog, please feel free to pass this forward. My email is simplykim@bellsouth.net. Contributors will be responsible for their own content and copyright.

~Gardenlilie

~Google Images Credit

~Adobe Photoshop/Author Unknown

 

 

The Magpie

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‘The Magpie’ by Claude Monet, 1869.
This painting resides in the Musee` d `Orsay, a museum in Paris, France on the left bank of the Seine.

The Magpie by Claude Monet

The Magpie

The lonesome bird whose song is loud,
Rests upon the wooden ledge so calm.
Her young now gone, did she stir proud?
Singing ‘Joy to the World’ her Christmas psalm.

Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn king!
Oh Tannenbaum, oh Tannenbaum, we long to hear you.
Seven pipers piping, six geese a laying, five gold rings,
We wish you a Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas to you!

So upon the landscape, filled white and pure with snow,
She screeched her wondrous tidings, not lamented woe.

by Caroline Clemens
pic credit/public domain
Wikimedia Commons

The Storm

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Rembrandt_Christ_in_the_Storm_on_the_Lake_of_Galilee

~Dutch painter Rembrandt/Christ in the Storm on the Lake of Galilee 1633/picture courtesy wikipedia commons

The Storm
by Caroline Clemens

Our direction in discord, we set upon mighty sea,
In search of Tilapia, sardines and fishes tail.
The storm and catastrophe, we men did not see,
As River Jordan broke free, the wind disturbed our sail.

Our fellowship soon tested, on this agitated lake.
Males sufficiently ruffled, when the line snapped that night.
It shall surely seize us, keep calm for Jesus sake!
Large swells beneath our boat, hands worked a tenacious fight.

The halcyon day, became a passionate tale.
In Rembrandt’s canvas, a space emits the light.
Christ’s surveillance besets, refuge within the rail.
Our fishing boat turns aside, capsize a certain site.

We obediently seek, his word and find calm.
Not elite, gentry, nor lord or royal king,
Just peers reformed from dread, red blood rejoicing in psalm.
This carcass shall not flail, with lord aboard we sing!

Its severity and spirit, Oh! The sapphire night.
On an amethyst sea with bleached ivory swells,
When the tempest calms, peaceful, we wallow in this sight.
Christ’s reverence for the sea, fish for many he tells.

~an Alexandrine type poem
~for dVerse poets pub
~wanted to try a picture prompt, facts may or may not be correct
in regard to bible and/or scripture. The painting speaks for itself!