B.E. Jones's Blog
April 16, 2020
The Call of the Wild!
The paperback of my new novel 'Wilderness' finally hits the shelves this week. The irony of releasing a crime novel about a dream road trip, traversing 1500 miles of America’s national parks, that might just turn deadly, in the middle of a global lockdown is not lost on me. But it started several years ago, long before anyone could imagine the social distancing and self isolation Covid 19 would necessitate.
The inspiration hit as I was walking along the rim of the Hetch Hetchy reservoir in Yosemite National Park, when a semi-naked man emerged from the trees carrying a six-foot-long wooden stick. It was a weird moment, confronted by that skinny apparition, dressed only in what looked like a little leather loincloth and sunglasses. My husband and I gave each other a nervous smile that said, ‘weirdo alert’, because who was this guy, way up in the mountainous Sierra Nevadas in California?
Part sun-leathered, old-world prophet and part refugee from a 70s hippie commune, was he just wandering for fun or did he need help? Did we? Because who was out there to come to our aid if he turned out to be a survivalist nutter, intent on dispatching us and stealing our peanut butter Clif bars and emergency coffee dollars? Perhaps luckily, we never did find out who he was - all he did was smile, giving a friendly wave as he strode past with the words, ‘Great day, huh?,’ like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Shortly afterwards the germ of an idea was born that turned into 'Wilderness'. Because, though I think of myself as an ‘outdoorsy’ person, those ancient Yosemite forests and vast Arizona and Utah deserts, sparked a deep sense of unease inside me. They were astoundingly beautiful but, just a few steps from the bustling tourist trails, it was easy to imagine myself a hundred miles from anywhere, where there were great heights to fall from, places to lose ourselves in and creatures that wanted to bite and even eat us.
OK, maybe my imagination was a bit over excited, but is it any surprise that this was one of the places I started plotting to kill my husband? I mean my character Liv did, because it was clear to me, and her, that anything could happen out there where no one was watching. If it was easy to lose your way and vanish into the vastness, it was surely the perfect place to make a murder look like an accident. And I was interested in the idea that the most dangerous thing on the trip might already be sitting beside you in the car – something inside a loved one perhaps, released from their civilised city routine that, betrayed and broken, wanted to bite back?
So, as Olivia and her husband Will take a ‘dream holiday’ to save their marriage after she discovers his affair, Will doesn’t know that she's set him three little tests along the way, and, if he fails, his road trip might be a lot shorter than he realises. The wilderness Liv finds herself in is not simply the one they’re visiting, but the uncharted territory of betrayal and what comes afterwards.
Wilderness is now available from Little Brown in e-book and paperback.
The inspiration hit as I was walking along the rim of the Hetch Hetchy reservoir in Yosemite National Park, when a semi-naked man emerged from the trees carrying a six-foot-long wooden stick. It was a weird moment, confronted by that skinny apparition, dressed only in what looked like a little leather loincloth and sunglasses. My husband and I gave each other a nervous smile that said, ‘weirdo alert’, because who was this guy, way up in the mountainous Sierra Nevadas in California?
Part sun-leathered, old-world prophet and part refugee from a 70s hippie commune, was he just wandering for fun or did he need help? Did we? Because who was out there to come to our aid if he turned out to be a survivalist nutter, intent on dispatching us and stealing our peanut butter Clif bars and emergency coffee dollars? Perhaps luckily, we never did find out who he was - all he did was smile, giving a friendly wave as he strode past with the words, ‘Great day, huh?,’ like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Shortly afterwards the germ of an idea was born that turned into 'Wilderness'. Because, though I think of myself as an ‘outdoorsy’ person, those ancient Yosemite forests and vast Arizona and Utah deserts, sparked a deep sense of unease inside me. They were astoundingly beautiful but, just a few steps from the bustling tourist trails, it was easy to imagine myself a hundred miles from anywhere, where there were great heights to fall from, places to lose ourselves in and creatures that wanted to bite and even eat us.
OK, maybe my imagination was a bit over excited, but is it any surprise that this was one of the places I started plotting to kill my husband? I mean my character Liv did, because it was clear to me, and her, that anything could happen out there where no one was watching. If it was easy to lose your way and vanish into the vastness, it was surely the perfect place to make a murder look like an accident. And I was interested in the idea that the most dangerous thing on the trip might already be sitting beside you in the car – something inside a loved one perhaps, released from their civilised city routine that, betrayed and broken, wanted to bite back?
So, as Olivia and her husband Will take a ‘dream holiday’ to save their marriage after she discovers his affair, Will doesn’t know that she's set him three little tests along the way, and, if he fails, his road trip might be a lot shorter than he realises. The wilderness Liv finds herself in is not simply the one they’re visiting, but the uncharted territory of betrayal and what comes afterwards.
Wilderness is now available from Little Brown in e-book and paperback.
September 25, 2018
Something old something new!
Well, it’s just over a month until the paperback of my fifth crime novel Halfway hits the shelves! (November 1st)
As the winter nights draw in with alarming speed, there probably couldn’t be a better time to pick up my dark and twisted story of small town buried by a snowstorm and a killer on the loose.
If you’re one of the lovely readers who’ve downloaded it from Netgalley or already bought the e-book version then please don’t forget to let me know what you think and keep the reviews coming. They really do make a massive difference to authors and we’re always very grateful for feedback.
It’s a doubly exciting month as my publisher, Little Brown, is also rereleasing my previous thrillers as brand new e-book versions with updated titles and snazzy new covers.
If you were one of the people kind enough to leave reviews for Telling Stories, Holiday Money and Dreamcatcher, when they came out a few years ago, it would be fantastic if you had two minutes to transfer your lovely thoughts over to Lies You Tell, Make Him Pay and Fear the Dark. You can find them on my author page, and on Amazon etc under B E Jones and Beverly Jones.
The science of book titles is a subtle and subjective one, and tastes change over the years but I think these new ones are even more eye-catching. If you enjoyed them originally, please let people know they’re still a good read!
As the winter nights draw in with alarming speed, there probably couldn’t be a better time to pick up my dark and twisted story of small town buried by a snowstorm and a killer on the loose.
If you’re one of the lovely readers who’ve downloaded it from Netgalley or already bought the e-book version then please don’t forget to let me know what you think and keep the reviews coming. They really do make a massive difference to authors and we’re always very grateful for feedback.
It’s a doubly exciting month as my publisher, Little Brown, is also rereleasing my previous thrillers as brand new e-book versions with updated titles and snazzy new covers.
If you were one of the people kind enough to leave reviews for Telling Stories, Holiday Money and Dreamcatcher, when they came out a few years ago, it would be fantastic if you had two minutes to transfer your lovely thoughts over to Lies You Tell, Make Him Pay and Fear the Dark. You can find them on my author page, and on Amazon etc under B E Jones and Beverly Jones.
The science of book titles is a subtle and subjective one, and tastes change over the years but I think these new ones are even more eye-catching. If you enjoyed them originally, please let people know they’re still a good read!
July 29, 2017
Readers (and reviewers) rock!
With the publication of Where She Went finally here, I would just like to say a big thanks all round; thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review it and to create such a lovely buzz about my creepy little story that burrowed about in my brain for three years before Little Brown released it onto the page.
Writers generally live in an insecure place, spending months locked away in our own heads creating stories we hope will entertain, divert, scare, disturb or put a smile on the faces of the people they’re intended for – the book fans.
Every writer I know is also an avid reader and we all hope that the tale we’re telling will touch something in our audience, keep them hooked, or in this case, creep them out just a bit and make them a little scared of the dark – but you never really know until those reviews start coming in.
Readers and reviewers really are the lifeblood of every book once it leaves the safety of a laptop and goes out into the big, scary world and every review is a little bit of word-magic.
Good reviews are great to read but even negative reviews (or undecided, ‘well it just didn’t do it for me,’ ones) are useful, and at least they reassure other readers that you haven’t just asked your mates to write a bunch of ‘5 star!’ ‘Must read!’ publicity puffs for you.
With so many books out there, and so many constraints on everyone’s time, I’m really just very grateful to everyone who set aside a few hours to follow Melanie Black on her journey and took the time share what they thought about it.
You’re a lovely bunch, and no mistake! Readers (and reviewers) rock!
Writers generally live in an insecure place, spending months locked away in our own heads creating stories we hope will entertain, divert, scare, disturb or put a smile on the faces of the people they’re intended for – the book fans.
Every writer I know is also an avid reader and we all hope that the tale we’re telling will touch something in our audience, keep them hooked, or in this case, creep them out just a bit and make them a little scared of the dark – but you never really know until those reviews start coming in.
Readers and reviewers really are the lifeblood of every book once it leaves the safety of a laptop and goes out into the big, scary world and every review is a little bit of word-magic.
Good reviews are great to read but even negative reviews (or undecided, ‘well it just didn’t do it for me,’ ones) are useful, and at least they reassure other readers that you haven’t just asked your mates to write a bunch of ‘5 star!’ ‘Must read!’ publicity puffs for you.
With so many books out there, and so many constraints on everyone’s time, I’m really just very grateful to everyone who set aside a few hours to follow Melanie Black on her journey and took the time share what they thought about it.
You’re a lovely bunch, and no mistake! Readers (and reviewers) rock!
April 30, 2017
The Usual Suspects?
I shook hands with a murderer once. I didn’t release it at the time.
I was a new reporter working on my first, big missing persons story and had been granted an unexpected interview with the family of a teenager who hadn’t returned home for three weeks. She was out there somewhere, texting her mother from time to time, saying she was ok but didn’t want to come home. So I jumped in my car to try and find the small village in the middle of nowhere in the South Wales valleys. I’d been ordered to come back with something interesting before the late deadline, a nice colour piece for the next day, an appeal from the anxious mum and her partner.
It was a strange experience, sitting in the neat front room of the small terraced house while a white-suited forensic officer made a show of dusting fingerprint powder on a stack of CDs and books. The mum was clearly upset, her boyfriend tongue-tied, finding it hard to answer my simple questions about when he’d seen the girl last, what he’d tell her if he could appeal to her directly. I was in ‘reporter mode’, not allowing myself to think about what they were going through, trying to be gentle and sympathetic but all the while struggling to get something worthwhile from the interview, some usable quotes. I had one eye on the clock, thinking of my deadline approaching. I knew I’d have to be a bit creative to please my editor so I hared back to Cardiff with a bundle of scribbled notes and we ran a simple story.
A week later two CID officers turned up to interview me, the tables turned for once, seizing my notebooks with the scribbles inside. Some weeks later they arrested the man for murder and many months later he was convicted of killing the teenager, lashing out in a fit of anger then hiding her body in panic. The worst thing was that he appeared to have been sending texts from the girl’s phone for weeks aftwerwards, to make people think she was still alive. The police must have suspected all along. They’d probably approved the interview because they’d wanted to see how he’d react to my questioning.
I told myself that I’d known something wasn’t right, that I’d suspected, but had I? He couldn’t meet my eye but I’d put his nerves down to nothing more than the fact that no one likes to speak to a reporter. The missing girl had died in that house, where I’d shook the parents’ hands when I left. It alarmed me to think I’d been sitting five feet from someone who could do something like that, that I’d been oblivious to the fact I was at the scene of something so terrible.
It was the first of many experiences that made me realise how ordinary people can hide awful things. It was the first time I really thought about writing a crime novel because that simple fact interested me more than tales about complicated serial killers and their elaborate plans. The truth is terrible enough. The simplest choices have dreadful consequences – ordinary people are capable of horrifying acts.
The mystery is that we don’t find more people hiding horrifying secrets, or perhaps that we never suspect them…
I was a new reporter working on my first, big missing persons story and had been granted an unexpected interview with the family of a teenager who hadn’t returned home for three weeks. She was out there somewhere, texting her mother from time to time, saying she was ok but didn’t want to come home. So I jumped in my car to try and find the small village in the middle of nowhere in the South Wales valleys. I’d been ordered to come back with something interesting before the late deadline, a nice colour piece for the next day, an appeal from the anxious mum and her partner.
It was a strange experience, sitting in the neat front room of the small terraced house while a white-suited forensic officer made a show of dusting fingerprint powder on a stack of CDs and books. The mum was clearly upset, her boyfriend tongue-tied, finding it hard to answer my simple questions about when he’d seen the girl last, what he’d tell her if he could appeal to her directly. I was in ‘reporter mode’, not allowing myself to think about what they were going through, trying to be gentle and sympathetic but all the while struggling to get something worthwhile from the interview, some usable quotes. I had one eye on the clock, thinking of my deadline approaching. I knew I’d have to be a bit creative to please my editor so I hared back to Cardiff with a bundle of scribbled notes and we ran a simple story.
A week later two CID officers turned up to interview me, the tables turned for once, seizing my notebooks with the scribbles inside. Some weeks later they arrested the man for murder and many months later he was convicted of killing the teenager, lashing out in a fit of anger then hiding her body in panic. The worst thing was that he appeared to have been sending texts from the girl’s phone for weeks aftwerwards, to make people think she was still alive. The police must have suspected all along. They’d probably approved the interview because they’d wanted to see how he’d react to my questioning.
I told myself that I’d known something wasn’t right, that I’d suspected, but had I? He couldn’t meet my eye but I’d put his nerves down to nothing more than the fact that no one likes to speak to a reporter. The missing girl had died in that house, where I’d shook the parents’ hands when I left. It alarmed me to think I’d been sitting five feet from someone who could do something like that, that I’d been oblivious to the fact I was at the scene of something so terrible.
It was the first of many experiences that made me realise how ordinary people can hide awful things. It was the first time I really thought about writing a crime novel because that simple fact interested me more than tales about complicated serial killers and their elaborate plans. The truth is terrible enough. The simplest choices have dreadful consequences – ordinary people are capable of horrifying acts.
The mystery is that we don’t find more people hiding horrifying secrets, or perhaps that we never suspect them…
