Jon: Today the Captain's Blog welcomes my good Twitter friend, D J Bowman-Smith. Here is a little about her...




"A few short years ago my nephew almost died from that terrible swine flu. He recovered and is now in the very best of health. But when it was all over I had (I think they call it mid-life crisis) a moment of, 'Am I doing what I want with my life?'

There is nothing like a brush with mortality to make one re-asses what really matters.

Anyway, I gave up teaching to write "Shoken Wars". I had started it a few years before and imagined, after a few books of notes that 'it' would fade away. But this is the story that will not lie down. The one I have to write. Book one, Fragile Peace is out now and I am (obsessed) busy with book two.

What else? Well I was a hairdresser when I was young and ran my own salon for some years and I have travelled a lot, as I used to work on the cruise liners, doing hair. Once computers came along I could manage my dyslexia and took a degree with the Open University and then trained as a teacher.

In amongst it all I have, and do work as an artist, taking on any commission that suits me. Recently I have painted a mural, designed a letterhead, painted a watercolour of sweet peas.

Paul and I have been married for twenty three years and we have two teenage daughters and a very fluffy cat called Milly who is transgendered... but that is probably another story.

Jon: Tell us about your book?




Bow: Fragile Peace, the first book of the Shoken Wars, begins the story of the Shoken King, his bonded protectors or Crystal Bearers and their enemies, the Sturgar.

War has not yet started, but it is coming. The Sturgar have gained strength and begun again their genocide of the lesser Shoken races.

An adult fantasy of intrigue, dark violence, friendship, romance, sex and bravery. Encompassing mythic beasts, ghosts, special powers and more.

Shoken Wars ~ a fight for power and survival.

Jon: Where did the original inspiration for Shoken Wars come from?

Bow: I have a funny feeling that you are not going to be the last person to ask me this question, which is a bit worrying, as I have absolutely no idea! All I can say is, at any given time I am running an imaginary world through my minds eye. When I began Shoken Wars I had two stories in my head. I decided to write a bit of each and see which one I liked best... I never did write any of the other one, although I still think about it. When you get right down to it, I'm probably just a day dreamer!

Jon: What, or who, is a Shoken?

Bow: Writing fantasy is a funny business and when I am in the 'zone' I imagine this new world I create to have different words for things. I try not to use too many as I don't want to overcomplicate things, for myself or the reader. So, the 'human like' people in my story, they are 'shoken' whilst the less 'human like' (and the bad guys) are the Sturgar. All of the Shoken races will have to unite against the Sturgar if they want to survive.

Jon: your cover art is very interesting. Why a face made from knives?

Bow: Well if I happen to be left alone with a bit of paper and something to make a mark with, what I draw is faces and knives. Which is odd, because I look like I would draw kittens and roses (and write romance)... but then, looks can be deceiving.

I think what I am trying to convey is that whatever the Shoken fight the Sturgar with, they are still fighting a losing battle. It's going to take cunning and knowledge of their weakness to win, not just weapons and it's going to take a long time.

Jon: Did hairdressing teach you anything that you have brought to your writing?

Bow: I think any job where you get to meet a lot of different people is good for writing. And I believe all writers are, ultimately, people watchers. And it is odd, folk often drop their barriers and open up when they are having there hair done. Certainly I have heard some pretty intimate stories.

But the main thing was the travel. I spent three years hairdressing on the cruise liners and have been around the world a few times. When I got home I couldn't find my way around my home town of Bournemouth, I was mare familiar with Shanghai and Hong Kong!

Jon: I know a lot of writers who are / were teachers. What do you think teacher training brings to being an author?

Bow: It is about all the people you meet, kids, parents, teachers, caretakers etc. but also, as a teacher, one is constantly having to expand ones knowledge base to meet the requirements of the curriculum and the children's needs. As a teacher you must become a lifelong learner and that is good for a writer... there is always something that needs to be found out or understood either for the writing itself or to support it. My next challenge (and I have no clue about this) is to make a YouTube trailer.

Jon: Tell us about some of the artwork that you have completed recently apart from your book covers. What do you like to do, why do you enjoy it?




Here I am (standing on the table) painting a mural in my house. I have done a few similar 'trophy heads' for people. I like to make each different even if people want a 'copy' of something they have seen in my home or someone else's. The antler on the right ended up with a bunch of keys hanging from it as a surprise for the client's partner as she is always losing them, (sadly I did not take a picture).

I enjoy this type of thing and love the freedom a nice big wall gives! It is important to think about how the light is falling in the room so that you add the shadows accordingly to give the trompe-l'oeil effect. At the moment I am working on some sketches to paint a mural of a ship's port hole in a client's kitchen. They are undecided whether they want to see through the port hole, at the moment the husband wants a mermaid but the wife, a tropical island! When they decide I will get to work!

In the summer I was asked to paint some sweet peas for a raffle for a charity ball that was raising money for the ECMO hospital in Leicester. Extra Corporeal Membrane Oxygenation (ECMO) is a machine that oxygenates the blood. They managed to raise £8000 which was great and I understand the money is going to go toward equipping another ambulance with an ECMO machine. So it was great to paint something to help raise money for charity.



The funny thing is, when I am painting I am always thinking about writing. I like to put some head phones on and let my mind drift off into my imagination as I work. I always keep a note book handy so I can write down anything that might come in useful.

Jon: Do you have a short excerpt from "Shoken Wars" for my readers?

Shoken Wars, Book one, Fragile Peace

Chapter 1

She was nothing. A tiny slip of a girl who barely reached his shoulder, and if politeness had not been ingrained from an early age, he would have laughed aloud at her audacity. Instead he stood his ground, blocking the entrance to the prisoner’s cell, and adopted a serious expression.

‘We requested one of the Lord’s protectors,’ he said.

The girl looked bored and walked away, for a moment he thought she was leaving, but she stopped at the foot of the steps and called up. The Warder came in a hurry and made a formal salute to her, she returned it casually.

‘I haven’t got time to argue with your man here,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry my Lady, he’s new,’ he said, still standing to attention with his right fist clenched over his heart. ‘Do as she asks.’

She came to stand beside him, indicating with a nod that he should open the door. He turned the key slowly, ‘I’m coming in with you,’ he said.

‘What’s your name?’

It was a rude question, implying she outranked him. He studied her expressionless face as she peered through the bars of the door. She was just a girl, albeit one dressed in boy’s clothing and she was young. His face stretched into smile, partly from amusement, more from incredulity, surely she did not think she could go in and face one, alone and unarmed?

The lock clicked its last and the heavy door swung inward. Before he had the chance to stop her she had stepped inside and so he followed, bringing a torch from the wall and loosening his sword.

At first the cell seemed empty until he looked up and saw it, crouching in the rafters, like a man, almost. It watched them, the vertical slit pupils of its eyes made him uneasy and he held the flame higher so it turned away from the light. Even from this distance it seemed huge, menacing even as it was injured, and he felt unsafe in its presence.

‘Come on, you’ve seen it now. Time to go,’ he said, reaching out to help her through the door before it decided to jump down and kill them both. She slipped out of reach and moved to the back of the cell and running four strides leapt onto the rafter, lithe as a cat. He drew his broad-sword on a reflex as the Sturgar stood to face her.

They had thrashed it half to death, stripped and left it bound, or so they thought. Yet here it stood, free and seemingly none the worse for the beating, its smooth grey body rippling with muscle. The girl addressed it quietly, in a soft whispered breath.

‘How many of you came?’

The Sturgar glanced down at the open door and the soldier, then turned his attention back to the girl. She held something, two tiny blades that caught the light. He would have laughed if she had drawn such weapons on him but the Sturgar stepped back, watching her. She turned her hands over, the blades lay flat on her palms.

‘I can make your death swift or slow, the choice is yours. Either way you will tell me what I need to know,’ she breathed.

The Sturgar said nothing and was still, only the slight rhythmic twitch of its long tail showed it was agitated. The blades floated up and hung in the air of their own volition. It was captivating.

Then the blades moved. A sudden dart, one to its throat where it hovered, pricking the skin lightly. The Sturgar tried to bat it away with his hands, every time the metal touched him he was cut, and soon was bleeding freely. The other blade, had gone unnoticed, floating just below its navel and when this cut into him the Sturgar clutched his stomach and fell heavily, a massive writhing heap to the floor.

The girl jumped down, another blade her hand. Impassively she regarded the creatures agony for a moment then calmly sliced off its tail and kicked him onto his back with her foot. She held it up for him to see. It was grey, smooth and much longer than she was tall.

The Sturgar looked up at her and where it had made no noise, even when the soldiers had beaten it, now it cried, a soft high pitched whine, disconcerting and awful.

The girl knelt down, then coiled the tail like a rope and laid it on his chest. She must have stopped the movement of the blade that was inside him as the Sturgar ceased clawing at its stomach.

‘Tell me,’ she said, in her quiet, soft voice, ‘do the Sturgar still believe their god will think lesser of them if they arrive at death without a tail, like a little shoken?’

The Sturgar looked at her and hissed.

‘I think I shall keep yours. Hang it on my wall.’

Again the blades moved and the Sturgar writhed and cried until at last it let go its stomach and placed both hands over the severed tail. Silence for a moment, then it spoke.

‘Seven runners were sent.’ Its voice was barely audible.

‘Where are the others?’

‘Not here, we went across the Land. Many places.’

‘Why?’

‘To be the eyes of the Master. So he can learn about the softlings.’

‘Which Master?’

‘Mag’Sood.’

The girl nodded, reached over and slit the Sturgar’s throat, first one way and then the other, severing both jugular veins, then the blade that had been within him, pierced the skin below the rib cage and came to her waiting hand.

‘I asked for your name soldier,’ she said, and there was menace in her tone as she stepped over the pooling blood and came toward him.

‘Krebre,’ he said, realising he was still brandishing the broad sword and re-sheathed it, feeling like a fool. He saw her look over his uniform, taking in the years of service, rank and cohort and understood in that glance she knew just where to find him.

‘You will not speak of anything you have seen or heard,’ she said, moving toward the door and calling for the Warder.

The Warder came at a run; she ignored his salute. ‘Where was the Sturgar found?’

‘From the wall, shot by a young archer.’

Taking the torch from Krebre she knelt down and examined the body in detail. There was a wound to the shoulder from an arrow, but for a full grown male Sturgar it was nothing. She was surprised he had been hit, much less captured.

‘Why wasn’t he bound?’

‘He was my Lady, well bound,’ said the Warder.

‘With leather?’

‘Yes. We had no manacles big enough,’ the Warder looked about for the straps wanting to show her how strong they were.

‘He would have eaten them,’ she said and pulled back the Sturgar’s gums, revealing a double row of teeth. The gums were red and bleeding and now, placing her hand on his face, she knew. ‘He was sick,’ she said, ‘feel how hot his skin is.’

Neither reached down to touch the Sturgar.

‘No one would have been able to catch him otherwise,’ she said and knew it was the reason the Sturgar had not made any effort to fight.

‘The body needs to be burnt else the infection it carries might spread. Do it here in secret and if rumours begin, say it was only one of the Strick that was captured for stealing. Bring Patmore the Smith, he can be trusted. Have him take a look at the body and make some manacles that would fit.’

‘Will there be others?’ the Warder asked as he walked cautiously around the body as if not quite trusting that the Sturgar was dead.

‘Yes,’ she said, going to the door. ‘Sooner, or later they will come, and if you survive, you will think back, and know the shoken wars began here.’

Krebre took the torch she held out. ‘Do you want the tail?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Why give him another reason to hunt me down in the after life?’

Her smile lacked mirth and made him shiver.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fragile-Peace...

Jon: A big thank you to Bow for joining me on the Captain's blog!