Feeley | Jamie Fessenden's Blog

Borderland was a “labor of love,” as they say, from the start. FE Feeley, Jr. (henceforth referred to as “Fred”) proposed we work together on a horror novel over two years ago, and we tossed ideas back and forth until we settled on a ghost story set in a haunted inn in Vermont.

So much time has gone by, it’s now impossible to sort out who thought of what, but I recall Fred being interested in Vermont, because he wanted to visit New England. I’d never officially lived there, but they don’t call Vermont and New Hampshire the “twin states” for nothing. Jump in the car and you can reach anywhere in either state in a few hours. I’ve spent a lot of time there, especially near the border. It’s a gorgeous state: heavily forested, mountainous, and dotted with old farms. It’s about the same size as NH (but “upside-down” ;-p ), and the population is just over 600 thousand—half that of NH, and we’re not exactly struggling for elbow room.

Fred can also be credited with the idea of working the flu epidemic of 1918 into the story. I want to be clear that he thought of this years before the COVID-19 pandemic. Frankly, we might have veered away from the topic, if we’d known about the pandemic, since so many readers have had family affected by the virus. Instead, one might call it a bit of prescience. The story had already been submitted to our publisher by the time the pandemic hit the USA.

Writing with another author was a new experience for me, and it didn’t always go smoothly. We wrote scenes and showed them to each other, usually liking what we were piecing together, but as the order of the story was rearranged, some scenes had to be tossed and others extensively rewritten. One scene was simultaneously written by both of us, leaving us with the decision of which to keep. In final edits, we noticed that the music box was somehow upstairs in a bedroom and on the fireplace mantel in the living room at the same time. And who the heck was Meghan? Oh, that’s right. We changed her name to Grace…

But under the guidance of our wonderful editor, Debbie McGowan, at Beaten Track Publishing, we hammered the novel into something we’re all very proud of. And the reception has been wonderful. Here are some quotes from our favorite review sites:

“I very highly recommend this ghost story. It is one of my favorite reads in a long time. If you have Amazon, one-click it now. You won’t be sorry.” — Dan at Love Bytes Reviews

“If this is what a story becomes when FE Feeley and Jamie Fessenden collaborate, then sign me up for more. These two have put together an amazing combination of mystery, thriller, and horror, and then intertwined within all of that darkness, is a sweet, poignant romance that will stick with you long after “the end”.” —Melissa Brus at the Paranormal Romance Guild

“It was with great expectation I awaited this book…..I am a longtime follower of these two authors and expected nothing less than perfection….I received it hands down!!” — Gloria Lakritz at the Paranormal Romance Guild

“Yes, there is a sad element to this book. But there’s also hope, as well, and that’s deftly written by FE Feeley and by Jamie Fessenden, as well. I really enjoyed this book. It was an emotional roller coaster for me. It won’t necessarily be that way for everyone, although I would imagine that most people that read this book will have a definite visceral reaction to it. So, for me, Borderland is a lovely piece of writing. I thoroughly… I’m just really glad that I got to read it, and I’m giving it five stars.” — Kazza at On Top Down Under Reviews

I’m very proud of the work Fred and I did on the novel. Perhaps in the future we’ll collaborate on another one, and hopefully our process will go a bit smoother from our experience with Borderland. In the meantime, I hope readers enjoy their visit with the hotel and it’s residents… both benign and evil.

They were young.
In the prime of life and recently married.
And then the diagnosis came.
Cancer.

George and Jason make arrangements to travel back to George’s home state of Vermont so he may pass away in the town where he grew up, but a terrible storm diverts the couple into the gates of an out-of-the-way hotel called Borderland.

Sure, the employees are well dressed and polite. Sure, the food and entertainment are old-time fare. But it’s all a schtick, right?

Or is there something far more sinister at work here?

Welcome to the Borderland Hotel, where you may check in, but you’ll never, ever leave.

Buy Links:

Beaten Track Publishing

Amazon

Can love survive heaven’s wrath?

Artist Ted Armstrong lives a solitary and eccentric life. The survivor of child abuse disguised as religion, Ted has cut himself off from the world.

Then Ted meets Anderson Taylor, and it’s like being struck by lightning.

Anderson is a cardiac surgeon whose passion for his work has consumed him. He fears he’ll never find a partner—until he sets eyes on Ted. It’s happening fast, but both men know what they feel is right.

Confronted with an angry preacher, a scandal, and an act of God that threatens to destroy everything, their relationship will face it’s first true test.

EXCERPT:

The wind chimes danced in the gentle sigh of the night, but for some reason Ted jerked awake. He wasn’t sure why at first but he was alert. Slowly, he sat up and took in his surroundings. Anderson who had rolled onto his back was unusually tense. His eyes shifted hard behind closed lids, and a light sweat had broken out on his head. His body jerked once, twice, three times.

“Ted… get…way….”

“– ooooooove!”

Ted moved to touch his shoulder but hesitated when Anderson shouted.

“Teddy!”

Anderson started thrashing in his sleep. Not wanting to startle him, Ted reached out and rubbed his face.

“It’s okay, Anderson. It’s just a dream.”

“Oh…Teddy….”

Ted smiled to himself. Anderson was calming down. His lips were pursed, and his hair was sweaty against his forehead, but his breathing had slowed.

“It’s just a nightmare. I’m right here,” Ted whispered gently.

Anderson was caught in the twilight, halfway between wakefulness and dreams.

“… the storm….”

“There is no storm, Anderson. It’s a nightmare. Okay?”

“…kay….”

Anderson rolled over in bed toward the reassuring voice and placed a hand on Ted’s chest. Ted took the hand and kissed his knuckles, then his fingers, the open palm and then put it on his own face as if he could absorb the talent and know-how, the brilliance that it took to do what Anderson did. Ted marveled at the softness of it, the warmth and tenderness, and was moved. Carefully, he got out of bed and disappeared through the door, only to return carrying his sketchpad. Anderson stirred again, and the blankets slid down Anderson’s body to where they just covered his hips. He was on his side, snuggled deep into a pillow, his mouth partly open. Ted sat in the wingback chair opposite the bed. Moonlight streamed through the window bathing the scene in silver light. He turned on the dim side table lamp to add shadows and definition to Anderson’s sleeping form. With one eye—his right eye now completely swollen shut– with a bruised hand, he sketched the sleeping form furiously. He worked, inhaling deeply over and over again as adrenaline rushed through his body and down his arm to his fingers.

He paid attention to the curve of Anderson’s shoulder, the slope of his arm resting on the mattress where Ted had lain just moments before, the gentle slope of his side as it dipped down toward his hips, and the cleft of his buttocks. He painstakingly captured the slight openness of his mouth, the tender eyelashes, his chin jutted out defiantly in his sleep, and the curls spilling over his pillow.

When he was done, he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his aching drawing hand and smiled softly at the man who was in his bed.

Outside, the wind picked up and the night called out its lonesome song of crickets and the rustle of trees. He had the window open and watched as the curtains sucked to the screen, suddenly billowed outward as the breeze shifted direction, and assailed the room with the fragrance of coming rain. With that change of direction in the wind, Ted had a realization that made his heart hammer slowly and deliberate. As his body relaxed, cooled by the breeze and lonesome for the comforting warmth of another person, and the bed became more and more attractive to him, he said aloud something only he and the night heard.

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Anderson murmured in his sleep and rolled over on his back, throwing his hand above him before settling down. His chest was bare, and Ted reached out to stroke it. He knew his drawing was good. Yet he lamented silently that no matter how good a work of art could be, it was a mere reflection of the realness of the man. His silky skin. The way he smelled. The observer would not understand the tone of voice nor the mind that lay dormant beneath closed eyelids. In a way that made Ted sad, but then again, it also made him happy in the place where he kept his jealousy bone. That place that was always tender to the touch, easily made sore.

His eyes—or rather, his eye—was getting droopy and he wrote a title above the drawing before setting it on the floor next to his bed. He crawled underneath the covers once more and reached for the light to turn it off. The rain clouds rolled in, and darkness washed over the room. He wrapped an arm around Anderson, who turned turn his back to him. Easy, as not to disturb him too much, he pulled, and Anderson scooted back until his ass was flush to Ted’s groin, which twitched its appreciation. The night sang, and the rain began to fall. Mr. Jefferson leaped onto the bed. As Ted closed his eyes, he felt the cat curl up at his feet, and with a slight smile tugging at his lips, he bid farewell to the day.

Amazon eBook: https://www.amazon.com/When-Heaven-Strikes-F-E-Feeley-ebook/dp/B07452W7HK/

Amazon Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/When-Heaven-Strikes-F-E-Feeley/dp/1521910529/

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

F.E. Feeley Jr was born and raised in Detroit, Michigan and lived there for twenty years before joining the military. He is a veteran of the US Armed Services; having done a tour in support of Operation Iraq Freedom in 2002-2003, he turned college student, pursuing a degree in political science. He now lives in Southeast Texas where he is married to the love of his life, John, and where they raise their 1½ year old German shepherd, Kaiser.

As a young man, reading took center stage in his life, especially those novels about ghosts, witches, goblins, and all the other things that went bump in the night. His favorite authors include such writers as Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Anne Rice, whose work allowed him to travel to far off places and meet fascinating and scary characters. As a gay man, he wishes to be able to write good fictional literature for those who love the genre and to write characters that readers can relate to. All in all, he is a cigarette smokin’, whiskey drinkin’, rock and roll lovin’, tattoo wearin’ dreamer of a man with a wonderful husband who puts up with his crap and lets him write his stories.

F. E. Feeley Jr

Author of The Memoirs of the Human Wraiths

Web Coordinator for The Paranormal Romance Guild

‘Where the pursuit of extraordinary love, romance, and passion is first and foremost.’