Charles Dougherty and his
wife have been cruising full-time aboard their sailboat since 2000. They have been exploring the Eastern
Caribbean since 2004, and most of his books are set in that part of the world. The beauty of the open sea and the islands
provide a captivating backdrop for his thrillers, and the quirky characters
that populate his books are mostly inspired by the islanders and yachting folks
among whom he lives.
He wrote quite a bit of
fiction before publishing Deception in Savannah, his first novel. Most of his earlier fiction works took the
form of business plans, written to secure funding for projects and startup
ventures during his corporate and consulting work. He has also published Dungda de Islan', a nonfiction
book about the experiences he and his wife have had while cruising the
Caribbean aboard their yacht, Play Actor. Bluewater Killer and Bluewater Vengeance are
the first two books in the Bluewater Thriller series; Bluewater Voodoo is the
third.
IAN.
Please tell us about your latest book
CD. Bluewater Voodoo is part of the story of
Dani Berger, a strong-willed, capable young woman who owns and sails Vengeance, a small luxury charter yacht
in the Caribbean. In Bluewater Voodoo,
Dani and her business partner, who is the first mate and chef aboard Vengeance, are
struggling with their roles in the business and in life. Trouble begins when their charter guests, a couple of academics studying Voodoo and its
influence on the culture of the islands, run afoul of a shady character on the lovely French island of
Martinique.
Their
guests uncover rumors of a real-life zombie and trace the unfortunate creature
to a group of illegal refugees from Haiti who are living and working in Martinique. The spiritual leader of the refugees has
reluctantly used his skills to turn a problem visitor into a mindless
slave. The academics chartering Vengeance want to exploit the zombie
craze to fund their legitimate research, but the agents of an unfriendly
government have a more nefarious plan for the Voodoo priest and his creature.
Their
paths converge, and Vengeance and her
crew are caught in the middle. Neither
the government agents nor the academics reckon on the reaction of Dani and her partner,
Liz. Dani discovers the value of trading on her
femininity and Liz learns to take care of herself in dangerous circumstances.
Bluewater Voodoo is the third book in the Bluewater Thriller series.
IAN.
How long did it take to write the Bluewater Voodoo?
CD.
It took about three months to write and edit the book, although years of my
life went into absorbing the background information that gives the reader such
a strong sense of what life is like in the Caribbean yachting world.
IAN.
What inspired you to write Bluewater Voodoo?
CD. People
who go to sea for extended periods in small boats are a bit different from the
rest of the crowd. To thrive in that
environment requires self reliance; all of the safety nets that are provided by
modern society are absent – medical, social services, police and fire
departments, tow trucks, and even grocery stores are scarce compared to what
most folks are used to. How well you
live depends directly on how willing you are to step up to new challenges. On the other hand, most of the people we meet
understand the importance of helping each other and the satisfaction of meeting
their own needs. It occurred to me that
a series of thrillers set in such an environment offered interesting
possibilities in terms of describing character traits and interactions.
Voodoo
is a belief system that exists in the Caribbean islands, and the origin of
zombies is rooted in that belief structure.
I became curious about the how and why of real-life zombies – they
exist, or have, recently – not as the monsters of pop culture, but as victims
of some seemingly evil practitioners of Voodoo.
I dealt with this in a recent blog post, and there are a couple of easily
found references there.
IAN.
Talk about the writing process.
CD. I usually write about 3,000 words in the
middle of the day, and then take a break.
In the early evening, I read the last 12,000 words that I have written –
3 to 4 days of work – and mark it up. I
begin each day’s writing session by incorporating the markups into my
manuscript, and the current day’s work flows from that. I call it my rolling rewrite process. By the time I finish the first draft, it has
been rewritten 3 or 4 times.
IAN.
Did you use an outline or do you just wing the first draft?
CD. I start by writing the opening – about 500 to
2,000 words. Then I write 3 or 4
sentences describing what happens in the next couple of chapters. Each day when
I finish writing, I write a synopsis of the next 2 or 3 chapters. I have a
rough idea of the story line in my head when I start, but it inevitably evolves
as I write. Outlining doesn’t work for
me.
IAN.
How is Bluewater Voodoo different from
others in your genre?
CD.
I think the thing that sets my books
apart is the sense of place and the corroborative detail that I put into
them. That comes from writing about
places and things that I know intimately, and readers and reviewers consistently
comment that you can smell the salt air, feel the breeze and spray, or taste
the food as you meet the local people.
IAN.
Is Bluewater Voodoo published in print,
e-book or both?
CD.
Both.
IAN.
What do you hope your readers come away with after reading your book?
CD.
I want them to enjoy the story, and I want to instill a longing to visit the
wonderful part of the world where my books are set.
IAN.
Where can we go to buy Bluewater Voodoo?
CD. All of my titles are available as e-Books
from Amazon. They are available in
paperback from Amazon and all of the other online bookstores, as well as by
special order from local bookstores.
IAN.
Tell us about your next book or a work in progress. Is it a sequel or a stand
alone?
CD. I’m working on two books. One is another nonfiction book about our
experiences when we moved aboard our boat and left our comfortable lives ashore
to explore the east coast of the U.S. from the water. The other is a thriller, but it’s not a
sequel to any of my previous books. I
wanted a break from the Bluewater Thriller series, so that I could return to it
with a fresh perspective for the next book.
I’m missing those characters, now.
I look forward to finishing the two books I’m writing so that I can
start the next Bluewater Thriller early next year.
IAN.
Any other links or info you'd like to share?
From
Bluewater Killer, the first book in the series:
He drifted into
consciousness, fighting it the whole way.
The harsh light of the sun burned through his eyelids. He clamped them closed, in hopes that he
would drift off again. "Where am
I?" No one answered, but his
instincts told him that it was nowhere good.
As he raised a hand to his throbbing head, he became aware of the
corrosive vapors of jackiron rum wafting from his shirt. Had he been drinking? He couldn't believe that; he wasn't a
drinker, but he felt hung over. Moving
his hand to the floor, he felt the surface beneath him -- hard, lumpy, and
damp. "Cobblestones?" He forced his eyes open, a little bit at a
time. This caused his surroundings to
roll past in surreal swirls. His
instincts were right. He was nowhere
good, and nowhere familiar, either.
Sunlight beamed from a hole, high up in one of the walls. He turned his head, trying to look the other
way, but instantly regretted the effects of the motion. Overcome by nausea and retching painfully, he
rolled onto his side to avoid choking.
As the waves of nausea receded, he took in the uneven stone floor
stretching from his cheek to the iron bars comprising the wall opposite the one
with the hole in it. "Bars?" He must be in a cell. "Where am I?" he asked again. Still, no one answered his questions.
Ignoring his body's
protests, he forced himself to a sitting position. He sat there for a moment, waiting for his
surroundings to stop their circular motion.
He looked around and saw that he was alone; his immediate surroundings
were deathly quiet. In the distance, he
could hear voices, raised in gospel song.
There was a subtle but still noticeable calypso undertone to the
familiar music. As he registered the
rhythm, the notion that he was in the islands formed in his mind. "I'm hung over and in jail, somewhere in
the Caribbean," he said aloud.
"It's Sunday. I need water
and food." Behind that raging
thirst, he could feel his stomach growling.
He crawled over to the
bars and pulled himself to a semi-erect position, holding on to stay upright as
his vision swirled again. "Got to
be careful about moving my head so fast," he said, under his breath. He looked out into a dim, rough-walled corridor,
broken pieces of oyster shell visible in the construction. "Definitely in the islands," he
said.
"Hello," he
called. "Anybody there?" He listened as the sound of his voice died in
soft echoes. Still grasping the vertical
bars of his cell door, he shook it to make a noise and get someone's
attention. To his surprise, the door
swung out into the corridor with a loud screech of rusty iron hinges. He stumbled, shuffling to stay on his feet,
as he followed the arc of the swinging door.
He paused, hanging on the door to regain his equilibrium. After a few seconds of silence, he released
his grip on the door and moved a little way into the corridor, taking in the
empty cells to either side of his.
"Hey!" he
yelled, rewarded by an increase in the throbbing pressure behind his
forehead. No one answered. Leaning on the wall, he worked his way down
the corridor toward what appeared to be an exit. Reaching the end of the corridor, he peered
through a narrow archway into a sort of waiting room. It was dirty but neat, in that way unique to
official spaces in small Caribbean countries.
There was a bench along one wall; along the opposite wall, there was a
counter, with a window of scarred, yellowed Plexiglas, like the ticket booth at
a defunct theater. There was nobody
behind the window. He stumbled out into
the empty waiting room. Examining the
room for a moment, he shook his sore head in confusion. Still unsure of his footing, he stepped
outside into the morning sunlight, expecting to encounter a policeman at any
moment. He was a little worried about
how he would explain his accidental freedom if anybody challenged him. As he staggered out of the door, he looked up
and back over his shoulder, noticing the signboard hanging above the
portal. "Police," he read.
