Jenyfer Matthews

It’s the time of year when everyone seems to be talking about new year’s resolutions. Resolutions, smesolutions, what’s the point?

I never have been into making resolutions. When I was younger, I was a good student and had few vices so I could rarely think of anything to change. I’m older now but I still don’t smoke, am not over weight, not in debt and I have no intention of giving up any of my vices.

That’s not to say there isn’t room for improvement. But I know that as soon as I make a resolution the first thing I’ll do is break it. A friend and fellow author Anny spoke of goals on her own blog and that resonated with me. I make goals all the time. I don’t need the new year to roll around to make changes. Every day is a fresh start.

So, here are my current goals:

Goal #1 has to be eating better. I spent the morning in the kitchen today - not making cookies or decadent treats for a change. Nope, I made a jumbo batch of pesto and started on some bread. We’ve worn ourselves out with eating rich party food and take-out over the holidays so it’s back to real life now. But just to prove I’m the creative type, I crossed Anny’s Oatmeal Honey bread recipe with one from my Fanny Farmer cookbook and then tweaked it with my own improvisations as well. I’ll let you know how (if!) it comes out.

Goal #2 is to make time to get back to yoga. I got out of the habit last year after my back injury and even after I felt better I put it off for one reason or another. Surely if I have time to read as many blogs as I do, I have time for 30 minutes of yoga!

Goal #3 is spending more time enjoying my children while they are still young enough to enjoy spending time with their mom. I’ll get started on that just as soon as they get home from playing with their friends!

Goal #4 is to finish my current WIP (Aurora), write Skye’s story and to start on the germ of an idea that came to me last night. Of course I’d love to make the best seller’s list (any best seller’s list) but first things first. First I have to sit down and write.

My goals are modest, but for the most part attainable. I hope. Guess I’ll have to get back to you this time next year and let you know how I’ve done. What about you? Making any changes this year?

J L Wilson says: I read my first romance novel in 2004 and haven’t looked back since. Four of my books released in 2007 and I’ll have four more, maybe five, in 2008, including the second book in my History Patrol series for Cerridwen Press.

The following info is for my Dec. 27 release with Cerridwen, a romantic suspense novel featuring an older hero and heroine.

If Not For You is what I call my ‘businessman’ book because it stars Max Lerner, a work-driven corporate CEO whose life gets turned upside down by a chance encounter with Layla Whitford … or is it a ‘chance encounter?’

Max is involved in a merger that’s crucial to the health of his company, Lerner Software. He’s been getting letters that threaten to expose details of the merger that could completely foul the deal. Enter Layla — she gets a letter that’s got Max’s name on the envelope but her address. She doesn’t even glance at the front of the letter. She just opens it and finds a threatening letter inside. Like any good citizen, Layla calls the police, who in turn call Max.

Max knows she got the letter on purpose. Her address is nothing like his so the question is: who wants them to get together and why? And when he meets her, he’s even more puzzled. Layla is like a force of nature, an exuberant, independent and successful woman who’s put her divorce long behind her and has gotten on with her life. She’s not afraid to stand up for what she believes in (like the time she chained herself to a fence to stop the cutting of an old-growth forest) and she has no interest in a relationship with a man who is eerily like her ex-husband: focused on work to the exclusion of all else.

During the course of the book they discover that unbelievable as it might seem, they do have something in common. And that something might just get Layla killed if Max can’t solve the mystery.

If Not For You

by

J. L. Wilson

Excerpt:

Max glanced at the clock. It was five-thirty and he hadn’t finished the contracts. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he’d only had a hotdog to eat that day. Damn good dog though. He remembered how she’d sat in the car and waved her hands in the sun roof, humming that song—

Shit. He suddenly recognized it.

You’re So Vain.

Fuming, Max picked up his cell phone, grabbed the Whitford file and punched in Layla Whitford’s home phone number. It bounced immediately to a voice mailbox.

“Hi, leave a message and I’ll probably call back, but maybe not. Just thought I’d be honest. Bye.”

Instead of a beep, the introductory bars to Eric Clapton’s “Layla” played. In spite of his anger, Max grinned. Anyone who knew anything about rock and roll would recognize those few notes.

“This is Max Lerner. I was wondering if we could get together for coffee tomorrow, maybe after work.” Max stared out his office window in shocked surprise. Where had that come from? “I’d also like to know if you would go to the High Tech dinner with me on Saturday. It’s a charity event and I’d—I mean, I have tickets and—” He ground to a halt. “Please call me.”

Cursing softly, he slapped the phone shut and glared out the window again. Why did he sound like a bumbling fool every time he talked to her? He’d called her multiple times this morning, each time sounding like an incoherent idiot. She’d probably listened to his messages and laughed her ass off.

His cell phone rang. “Lerner,” he snarled.

There was a long pause. “Well my, aren’t we in a happy mood?” Layla Whitford said. “I swear Mr. Lerner, you’re such a sunny boy it does my heart good to talk to you.”

Max clenched his jaw. “I just remembered what song you were humming today.” He stared at his reflection in his office window and wanted to hit himself up side of his head. God, what a gauche remark! Why did he say that?

She laughed. “Nothing personal. You’re a smart cookie, I didn’t know if you’d catch it.”

“Thank you for returning my call so quickly,” he said, dragging the conversation back to the present and away from her choice of humming.

There was another pause. “Did you call? I haven’t checked my voicemail lately.”

There was an odd note to her voice. Max thought it trembled slightly. He stared out at the traffic on the interstate that went by his office building, confused. “I just left you a message.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not calling about that, whatever it was. I’m calling because somebody just called and threatened me. Well, not me specifically, but threatened us.”

Max stepped back from the window, surprised. “What?”

“Yeah, just now. I suppose you were calling me and that’s why you got bounced to my mailbox. I was talking to this weird psycho on the phone.”

Max took a deep, steadying breath. “Are you okay?”

She snorted. “I’m still here, if that’s what you mean. But it was…” She hesitated. “It was spooky.”

He heard the fright in her voice. “Look, why don’t I come over there? This is getting out of hand if someone is calling and threatening you.”

“Well, it was weird. I mean, the person said all kinds of things.”

“I’m on my way,” Max said, suddenly worried. “I can be there in just a few minutes. Tell me all about it when I’m there.” His stomach rumbled again. “Can we get something to eat while we talk? Can I pick up something on the way?”

“I’ll put together something. See you soon.”

Max closed the phone, jammed the contract into his briefcase and was out the door in five minutes. Telephone threats were a definite escalation. Whether she liked it or not, Layla was going to have to deal with him. No way was Max going to let anything interfere with his merger. Layla Whitford would just have to cope.

* * * * *

Layla flew around the house, dusting cat hair off chairs, grabbing food from the fridge then putting beer in to chill. Fifteen minutes later she ran a hand through her hair and stopped, horrified. She dashed down the hallway and peered at herself in the bathroom mirror. What a disaster, Layla thought as she dabbed on powder then put on a bit of eyeliner. She was just putting on mascara when her doorbell chimed.

She looked down at her shorts and T-shirt then at Patti, who was watching this display of human theatrics with amused curiosity. “Damn. I can’t believe I’m still wearing these clothes.” The shorts were indecent and the shirt was old and faded. She really should change.

The bell rang again. With a philosophical shrug, Layla went to answer the door.

Max Lerner would just have to cope.

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Back in the days when I worked in retail, I used to take off the days immediately following Christmas. Why? Because as crazy as the shopping could be in the weeks leading up to the big day, it was nothing compared to the crush that happened after Christmas when everyone mobbed the store to return or exchange the gifts they had received.

We’ve all received presents that didn’t quite hit the mark in size or color - and some that missed the mark entirely. But some presents are so anonymous in their origins that there is no way to return them. What to do?

I admit it: on occasion I regift.

There are some of you who will shake your head at me, say it’s tacky, but why not regift? It’s a form of recycling. And so long as you have standards and criteria I don’t see a thing wrong with it.

In order to pass into regifting territory for me the item not only has to be new, but also an item I might have chosen myself if I had gone shopping. And the item has to be given on the appropriate occasion to a person who would appreciate such an item - a person outside the circle of the original gifter.

I’ve done this more recently with gifts my children receive - duplicates or things that aren’t their taste. I save them for future birthday party invites.

So, fess up - what’s the worst gift you’ve gotten this year or in the past? And what did you do with it?

Don’t forget to stop by tomorrow for the Friday Feature when Cerridwen author J. L. Wilson will
come by to talk about her book If Not for You.

I discovered something while making my toffee bars this year - today’s new and improved chocolate chips resist melting. Really. I topped my bars as usual and when I tried to spread the chocolate, they didn’t want to spread. I read the bag and it actually said “chips may retain some of their original shape when heated”. I can see where that might be a useful trait for shipping purposes, but it’s not so satisfying when baking - aren’t they actually MEANT to melt??

If you try the toffee bar recipe, I hope you can find some chocolate that actually melts.

So the toffee bars were tasty if not as attractive as usual. My gingerbread came out nicely though.

Stockings hung by the chimney? Check

Presents wrapped? Check

Cookies baked? Check (who needs Girl Scouts when I have mint chocolate chips??)

Mistletoe? Hmmm…don’t seem to have any. What is the point anyway?

Glad you asked
From Howstuffworks: Kissing Under the Mistletoe

Mistletoe is also said to be a sexual symbol, because of the consistency and color of the berry juice as well as the belief that it is an aphrodisiac, the “soul” of the oak from which it grows. The origin of the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe is vague. However, the tradition may have stemmed from either the Viking association of the plant with Frigga (the goddess of love) or from the ancient belief that mistletoe was related to fertility. Another explanation for the tradition is that it is derived from the festival of Saturnalia, a popular mid-December celebration in ancient Rome.

The correct mistletoe etiquette is for the man to remove one berry when he kisses a woman. When all the berries are gone, there’s no more kissing permitted underneath that plant.

One legend states that a couple who kisses underneath mistletoe will have good luck, but a couple neglecting to perform the ritual will have bad luck. Specifically, it is believed that a couple kissing under the mistletoe ensure themselves of marriage and a long, happy life, while an unmarried woman not kissed under the mistletoe will remain single for another year.

Maidens may place a sprig of the plant under their pillow at night in the same manner a child places his or her lost tooth in anticipation of a visit from the Tooth Fairy. Instead of exchanging teeth for money, however, the sprig of Mistletoe allows women to dream of their Prince Charming. Burning a mistletoe plant is also thought to foretell a woman’s marital bliss, or lack thereof. A mistletoe that burns steadily prophesies a healthy marriage, while fickle flames may doom a woman to an ill-suited partner.

While mistletoe is widely viewed as a symbol of love and fertility, it’s also representative of peace. Ancient tales tell of enemies who encounter each other underneath trees bearing mistletoe. The enemies lay down their arms, embrace, and agree to a truce until the next day [source: Perry]. This act of goodwill is yet another possibility for why we kiss under mistletoe: abstaining from violence and exchanging greetings under the plant may have prompted the custom of kissing.

So, there you have it. I haven’t spotted any mistletoe growing in the trees in my neighborhood so I guess it’s lucky for me that I have a sweetie who’ll kiss me whenever I want. Wishing you all a very happy holiday!

I quite literally put the names of all those who commented on Micqui’s feature in my Santa hat and had my husband draw the winning name… Ciara Gold! Congratualations! Send me an email with your information and we’ll get that book to you ASAP!

I’m pleased to introduce you to Micqui Miller, a fellow author at Cerridwen Press who is here to tease us with her upcoming release of Morning Star - and does it ever sound good!Micqui Miller wrote her first novel at the age of 12, and earned her first byline as a sports writer for a local Detroit newspaper at 15. Since that time, she has published more than 100 articles and short stories and three novels.

Micqui won the prestigious Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America for her first “grown up” novel, and “the silver” in 2003 as Best New Author for her novel Morning Star. In 2004, Micqui’s novel, Holly in the Morning, was named an EPPIE Finalist, the award known as the “Oscars” of electronic and small press publishing.

Micqui Miller

Blurb:

Liz O’Hara, upstanding citizen, widow of a loving husband and mother of two great teenagers, has spent her adult life looking over her shoulder. She fears her past catching up with her — the lost seven months she lived on the run in another time and place. But in her worst nightmares Liz never dreamed she’d have to choose one child over another while a psychopath lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike.

Josh Wilder, disillusioned news anchor, finds his career back on the fast track when he goes out on a limb to help someone close to him. But in order to cash in on his new celebrity, he must risk destroying the woman he hasn’t been able to forget for twenty-seven years, the homeless young hippie known only as Morning Star.

Together, Liz and Josh face the greatest challenge of their lives — racing against the clock to save a dying young woman while trying to stop a madman with murder on his mind.

The phone rang in his hand. The caller ID said UNKNOWN.

“Josh Wilder.”

Silence. Except for the sound of quick breathing coming from the other end of the line.

He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “This is Wilder. Who’s this?”

And then it happened. Suddenly his mind and heart, like a carnival ride, spun out of control. In faltering words, the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard whispered from the other end of the line. “My name is…this is Star. We have to talk.”

Too stunned to respond, Josh sucked in a breath. The real Morning Star held the phone at the other end of the connection. She didn’t have to say another word to prove it.

Her voice still held the rhythmic, lyrical quality which had enchanted him so many years ago and at times like now, rendered him speechless. No woman before or since had ever had that effect on him.

Josh’s heart pounded so hard he wondered if she heard it through the line. “Is it really you?” A stupid question under any circumstances and even more so coming from a professional journalist who’d spent his life prying information from people who didn’t want to give.

“Josh, I—” He heard sadness and indecision. So similar to the last time they’d talked. She’d sat on the edge of a hospital bed, listening to all of the reasons why she ought to trust him and talk to the police.

“It’s okay, Star, it’s—”

“No, I shouldn’t have called. I can’t do this.”

“Where are you?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.” He couldn’t let her go now. His fingers tightened around the phone.

“This is a mistake.”

“Please don’t go, Star.” Mustering all he’d learned in his many years as a broadcaster, Josh lowered his voice, both the volume and timbre. He had to take charge or he’d lose her. “Star, do not hang up!”

The connection broke.

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Who needs to make things up when stuff like this happens in the real world?

DANBURY, Conn. - Santa Claus says that a woman who sat on his lap was naughty, not nice. A Santa at the Danbury Fair mall said the woman groped him. “The security officer at the mall said Santa Claus has been sexually assaulted,” police Detective Lt. Thomas Michael said of the weekend complaint.

I can only imagine what she told him she wanted for Christmas…

Starting this week this week I’ll be hosting other Cerridwen authors on my blog every Friday! My first guest will be Micqui Miller with an excerpt of her book Morning Star. Hope you stop by and check it out - you never know. You might just find a new favorite!