Jenyfer Matthews

I began writing novels nearly twelve years ago…and had no idea what I was getting myself into! Most of us don’t realize how obsessive we can be until we discover our “passion”, and then (be it sport or art or ?) we become mad things, single-minded and compelled. Well, that’s me…sometimes. Crazed, compulsive, get-up-at-4 am, obsessive-writer personality type unclassified (I write across the genres, you see!)

How did it all begin? With something completely sane – a visit to the local library. I took home eleven books, but couldn’t get into any of ‘em – so I decided to write what I wanted to read. For the most part, that’s held true ever since.

Romance has been one of the most difficult genres for me to write! Book #25, In Trysts, was my first true “romance”. During the last year, I have added four more titles, plus two novellas to the list. All my books are suspenseful, and all tinged with elements of horror. They generally begin in the here and now, with something incredible happening to someone much like you or me.

I have two writing names: “N. D. Hansen-Hill” and “Melody Knight“. ND writes SF/fantasy/horror/paranormal suspense, while Melody writes romantic and erotic versions of the same genres. I now am lucky enough to have 35 books contracted with a variety of publishers.

Thank you so much, Jenyfer, for sharing the release of my horror novel, Gray Beginnings. This is my first horror/sci-fi/fantasy release for 2009, and my second overall release. Artifact came out last week, from Carnal Passions.

Gray Beginnings is the story of a dowser with a talent so powerful it nearly overwhelms him. His ability runs in his family, has been bred over generations, and the result is a terrifying descent by some members into madness. Jasper Gray is pursued by ghosts, both past and present.

I’m pleased to share the prologue to Gray Beginnings below. Enjoy!

Prologue

I can’t do this any more.

Not if I want a life.

It didn’t stop his feet from moving forward nor his ears from listening to the tidal wash in his brain. He was a rhabdomancer, a dowser, the last in his line, and he was all too cyclic. He was too tied in to a feral Earth that other humans dismissed as just so much rock and soil.

There’d been a time when he’d prided himself on his inner knowledge—for this weird connection that set him apart—but that had been kid stuff, belonging to those years when he’d wanted desperately to own, to be, something special. It hadn’t seemed like such a handicap then.

For a while he’d even assumed that most people could do it given the opportunity. It’s what they said in the books and it made him less of a freak. The difference being other people did it by choice. It didn’t always happen that way for him. There were too many times like tonight, when the urgency demanded action.

He could think of a dozen things he’d rather be doing, and most of them involved sleeping.

Jasper wiped the sweat out of his eyes and listened to his pounding heart. Hearing anything besides the gush and churn of the Earth was a good thing.

He was thirsty as hell now. He’d sweated out so much in this race through the night, oblivious as he’d been to everything except getting here.

And here I am.

Again. This house, this place, was haunting him. There was some core here—some surge of restless energies beyond the siphoning runoff beneath the surface. It drew him here—had drawn him here over the years.

Again and again and again.

Toad’s Hole. Ramshackle house, which always managed to hook him like a hungry fish. There were a few other places that lured him nearly as strongly but with them he maintained some power to resist, whereas the Hole could roust him from a sound sleep. On nights like this he wanted to burn it to the ground but, seeing as that was unlikely to address its native soils, some time back he’d decided a heavy dose of explosive might fix the situation nicely.

Not for his friend Tim of course. He owned the Hole. Blowing the place to smithereens would definitely reduce its property value.

If it were mine…

Jasper ignored the familiar creak of the half-hinged gate. His eyes rested briefly on moon-glazed surfaces—the dew-drenched shingles, the beaten and half-sunken porch, the matted roughness of dirty glass. This ancient derelict might be his friend Tim’s heritage but the truth was it didn’t interest Jasper as it stood—not as wood and block and stone. It drew him for another reason entirely that he’d never been able to figure out. Even now, as he dropped to his knees and forced his fingers through the weedy mat of lodged over, lop-lurched grass to seek the soil beneath, he wondered whether the contact would be enough. Angry he jabbed stiff fingertips into the humus layer, finding a weak satisfaction in the way he had to ferret his way through the heavy thatch.

Like water seeping through the rock layers.

Like lava jettisoning all blockages aside.

He lost time, his eyes trapped by his inner vision. Black fluids and jagged, sharp-edged stones, dead-white roots, moist like maggots, tapping their way into the heavier soil beneath, sandy loams, rich and red, masses of granitic slabs with speckled scatters of shiny quartz, beckoning him on. It was beautiful, terrible, wondrously…irresistible.

Images of detritus and organic residue kept clouding his vision. There was a purity to the inorganic—to rock—that the organic didn’t own. To Jasper the rock might be a living entity but it bore no emotion to wear a man down. And it didn’t tear a man apart the way the organic could. Every microbe, every rotting carcass, every expanding rootlet held a signature and demanded a piece of his perspective.

An owl on the last flight of her nightly hunt landed on his back, talons digging into his shoulder. Shocked out of his reverie, his statue-self jolted and the bird lifted, dropping her mouse burden onto his shirt.

A dead organic on your back was the most startling distraction of all. Jasper jerked fully awake. The deceased mouse slid down onto the dirt next to his chilled fingers. Without its sudden appearance he would have been in danger of losing himself and only awakening when the sun stained the skies pink. It had happened before.

He withdrew bloodied fingertips from the soil, staining the wet grass culms as he went. He spared a regretful look for the mouse lying there in bloodstained inglory. It had been a lousy night to be out—for him and the mouse. Jasper shivered. Too damp and chill for comfort.

At least though now he’d be tired enough to sleep.

Sleep on, little mouse. He covered its repose with a layering of dead leaves.

Resolutely and with the first inklings of peaceful resolve that could numb him to his talents, Jasper Muscovite Gray turned around and trudged back the way he’d come.

Buy this book!

My son is six year old and at the moment seems to be going through what mothers the world round would recognize as “a difficult phase” : he’s extra sensitive, clingy, and prone to tantrums over nothing in particular.

I was up at the children’s school earlier in the week to watch a play my daughter was in and ran into my son’s teacher at pick-up time where she told me that my son had been “sub par” recently. I wasn’t surprised to hear that he was being somewhat difficult at school given how he’s been at home the last couple of weeks, but I found her choice of words somewhat strange. Sub par? I gave her the benefit of the doubt because my son was standing right next to me and I thought that perhaps she wanted to communicate with me in a vocabulary that he wouldn’t understand.

But the more I think about it, the madder I get. To give some background, I had a conference with this teacher just before the Christmas holidays. She told me at that time that my son was doing okay, but that one area of weakness was his handwriting and because of that he was having trouble “recording his thoughts.” I wanted to laugh when she said that – recording his thoughts? At six? Instead I told her that I did realize that he found writing challenging (as most boys his age do!) and that one thing we were doing at home was practicing writing his name – with 8 letters and only one repeat there are a good variety of shapes for him to practice. She looked at me, very seriously, and said “you did give him a very long name.”

After the sub par comment, I wrote her a note to ask her to be more specific. As awful as he sometimes behaves at home, he is usually much much better behaved at school. She responded to say he lacks concentration during lessons. O-k-a-y. If that’s the worst of it, then I’m not going to worry too much in the short term.

I am still concerned for the long term though. This particular teacher has made a switch from teaching 10 & 11 year olds to 5 & 6 year olds. Perhaps she’s not totally adjusted her expectations to their level of ability?

More worrying to me is whether or not this is a trend that I’ll have to deal with his entire academic career. I’ve read articles regarding the prejudice against boys in today’s school system – that teachers, instead of appreciating a boys different learning style, natural exuberance and energy level, and lack of maturity (as compared to girls the same age), will tend to punish the boys instead of trying to work with them. I think perhaps that is a part of this problem.

I admit that I’m having a bit of a mother lion reaction here, but I’m not totally blind. He’s been a royal pain of late and I haven’t always dealt with it well either. But this too shall pass. He’s always a bit difficult to get back in the swing of things after a long holiday and he’s getting his six year molars. This weekend I’m going to try and make a point of spoiling him a bit – more cuddles and one on one time. And staying in the pink theme I’ve been in since last week I’ve made him a treat – strawberry sorbet.

Okay, I feel better. Anything you’d like to get off your chest? I’m all ears.

While I’m off spoiling my boy, don’t forget to stop by this weekend when multi-published author N.D. Hansen-Hill is here with her latest Cerridwen release, Gray Beginnings, a horror story. And when I say multi-published I’m not exaggerating – Norah has published more than thirty novels in various genres. I’m totally in awe of her output. Maybe in her next book, a special favor to me, she can kill off an elementary school teacher. It never hurts to ask, right?

I have always been interested in psychology and trying to figure out what makes people tick. It’s one of the reasons I love to take those goofy personality tests on Blogthings (that,and because they’re fun!) So even though I’m married, I still enjoy reading articles that have to do with dating and relationships. Anything that gives me insight into the male psyche is a good thing.

I read a couple of articles this morning that appealed to the writer in me. One of the cardinal rules of writing is “show don’t tell”. Rather than writing “Raoul found Maria very attractive” try “Raoul felt his heartbeat quicken as he gazed at Maria’s lovely face.” (Poor examples, but you get the idea.) How better to do that within the pages of a story than by using body language? What does it mean when he kisses you on the cheek when saying goodbye? Does he pull his ear or rub his nose when he’s telling you where he was last night? (If so, watch out!)

I used a horoscope profile when I created the character of Ben in ONE CRAZY SUMMER – he was a Scorpio through and through. But there are other ways to convey the sort of character you are dealing with. I thought the observations contained in this article would be another great way to think about creating well rounded characters, both male and female.

Finally, scientists and dairy farmers in the UK have found that cows with names produce more milk. Seems that they prefer a little personal attention. Why should this be such a surprise? Don’t all living things thrive with a bit of TLC?

With the roses on the way out, I stopped by one of the many florist / nurseries in my neighborhood and bought myself two pots of gerber daisies – in orange and pink as it happens. I love gerber daisies, they’re so cheerful, I just couldn’t resist.

I asked the man helping me how long they would last. I loved his response. He didn’t know the answer to my question, but instead of just saying “I don’t know” he said, “Maybe they live five years, maybe I live one month. Who knows?”

Amused as I was by his answer, I looked it up when I got home. The daisies could be perennial if I’m both nice to them and lucky. Otherwise I will likely get a few good months out of them. Either way, not a bad deal for $4 each.

Gemma said something in her post this weekend about needing a do-over for her new year’s resolution and how February would be the new January. I don’t have her excuses (you know, being a successful and in-demand author) but I know how she feels. January isn’t even finished yet and I’m hopelessly out of step with my self-improvement regime.

I’ll admit that the number of times I exercised at home this month so far has been once. One time. I should feel guilty about that, but I don’t really. Nor do I have any intention of going back to Curves. I’m simply going to try harder. I will say that I have been going to my yoga class and may even step that up to twice a week. My water aerobics class will start again in February as well. I’m much better about attending classes than I am at being left to my own devices!

One thing I am proud of though is that instead of succumbing to my craving for KFC last week, instead I made myself quesadillas with a couple of leftover tortillas we had in the fridge. For what I would have spent on lunch, I bought 14 pink and ivory (actually I bought 12 and the flower guy tossed in two more) and two bird of paradise flowers. Healthier and economical and so, so lovely. All that for $5. There are some things about Egypt I just love

I also made a new baby quilt top this weekend. I had planned it as a red and white quilt, but I think that the pink roses went to my brain. I added a bit of pink in, rationalizing that pink is just a pale shade of red, and then the whole thing got away from me – in the best possible way. I’m very pleased with how it came out and think it will look even better when I get the white zig-zag quilting done on the seam lines.

I’m going to have a hard time letting this one go!

In her previous life, Gemma worked in such diverse jobs as a film and television actress, a teddy bear importer, a department store administrator, a preschool teacher, a temporary tattoo artist, and a 900 number psychic. All of which have given her excellent fodder for future characters.

Her first book, Spying in High Heels, was published in 2006, and since then Gemma has been the recipient of numerous awards, including the National Reader’s Choice award and two RITA nominations.

Gemma now makes her home in the San Francisco Bay area, where she is hard at work on her next book.

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Thanks so much for letting me crash your corner of the cyber world, Jenyfer!

So, how’s everyone’s 2009 going so far? Keeping to those resolutions? I’ll admit, I’ve probably done the exact opposite of each and every one of mine so far this year. Yikes! I’m thinking February will be the new January for me. But, I have a really great excuse. (No giggling from the peanut gallery. It is good. I swear!) My latest book, Mayhem in High Heels, came out at the end of December and between the interview, signings, and promo blitz, I’ve needed the chocolate just to function. On the up side, I’ve been waiting for this book to release for nine long months, and it’s been so fun seeing it hit stores.

Mayhem in High Heels is the fifth and final book in my High Heels series of romantic mysteries, and it follows fashion designer turned amateur sleuth, Maddie Springer, as she investigates the death of a wedding planner. Unfortunately, hers. As the killer closes in and wedding disasters from hideous bridesmaid dresses to incontinent doves pile up, Maddie’s race to the altar quickly becomes a race against time.

One of my favorite things about writing this book was all the research. Having never been married myself, I turned to my friends, family, and readers to give me the dirt on what really goes on behind the scenes at a wedding. Some of their stories made me laugh, some made me cry and go “awww”, but my absolute favorite one came from a young woman who posted hers on a wedding forum. I laughed so hard I think I pulled something the first time I heard this story. Here’s what happened at her wedding:

She was just 19 when she got married, and the night before her wedding she let her husband-to-be borrow her car to go to his bachelor party. Only neither he nor the car came home that night. The next morning he still hadn’t brought the car back, and the bride was beginning to worry. Finally, an hour before the wedding is supposed to start, the groom shows up at her house. Only, he didn’t bring her car back. He’s in a tiny, bright purple car. He tells her he knows purple is her favorite color, so he borrowed this one from a friend to make her day more special. (Smooth guy, huh?)

So, the two get in the purple car, pile the best man and maid of honor in the back, and drive into the city where the Justice of the Peace will marry them. But they can’t find the place. The end up asking a police officer, who gives them a police escort – lights, sirens and all – to the JP’s place. When they finally arrive, they realize, to their surprise, they’re in Chinatown. The JP’s assistant comes out and rings a giant bong three times before the JP makes his ceremonial appearance. He starts the service, but his accent is so thick that when he tells them to repeat the vows after him, they can’t understand what he’s saying. They totally wing it, making up the vows themselves as they go. After the ceremony he brings out little glasses with drinks for a toast. The bride and groom – water. The JP – vodka.

When, after containing their laughter from the mangled ceremony, the bride and groom signed the marriage license and paid the JP, he argued that it wasn’t enough money. They got the “deluxe” ceremony. So, they all started digging in purses and pockets, and between the four of them finally came up with enough to satisfy the JP.

As they were leaving the JP’s, his assistant threw rice at them… and accidentally hit a bee’s nest. Angry bees came flying out and chased the wedding party all the way back to their car. Oh yeah, the purple car? Once it was time to leave for the honeymoon, the groom confessed that he and his friends had been so drunk the night before, they’d completely lost her car. He’d borrowed the purple one at the last minute, but didn’t want to tell her until AFTER the ceremony. You know, so she didn’t change her mind. So, the bride’s father ended up driving them to their honeymoon destination, in the back of his station wagon. Very romantic.

With a wedding like that, I can only imagine how fun the marriage will be.

If you have any great wedding stories, feel free to pop over to my website and share them in my Wedding Stories Contest. The prize? An autographed copy of Mayhem in High Heels!

Seriously, where did the week go? Feels like only yesterday I had the whole week before me, full of possibility and now the weekend is looming again.

I blame all the extra dishes I’ve had to do this week to make up for my dead microwave.

Yesterday was a fairly productive day on the writing front. I spent most of yesterday glued to my computer working on not one but TWO new stories. One story is about a recently widowed SAHM who has to figure out a way to support herself and her children and thinks buying a B&B is the way to go because hey, how hard could it be to clean up after a few extra people? Part of that story has grown out of a fantasy of mine to do just that. It’s been great fun to poke around at B&B websites and figure out just how wrong my character is and think of all the complications I can throw her way.

(I also found a wonderful B&B that is for sale, but I doubt very much my husband would go for it!)

The other story is about two people who are searching for love and finding it a bit difficult in today’s busy world – so they turn to the personal ads. I know, I know – no one uses personal ads anymore, it’s all about the internet. But in my mind, letters are more fun – and since it’s my story I’ll write it how I want to

I have a very special guest this weekend, best selling author of the High Heel mysteries and fellow Romance Diva Gemma Halliday. Stop by and say hi – she’s got a great wedding story (and by “great” I mean “funny”) to tell you. Share your own wacky wedding story and you’ll have a chance to win an autographed copy of her latest release MAYHEM IN HIGH HEELS.

Only those who know me best can judge whether this test result is accurate, but husband laughed – hard – when he saw my results. Even I found them just a bit eerie. All this from my bellybutton?

Go ahead and take the test – I dare you!

You Are Puzzled Over

You are quirky, complicated, and brilliant. You tend to feel a bit misunderstood by everyone, and that troubles you. It’s likely that you will have two or three children. You can conceive pretty easily. You are not easily moved. You are very stoic and not thought of as an emotional person. You are very detail oriented and tidy. Some may even call you obsessive. You are a dreamer who always explores possibilities. Even if you would never do something, you like to fantasize about it.

My microwave died over the weekend. I already miss it.

I can remember way back when microwaves first became common. My mother had enough money to either get a microwave or a VCR. As a selfish teen, I voted for the VCR. She bought the microwave instead. As an adult and a mother I can totally see her point of view now. Convenience and speed in the kitchen trump nearly everything else.

I’ve adjusted pretty well to life without a car, but without a microwave? It was actually one of the first purchases we made when we moved to Cairo. It was right up there with a washing machine and a vacuum cleaner. I don’t actually cook in my microwave, but I sure do use it for quick reheating — a lot. I remember life before microwaves…sort of. Everything took longer and required more dishes. That cup of cafe-au-lait my husband likes to have in the morning can no longer be prepared in the cup from which he plans to drink it – he’ll now dirty a saucepan in the process. And I’ll have to turn on the oven to warm the bread which I keep in the freezer. How I will reheat the pancakes in the oven without also making them crispy I’ll have to figure out.

While my own microwave lasted a mere 2 1/2 years, the microwave my mother bought in 1986 was actually still functioning until a couple of years ago when we forced her to get rid of it. I was sort of afraid of it. It was extremely powerful and if you didn’t watch it closely it would fuse the food to the dish it was on. I feared it was another Chernobyl waiting to happen. For all I know it’s still out there somewhere, churning away, while my own is now a useless box taking up space on my counter top.

I’m looking into the possibility of having it repaired. Until then I have the feeling I’m going to be doing even more dishes than usual…