Today is usually the day for Beyond the Book, but it's also a special day for my friend Jennifer. Her very first book released today, and I wanted to tell you about it. First, here's a little bit about Jennifer in her own words.
Jennifer
Rae Plizga Gravely
Born in Ohio but raised in Pickens, SC,
I graduated from Converse College with a triple major in history, politics, and
English before earning my Masters in Education in the mid-1990s. A sports enthusiast, I returned to my high
school alma mater to teach and coach volleyball, winning four state
championships. I live with my husband,
daughter, nine beagles, and two cats.
Want to hear about her book? Here's a blurb and excerpt from her book Knight of the Dead.
Blurb:
Persephone
Richards is in a pinch. With a wrecked car and bills stacking up, the income
from her job at the daycare isn’t enough. Mark Lawrence needs a sitter for his
little girl and Persephone is perfect for the job. What begins as an employment
opportunity leads to romance. However, a secret Persephone hides threatens the
happy ever after and puts the three of them in danger.
Excerpt:
Knight of the
Dead
Chapter One
Persephone stared beyond his bald head
as he peered at the insurance claim form. The office stretched deep behind him.
Each of the three identical, black metal desks arranged in a vertical row held
laptops humming in sleep mode.
Closed doors, presumably leading to
executive offices with huge picture windows overlooking the Blue Ridge
Mountains, lined the west wall, whereas framed landscape pictures of local
waterfalls decorated the opposite, windowless side. An ugly wooden counter
separated the shabbily-furnished waiting area in the front from the modern
underbelly of the insurance office.
“How do you say…” The saggy-jawed,
low-level car insurance agent pointed his jagged fingernail to the first line
on the paper before looking into her blue eyes.
“It’s Persephone.” She brushed her
deep red mahogany hair from her shoulders. Then she repeated the words she’d
uttered a million times. “You know, the Greek goddess of the Underworld.”
Wearing black mules with one-inch heels, she straightened to a full six feet.
“Afraid I don’t. Weren’t interested in
school much,” he drawled. His crooked smile widened as he focused on her face
and then her body. She wore a black belted sweater coat, a gray ribbed sweater
over a lacy black camisole, and skinny jeans that hugged her lean body. “But
come to think of it, you look like a goddess.”
She had heard that a million times
too. “Thanks.” Persephone tapped the form on the counter between them to
refocus his attention like she did with the preschool children at the daycare
where she worked. “About my claim.”
“I might be able to help a sweet young
thang like you, Per-per-se…” The wrinkles spread across his baldness like
ripples in a pond.
“Persephone,” she repeated.
“Persephone Richards.” The nerve of the man to hit on her and not even be able
to pronounce her name! “I need the money for the repairs on my car. The front
bumper is held on by wire! Wire!” She threw her arms over her head in disgust.
“I’ve called several times, and each time I’ve been brushed aside. I want the
money owed to me.”
“Can’t help you, Miss Richards.”
Persephone squared her shoulders.
“Then I need to talk with your manager.” This peon couldn’t solve the problem
anyhow.
“Mr. Franklin’s not here,” claimed the
middle-aged man in a blue button-down shirt, which barely covered his beer
paunch. “Lunch time.”
“I want the money owed to me by your
company.”
“Sorry. No can do.” He shrugged his
shoulders and smirked. “Next.” He gestured to the old woman behind Persephone
in the waiting room.
“I need it by tomorrow.” Her eyes grew
wild, and she pounded her fist on the counter as she punctuated each word.
“Your company owes me the money.” The coffee mug holding black pens overturned.
“I want it now.”
As the mug crashed to the worn pine
flooring, the short bald man took a cowardly step backwards. “I’ll get
someone.” He scurried away past the desks and made a left out of sight.
Persephone twirled around to check the
clock over the couch in the front room but couldn’t make out the digital
reading because of the glare of the winter sun glinting through the huge
picture windows. The barren branches of the azalea bushes lining this section
of downtown Keowee reminded Persephone that winter’s trials would give way to
spring’s glory. However, patience wasn’t a quality she possessed in abundance
at this point in life.
Stepping forward with her hand shading
her eyes from the noonday sunlight, Persephone slipped on a pen. As she leaned
over to massage her ankle, her hobo bag fell from her shoulder, spilling its
contents to the floor. Her cell phone and a tube of lipstick slid under the
counter to the other side.
Persephone straightened before moving
around the counter to retrieve the items. Despite being in an area reserved for
the agents and officials of the insurance office, she felt no remorse in
peeking at the “Reserved for Office Use” area on the form she filled out
earlier. Under the comments section in black ink she read the words, “Low
credit scores; bad risk. Deny claim.”
Persephone seethed with indignation. Since when did being a little behind paying
bills make you undeserving of money owed to you legitimately. She wasn’t
trying to get a policy from this huge chain company but rather collect the
money owed to her because of the carelessness of one of their policy holders.
Without hesitation, Persephone grabbed
one of the black pens and scratched through the negative comments on the form.
“What are you doing on this side?”
shouted the bald man unnecessarily. He stood right beside her. “Give that to
me.” He snatched the form.
“My credit, or lack thereof, shouldn’t
influence whether or not I get the money.” Persephone stomped her foot in
anger. “The accident wasn’t my fault.”
The man flinched. “Mr. Franklin’s
coming back. I hear the door now.” He scurried away into the mouth of the cave
like a cockroach.
To Persephone’s surprise he returned
directly with a taller, thinner man dressed in a tan overcoat. With a long,
narrow face and beady, dark brown eyes, the fifty something man had about him
an air of arrogance. Persephone attacked. “I want the money owed to me by your
company.” She put her hands on her hips.
“Our policy in certain cases is to
require that you get your vehicle repaired first, and then we’ll talk about
reimbursement.” He removed his tan leather gloves and held them in his left
hand.
“That’s not right.” Her blood boiled,
steam pouring from her ears like a cartoon character. “I’m driving around in a
car that’s held together by superglue and wire.”
“Not my problem,” he said as he
dismissed her. “Kindly step back to the other side.”
“If I don’t?” She leaned forward. She
wanted to drop an anvil on his head.
“Bill.”
He turned to the bald man standing near the first desk. “Call the police.”
Persephone waivered. Hitting the man
would give her great pleasure but wouldn’t remedy the situation. “You’ve not
heard the last of me.” She wagged her finger in his face. Spinning on her
heels, she stormed toward the front doors, scanning the area for something to break.
She had to settle for wiping her hands across a side table, scattering
magazines to the floor.
“If you return,” the manager bellowed
as she slammed through the front doors with both hands, “we’ll have you
arrested.”
See you next week for another edition of Beyond the Book.
Hello, readers. My name is Rachel Amos Hayes. Elaine shared my story in The Sentence. Today I'd like to share a little experiement with you. I found a recipe for strawberry soup that I love. Yep, strawberry soup. You make it in seconds and eat it cold. Clint (my husband) took one bite and poured his into a glass and drank it, but it's really a soup. It's delicious, but the ingredients may surprise you. Are you ready? Here goes.
