P. A. Matthews

How Will They Write My Obituary ~ The Infamous Author Bio

Author of the “Myth to Life: The

Rise of Riley McCabe” series.

P. A Matthews resides in

California, where she writes

fiction and poetry, often crossing

genre boundaries just to keep

life interesting …

and because she can.

The Pensive Pen

I live my life by practiced pensive pen,
The words well chosen from my mindless cache,
Across the lines each letter tells me when
To end the sentence – period or dash.

Each notebook filled with twisted spiral spine,
On pages rife with ordinary ink,
Lies prose, or poem, or solitary line,
My choice, no matter what the others think.

A pattern is emerging as I write,

An unknown author-this, my daily plight.

~ P. A. Matthews

I have always wanted to be a spy.
From the first day peeking inside a Nancy Drew mystery, I was hooked. Where else,
but between the covers of a blue plaid book could a little blonde kid grow up to be a
solver of fantastic mysteries, or better yet - an espionage agent? Little did my mother
realize asI immersed myself, the fantasies implanted in my imagination would
solidify, fostering all types of odd behavior.
Surprisingly, she didn't squelch the insanity or my grandiose dreams. The thrill of
sitting beneath an overgrown bush as it brushed against my face in silenced seclusion
escalated the needs of my shy six-year-old staus, while I madly scribbled notes
regarding the disguises of those passing near, watching for crimes I'm sure they'd
commit before the hidden eyes of the fair-haired wonder.
Slowly, my spy cache grew. Begging for paraphernalia to furnish my spy kit, I soon
possessed an arsenal, including a smooth black plastic gun worthy of what James
Bond used, along with a camera for taking all-important surveillance photos; both
of which shot plastic bullets upon my cold demand, as well as walkie-talkies, and
a stylized pen I'd stolen which allowed covert conversations with spy central. One of
my prized possessions was a well-secreted identification card revealing my agent
status only when put under a magic red film. Ah, life was good as spying became
second nature, each endeavor relished when I took my love of the underworld and
placed it in an unsecured enviornment - school.
While students did their thing, developing a system intrinsic to the spy is where I
set my sights, sure possessing the ability to read upside down and backward were
inherent traits which only needed practice. Searching for new schemes, writing
techniques were made up of codes which I diligently checked in the mirror for each
message awaiting decoded revelation. Much to my chagrin, I never learned to
develop invisible ink. Despite begging for chemicals, my mother never felt the urge
to become homeless while I blew up the kitchen with my experiments, although, I
was encouraged to inspect any type of foreign matter, including blood and hair
samples with my trusty microscope. Did I mention I was a dork? Undaunted, life
as a secret agent filled my head with magical excitement.
So, while Florence Nightingale and Madame Curie were wonderful role models,
it wasn't until the appearance of Emma Peel, British agent extraordinaire, when my
quest for secret agent status found real possibilities. Here was a woman who looked
fantastic while she kicked the enemy's butt, saving the British Empire from
infiltration and attack. Yes, Emma became my ideal.
I read every mystery I could get my hands on (let me rephrase that—any mystery
my grandmother would allow me to read) and must confess mysteries, thrillers, and
a library filled with suspense still keeps me reading. Throw in a bit of horror and I'm
your gal.
Alas, I never realized my dream of growing to five feet nine inches, owning a British
car, or saving humanity with guns and the ability to read and write backward. Life
somehow altered my imaginative dreams. However, the unquenchable thirst for
spying and mysteries never faded, nor did thinking like a secret agent. Nuggets of
intrigue remained buried deep within my heart and psyche, awaiting exploration,
nurturing a germ of an idea ... writing thrillers.
Those who know me know I love the intrigue of getting inside someone’s head to
deliciously dig around in there with shiny cutlery to find out what makes a person
tick, or what gives them ticks. I like complex characters and plots. I like to be
disturbed by something which alters a character’s normalcy. I love it when I can
play all that out on a page and someone will say that my writing was too close to reality.
A book and its sequel were written (the Shamrock series - yet unpublished), and in
each the main character was an amnesiac skilled with a gun since childhood. While
the need to experience everything I wrote wasn't necessary, the gun issue was.
How could I tell an audience what it felt like to hold that piece of heavy cold metal
in an aching hand while blowing a hole in someone's head? Fate intervened. Soon
I would experience what I had daily practiced with my amateur plastic collection -
shooting a real gun.
My day at the shooting range ended with me emptying a larger-than-life .45 of its
bullets into a paper target. The dissipating smoke revealed my final performance ...
a bullet hole shot clean through the center X that left all but the center of the letter
intact.
Perhaps one day I'll frame that target and hang it next to my Pulitzer Prize
certificate for outstanding fiction, whenever it is awarded. A girl can dream,
can't she? I thought back to my childhood, happy my imagination had fostered
ideas not neccessarily shared by other little girls on the playground.
Deep in my heart I had never given up on the dream of being a spy, but learned
to take those dreams in a new direction. You just never know where your
dreams will lead you ...
And, lest you think somehow I got trapped in a cycle of never-ending mystery,
I was able to accomplish a few other things as I crept through life. Singing - my
true passion, and one I got to live out for a good portion of my life. Painting land
and seascapes in oil. Chasing storm clouds with a camera so I could hopefully
transfer the images onto canvas and do their grandeur justice. Luckily, I like
science so I don’t tip over from all the right-brained activities. Yep, you never
know where your dreams will lead you. Maybe life is a mystery after all.
Thanks for reading, I hope you return.
P. A. Matthews