Toscology

Come Away With Me

2011-03-24T21:12:00.000-07:00

Hey lovelies. I've been on this blog less and less; I'm more often to be found on Facebook and Twitter (www.twitter.com/toscalee) where we can have some better interaction. I'm not killing this blog quite yet, and my travels up to a date are at my blog A Hundred Thousand Miles, but please come join me on my Facebook page in the space I call the Poisonous Garden--if you have not already.

See you there.

Inspiration

2010-09-21T17:22:00.001-07:00

We're not so different at all. Like you, I'm inspired by reading, movies, music, art, beauty. I would add travel--there's something about leaving your daily paradigm that shocks you out of your own skin and someplace else.

Sometimes the most inspiring place for me is sitting in a seminar, in church, or on a plane. Yes, I'm essentially admitting that my mind wanders, even when I'm supposed to be paying attention. I think there's a reason I used to write so many stories and poems in school.

Movies move me much. They leave me sometimes with gaping holes until I stagger off to find a pen and some paper to chase a fill for them. Art moves me often. Two prints by artist Raina Gentry hang on my office wall. One in particular, titled "It's All in Her Mind" speaks to me daily. It is not a beautiful or settling picture--but as someone who struggles with anxiety, it is, to me, true. Another artist I love is Jia Lu. What she paints is sheer beauty.

I love movie soundtracks. But unlike so many friends who write to music, I can only write in silence. I take all those soaring notes with me by the time I sit down.

The main problem of inspiration doesn't seem to be finding it so much that we neglect to feed ourselves. Art, movies, a new book, music, wine with friends, a trip away... too easily feel like guilty pleasures. Some of them cost money, after all. Others--standing in a storm--simply seem foolish.

This is what I think. Inspiration will always seem foolish or uncouth at best to anyone looking on. Have you seen someone in the throes of that divine moment? They look crazed. No one understands it. And trying to verbalize it will reduce you to a babbling idiot--even by your own ear.

So let's be babbling idiots. This will be our pact: I won't say anything about how ridiculous you sound if you you promise not to haul me in from the storm.

Julia Cameron talks often about restocking the well and how failing to do so causes us to cannibalize ourselves. Most writers I know are distinctly familiar with the literary equivalent of gnawing on their own wrists. Maybe that's why when I think of any utopia, it is never a place devoid of fears or monsters, but where strange winds blow freely and tears quell that eternal thirst.

From the Question Box

2010-08-16T12:49:00.000-07:00

From the question box today: Beth asked me what books influenced me in the writing of Demon. The answer is... none. At least overtly. I know it gets compared to The Screwtape Letters (pinch me--it's an honor every time). Though I have heard portions of Screwtape read by the incomparable John Cleese, I've never actually read it. (I know. Stone me now.)

Though I've read Paradise Lost in college, I don't remember much of it at all. I get it and Dante's Inferno mixed up. One of those has the gates of hell inscribed with "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." I remembered that, and have always wanted to have that stenciled over the doorway to my office.

I'm sure every book of Anne Rice's I've ever read has influenced all my writing at some level (and the license plates she used to have in New Orleans have a cameo in Demon). As have Marion Zimmer Bradley and Anita Diamant (whom I'm sure influenced Havah). And Anne Lamott. These are the great aunts (to borrow an Asian sentiment) I look up to. That I'd love to sit down to dinner and port with, these women I marvel at. Though MZB did not care for me much while she was still alive (she passed in 1999) and she definitely did not like the one piece of writing of mine she ever read. Agh.

One day last week I looked at Havah on Amazon. I know you're not supposed to do that but sometimes I have to, because I can't remember how many years I hoped to be able to do just that thing. (Or to go into Barnes & Noble and to see one of my books there. And Friday there I was, signing some copies at the customer service center in the middle of the store and it still struck me as though I might be living someone else's life so that I had to look down and see whose name I was signing.) Anyway, that day Havah was #5 on the Biblical fiction list, nestled between Anita and Anne as though I had laid my head on both their shoulders at once.

It was one of those moments.

Exile

2010-07-19T09:15:00.000-07:00

Last month I went into self-imposed exile for a week. Sometimes you have to do that--at least I do. And it's always a pleasant experience--especially in Santa Fe.

There's something in the soil there that whispers to your soul. And something in the water, too, I swear. Everyone there is happy. I'm convinced it's all the art.

A few of my favorite moments: fumbling through an Episcopal service at Holy Faith church. If you want to get a good Sunday laugh, follow the foibles of a modern non-denominational girl trying to make her way through traditional church service.

"I'm just going to put this down," an older lady next to me said, lowering the kneeling bar. She got on her knees. I knelt. She got up. I got up. She raised it back up. She put it back down. She knelt. I knelt. She sang the doxology for both of us. She knelt. She got up. I stared. She crossed herself. I buried my nose in a hymnal. She went up for communion. I watched from the sidelines, knowing I didn't know how to do that part for sure.

But again, so friendly. From church goers to bartenders. My last day in Santa Fe, a man who came to sit next to me at Tomasita's said, "Hi, how's your day going?" as though he knew me. Another artist--and a hair dresser. He gave me several magnets with his art on them--including a rendering of the Santuario do Chimayo.

Halfway between Santa Fe and Taos, the Sanctuary is one of my favorite places to visit. Tiny and humble, it is mystical and spiritual. It contains a famous dry well the dirt of which is purported to have healing properties. Whether you believe in the well or the faith that founded the church at all, you can't help but be touched by the crutches and casts left in the shrine. There are crosses and baby booties, and photos of family members. And all along one wall, a collage of photos of service men and women serving overseas--some of them in hospital beds with pins holding their limbs together... others with the dates they were killed printed across the bottom next to their name.

It shocks you to compassion. You cannot leave untouched. Even walking along the chain link fence that lines the sidewalk up toward the sanctuary, you cannot miss the assortment of homemade crosses--some of them ornate, some hastily twisted together from twigs--stuck into the links of the fence, in the crooks and even the bark of trees.

I think of the notes pressed between the stones of the Western Wall, the spires and domes jutting up from the landscape of Jerusalem. Of the prayer flags in Buddhist Temples. Of the gifts and fetishes left at Native American sites. The longing of humanity--the clamor of hope.

I left, as always, deeply touched and profoundly moved by such mindful need--for answers, for purpose, for One who makes sense of it all.

Five Things

2010-05-05T08:43:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was in a slight funk. It was part afternoon slump, part sleep deprivation, part being too long in the house. But a funk, nonetheless.

And I remembered something: funks usually happen when we're focused on ourselves.

Nice, huh.

I did this experiment once a few years ago while I was working for the Gallup Organization. Gallup is big on studying positivity for numerous reasons ranging from employee productivity to wellness. Don Clifton, Gallup's former CEO, had a very simple theory on the topic, and it was this: that to fill your own bucket, you have to begin by filling others'.

So it was in the midst of a similar funk a few years ago that I began e-mailing colleagues and friends with a simple, short "Five Things I Like About You."

It was fast and easy to do. Within the space of an hour, I shot out something like 30 of them. Within an hour, I started getting e-mails back ranging from "You made my day" to "Here are five things I like about you!" They continued through the evening, late into the night--notes from friends in roles similar to mine, road-weary consultants missing home and family.

"You have no idea how much I needed this," one wrote. Another: "I'm sick and in a hotel. This really lifted my spirits."

So in the midst of my funk earlier this week, I remembered my experiment and started dropping little notes to people. Many of them were silly and I'm sure others were downright lame, but I'm telling you, this stuff really works.

My challenge to you today: try it.

***

So that's my something clever for today that I really meant to post two days ago. I have a valid excuse for my my tardiness--namely that Ted and I are throwing down 2000-4000 words a day on this creature called Forbidden. It's gonna be a trip.

And then I return to Iscariot. More on both in days ahead, as well as some fun extras before Demon's re-release and answers to other questions you've posted in the past.

***

Did you see the video on what happened to Clay? We made that just for you, so enjoy! (But be sure to read the book first. ;)

What happened to Clay at the end of Demon? (SPOILER ALERT) from dfacto media on Vimeo.

The Long Blog Goodnight

2010-04-21T03:09:00.000-07:00

This last week has been a busy one. I’ve been meaning to write this for days and here it is 4:30am on Wednesday (on the going-to-bed side of morning rather than the getting-up).

Everyone I met at the Chicago Gathering (send pictures!), thank you for introducing yourselves to me, for telling me a little about yourselves. Thank you for joining me on my Facebook page, Twitter, my website.

Last weekend, Ted Dekker and I announced a new upcoming series that we hope you will love. It’s a big claim to compare this series to the Circle—one loyal fans understandably raise an eyebrow at. I leave it to Ted and fans to make comparisons, and say only this: I hope you enjoy. We are working very hard. We both have our hands wrist-deep in the writing. So if we do our jobs right, you won’t know who wrote what.

The one downside to the announcement was timing—thank you, all of you who looked for my books. The Chicago Gathering happened to fall right before Demon and Havah’s B&H re-release (June 1 and August 1). Both books have new covers and extras not included in their original editions.

So this is what I have for you: Demon’s first chapter, going up on my site in PDF format within a couple days. Havah’s will follow shortly (you can currently read both on my website, just not in downloadable PDF format).

If you haven’t, check out the trailers (on the ToscaLee tab or Video tabs in Facebook, and also on YouTube and my website). You’ll also find other videos about these books and the upcoming Judas story as well.

If you are new to me and my books, I hope you enjoy. And I want to help you do that. As soon as I hear we back on early copies, I will offer give-aways on Facebook.

If you would like your books personalized at any time, see the "Acquire" tab on my website about free signed book plates. And you can order signed books of mine (only first edition for a few more weeks) at SignedBytheAuthor.com or by clicking on the quill icon on my website.

If you’ve been with me since the beginning… never leave me! I cherish you all. I think of you when I sit down to write. I have become friends with many of you. And I’ll have give-aways for you, too.

Here is my schedule: The first act of Iscariot, in very rough form, is written. I am working now on Forbidden I with Ted, after which I’ll go back to Iscariot (due in December on my birthday when I will be 29 again. ;) Both books release next year.

This summer, I’ll tour the last week of June through the first week of July. I’ll start in St. Louis and end in New York. It’s going to be waaaay too much fun. More details soon.

Some of you have asked if I will continue consulting while I’m writing, and the answer is no. It wouldn’t be possible. So I’ve stepped away for now to explore the life of Judas, co-dream the world of Forbidden and write other stories to come. This is happy news.

But now, it’s almost dawn. And so I’m to bed.

Ciao until evening.

Tosca

2010-03-03T13:32:00.001-08:00

The new Demon and Havah--extras and all--are available for pre-order! (And they're very, very cool.)

Pre-order Demon HERE

Pre-order Havah HERE

Demon and Havah Advance Copies

2010-03-02T08:54:00.000-08:00

The press release on Demon and Havah's re-release is going out. These new versions include: why I wrote the book (Demon), interesting trivia and facts about both books, a name guide (Havah--don't you wonder what Reut and Adah and all those other names mean? I chose them for a reason...), author videos (available on Facebook and on my new website, going live in days), new trailers (guaranteed to give you chills), new covers, new endorsements, updated notes, back copy... as well as a few minor changes to Demon. Those of you I have met on this strange journey since Demon's initial release may just find a minor character named, now, after you. :)

Cool?

If you are a reviewer, media, or otherwise in a position to want an advance copy, please direct a request to Julie Gwinn at B&H or drop me a note and I will gladly forward it on.

Have you joined my new page on Facebook? Come, join me there--for new videos, news, and a little thoughtful mayhem HERE.

And Twitter-exclusive mayhem HERE.

Meanwhile, I am hard at work on Iscariot and other surprises, thinking of you always. Thank you, as always, for taking these journeys with me.

February 15: Jerusalem, Last Day

2010-03-01T11:11:00.000-08:00

Found

Two weeks have gone by just like that, and I am struggling still with the strange disconnect I've felt since arriving in Jerusalem.

This morning is traditionally market day, and bar mitzvahs are in wild progress all along the Western Wall, in the ruins, among the southern steps. The beat of the drummers is infectious, the shofar sends chills up my arms (I gotta get me one of those). They make their way to the Western Wall, carrying the Torah scrolls, female family members standing on chairs to peer over the fence that divides them and watch.

There are soldiers everywhere. Ron has talked to some of them--many of them from the states, dual citizens. Either I am getting older or they seem inordinately young.

We pick our way along the Southern Steps that would have led up to the Herod's Temple. It was truly gigantic.

I want to go back into the Old City, plan to skip the museums this afternoon. But could not resist visiting the Temple Mount this morning with the group.

And who do we find there? The Slovaks, once again. This is the third time--and we take pictures and ask them what they like to drink. A few of our group exchange e-mail addresses with them, but I am wanting to get on with looking here, and be done with touring.

But by the time we pause in front of the mosque, make our way up the steps, I am growing progressively more emotional, so glad for the

huge sunglasses covering most my face. And I realize that I have not felt what I thought I would, here. I have seen pilgrims and tourists and souvenir-sellers. Throngs of people clamoring with nametags, tallits and prayer rugs, for God. From here the skyline is an array of church steeples and domes like hands reaching for heaven. But they are just that: hands and rugs and shawls and steeples. I feel very empty.

Up the steps toward the golden dome, there is a Muslim woman begging against a pillar. I give her all the change I have, barely a dollar. She clasps my hands in both of her dry ones.

And I think: Here is God. At last.

I take the rest of the day in the Old City, stopping for a hamburger in a basement grotto of a hip little bar in the Christian quarter. I go one last time to the Church of the Sepulcher. I visit the Bathroom of the Sepulcher, too. I manage to buy absolutely nothing, which proves miracles are still in effect today.

That evening, we gather at dinner as a group before a few of us head out to Picasso's to chow down in earnest. I've found fettuccine with bacon in it.

I am so grateful for this trip, but more than the sites and the stones, for the people. And though I have much to process from the lectures of the archaeologists, the discussions we've had in our small knots and pairs throughout the last two weeks, and am not sure how best to articulate it, I am certain now that our methods--by heritage, by stone, by geography--must falter when we lay claim to God, that in the end all that matters is that He has laid claim to us.

February 14: City of David

2010-02-27T10:58:00.000-08:00

Worn

I am worn and worn and worn out. I would have a hard time choosing between bacon and a massage right now.

It’s warm and sunny—did I actually see snow just a week ago? I have seen snow, hail, rain, and sun in the space of these two weeks, gone from my down coat and long underwear to cut-off sweatpants and t-shirts climbing down from Masada.

Today we meet up with Hillel Geva, one of the archaeologists overseeing the City of David, where digs are in progress. It’s lunch time; we’ve come across the volunteers taking lunch in the shade at long tables.

We visit Hezekiah’s tunnel (I take the Canaanite one—Hezekiah’s has water in it, though you can go wading if you want to). They’re narrow—one person wide, assuming the person isn’t too wide—toward the end. It comes out upon the steps of the Siloam Pool.

I am seriously sore in the legs. Sitting down on anything—a step, a curb, a bench—feels so very good. But I dare not say a word about the fact that every time I sit down I want to groan; I am the youngest one here. There is a 79 year-old on this trip trucking along most of these places with help of her walking stick.

We tour spacious mansion ruins near the site of the Temple—archaeologists are always shy to speculate, but it would not be outside the realm of probability that the High Priest might have lived here, that Jesus, on midnight trial, might have stood in this courtyard or graced these underground chambers for a short time as the others tried to decide what to do about him.

My strange disconnect continues; I have not felt at all what I thought I would here. I am at odds with myself.

Ron and Mike and I have been talking about the miracles of Jesus. As a scientist, Ron has a dimension to his discussions about origins, God, miracles, that resonates with a familiarity of questions for me. Ultimately, I leave the discussion with this kernel: less important than changing the natural law, physiologically, was what Jesus accomplished in people. I speculate that the heart of a person is far harder to change than a person’s chemistry.

Tonight I take dinner at an Italian place around the corner. Tomorrow I plan to skip the afternoon museums and wander those streets one last time.

Your Questions

2010-02-24T00:43:00.000-08:00

From the question bag!

I know. I totally lied about going to bed at midnight, or whenever it was. It's going on 3am and I guess the jetlag has worn off. It was novel being a morning person for a day or two.

Here are questions you've sent me in the past few months with their answers:

How I also break through (writing) intertia: I write something that I know will be admittedly terrible. Anything to bridge that gap, even if it's an ugly bridge. With holes in it. And, you know, killer zombies lurching around on it.

How I got the idea for Havah: I honestly can't remember. I know that one day I started writing in Eve's voice--just a few notes that became my prologue. And then it went into a drawer for several years.

Biggest Mistake I Made as a Writer: Overwriting Havah by some 67,000 words. That's pretty much a whole extra novel . Oops. But it was tough to write 900 years lean the first time, you know? I was still figuring out everything that happened.

Btw, we may be publishing a deleted scene or two in Havah's re-release this August. So look for that. :)

Road to publication, encouragement, rejections, and finally The Call: Yeah. It took more than five years after I wrote Demon to finally sell it. I had been rejected by pretty much everyone--there wasn't a lot of encouragement. And then, right in the middle of my going through a divorce and selling my home, it sold in a three-book deal. You know, life is strange.

What inspires me: Beauty. Emotions--even bad ones.

First topic I ever wrote on: The death of my English Bulldog (what is it with me and ugly dogs?), Oliver, in third grade.

Advice for conference attendees: I am the worst one to give advice on this because I play so much hooky at conferences (Meredith would confirm that the only thing I regularly show up for is meals). But my advice is: make friends, meet everyone, take advantage of editor and and agent meetings. Practice your pitch.

How to handle criticism: You know, we care about what we write, we take it personally. I'm not sure it's possible not to.

I get asked about the pageant thing--which is 14 and 12 years behind me now. What's real and what's not? Well, I'll just say this: it takes a lot of work to look like that. Working out and making variations on chicken and vegetables by day, teeth whitening by night, skipping buttered popcorn at the movies... is no way to live! Yes, Preparation H is great under puffy eyes. I'm not giving away any other tricks in case I need to use them.

Got questions? Send them on and I'll toss them up on another late-night Toscapalooza.

February 13

2010-02-23T22:07:00.001-08:00

Feel
I am still feeling the stairs from Masada. And Korazim. And Hippos. And all over the Old City.

It is Shabbat. Breakfast is cold. Dinner will be, too. There’s a basin for washing before eating at the front of the restaurant. This hotel seems to run a more observant service than the others we’ve stayed at.

The pilgrims and tourist groups we did not see at the archaeological sites we see now as we descend from Gethsemane, past old graveyards—terraces of graveyards, gardens of stone—toward the Kidron Valley.

A Man is begging on the street outside of Gethsemane, an olive branch clasped in the same hand that holds his plastic cup. “God bless you, God bless you,” he says.

There are the tombs of patriarchs here, pyramidal and ancient, cut through in some places where thieves in ages past hoped to find goods. But Jews don’t bury their dead with possessions. A shepherd herds goats just down the way. Father on, the valley curves into Hinnom, where ancients sacrificed children in the fires to Molech, giant drums drowning out the sound of cries. Gahenna comes from the name of that place—where fires burn, the hell of the Bible.

“Hello! Hellloooo!” Up the hill, coming down from the city is a band of travelers, waving at us. It takes me a minute, but then I recognize them as the Slovenians we gave a ride to coming out of the Mount of Beatitudes. We greet them, take a picture. “We have a saying in Slovenia—the third time we meet, we go drinking together.”

Makes sense to me.

We peer through a window in a sidewalk fence at the dig in progress in the City of David. We’ll be there tomorrow. Just then a shepherd rides by on a horse, trailing a string of four goats on leashes.

We go into the city to St. Anne Church—Anne, named after the mother of Mary. There are ruins here, outside the church. Ruins, ruins, everywhere. My adopted Jewish mom joked once that you can stick a spade in the dirt and uncover something here. It's true.

I am by now really tired. Tired, and having a tough time reconciling the ancient city of David with the patriarch’s monuments with the Hinnom Valley with the Old City… with this church with that of the Holy Sepulcher with its hole where the cross was to have gone into the ground (you can get under the altar and poke your head into it if you want) and its undecorated tombs just off the tomb that is supposed to be that of Christ, and the slab where his body was to have been prepared. I watched a woman lay her baby there, touching the slab and his forehead and back and again—a baptism of sorts, a baptism of death, practically-speaking. I’m having trouble reconciling it with the rugs and fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice for sale along the Via Dolorosa with its stations marked by giant spiked signs, the Arabs asking if we’d like to go into their stores.

I was most moved standing at the ruins outside St. Anne’s, “Jesus always has ways to help you,” it reads, beneath a quote from John 5. I look at the hand-lettering and wonder who wrote those words and so carefully penned them.

Outside the Lion Gate is an Arab cemetery. A little boy comes over, his face looking haggard, his hand out, but his clothes are new. His brother is nearby, waiting for him to bring him the goods. I give the kid a few shekels anyway.

Today has been hard, emotional and disjointed for me.

We are supposed to take dinner at the home of a Biblical Archaeology Review editor who lives here. I opt out, drink some wine with Mike and Ruth and David downstairs before the rest of the group leaves.

Dinner for me happens half a block away at a restaurant called Paridiso. I ask the waiter for recommendations. “What kind of food are you interested in?”

“Anything without chickpeas in it,” I say.

I eat the best pot roast of my life as the stars appear and Shabbat goes out.

OCD

2010-02-19T07:52:00.001-08:00

My painter, Roger, is working in the living room today. As an obsessive-compulsive, I'm probably his best repeat-client. He's repainted these walls at least three times in the last two years (painters, I'm telling you: the OCD market is your best investment in a down economy).

I wish I were exaggerating, but now that I think of it, this might actually be his fourth time painting them.

I'm back from Israel--thank you, all of you who wrote me notes and left me comments on my FB wall or missed me--I missed you, too. (What? You never noticed I was gone? ;)

What a trip. I'm still putting up blogs from my last four days, so please continue to look for them--right now FB seems to be ignoring them, so you might need to read them here. I found myself quite emotional the last few days in Jerusalem, and it was those days that I will remember most. In the end, I went all that way to touch the hand of one person, and it is not anyone you would guess.

Meanwhile, I am writing.* By now I know that 90% of any first draft is bound to be crap. This book seems to be an exception--99% of it is crap. ;) This is always when I bounce back and forth between blithely ignoring my OCD and crippling paralysis. So if you are in the process of writing and/or trying to get published, be encouraged. You're not alone, and somehow it all works out. (Remind me to tell you, in future days, the story of Heinous and Grievous.)

Did you watch Tiger Woods' press conference? I'm curious to know what you thought.

I'm off to see about my back, which is hurting as much as my carpel tunnel. Good grief, 40 is different than 30, isn't it? I'll be writing this afternoon; jot me a note if you like--I truly appreciate your company, and you.

*Whenever I write, all hell seems to breaks loose. So if you're the praying type, I'd sure love some of that.

February 12: Qumran, Jerusalem

2010-02-18T11:03:00.000-08:00

Stumble
I no longer fall asleep like a vampire at sunset. Though I would, by now, steal bacon from a baby. Or ham from a little old lady.

Who knew that pork deprivation was the ultimate test of one’s true nature? I'm embarassed that, having been weighed, I have come up so woefully short.

Try not to judge me.

Qumran is desolate. I have seriously begun to wonder why someone would live out here, but I guess if you’re an Essene and live a life so strict as to not even move your bowels on the Sabbath (seriously), then desert conditions and a serious lack of amenities may not be such an issue.

I climb part way up to Cave (12? 1? 4? Work with me here) before looking down the narrow and rocky (and un-railed) path along the rocky ravine before deciding a broken leg would put a serious crimp in my personal style.

We stop by the crossroads en route to the Jordan—on the way to John the Baptist’s site. But the Jordan today is a trickle and there’s nothing in that way now but a muddy creek about eight feet wide (that would be the Jordan), and lots of Bedouin trash on the way. Kind of a downer for a holy site, if you know what I mean.

I doze against our bus’ window pane for only a short while before we arrive at Mt. Scopus. This is a small country. I forget that, but how much light it sheds on all the conflict that has happened on this soil.

Out on my feet, I rub bleary eyes and go down the steps (steps, steps, always steps here!) to the lookout. And there I am, looking out over Jerusalem, the Dome of the Rock in the distance.

I stare at it for what seems a long time. To my left is the Mount of Olives. Street vendors are trying to sell us bookmarks, maps, postcards, bookbags. Meanwhile, I tell myself I am looking out over Jerusalem. Here it is, the Holy City. It is crowded, buildings and houses and churches piled upon a hill, spilling over it onto the ones nearby.

“Bookmarks? Posters. Two dollars,” one guy says. Hey. I’m trying to have a religious experience here. But I feel strangely distant and outside myself.

“No. No thank you,” I tell him. I own a zillion bookmarks. I don’t want any stuff. I have progressively picked up a traveling library to add to my already-extensive archive at home.

Another vendor comes by. “Even though you don’t buy, we still love you,” he says. His skin is old and lined and leathery. I blink at him and smile some.

Amnon takes us somewhere inside the city, near the city’s original spring. This is supposed to be the location of the Best Hummus on Earth. Which, by now, I am about as eager to eat as… a bowl of hummus. I eat some Hummus With Meat. I have already had Hummus With Beans, Hummus With Cucumber… and veggies and olive oil and a basket full of pitas. Turns out, spieced ground beef in hummus is really nice—mostly because it changes the flavor of the dish almost completely.

After that the group goes on to the church over the spring, but I return to the bus. It feels really good to play hooky. Anyone who knows me knows how well I do with routine, schedule, and structured days in general. That I’ve been on point since the 1st means Jesus is definitely coming.

I’m war-driving on the bus—that is to say, I’m latching on to a random internet connections to get my mail, blog, check Facebook.

The hotel is the least nice of all that we’ve stayed in. They’ve mostly been older, outdated, overly room-freshened and not kept clean enough despite being dubbed First Class hotels. I’ve been in worse—in Romania. And yet I hear they’re better than the ones in Jordan.

I’m anxious to see the Old City and take off with Ron and Mike.

We miss the Jaffa (Western) gate, double back and find it partially under construction. Inside the Jewish quarter Menorahs, Mezuzahs, pomegranate candle holders are for sale. A lot of it is tourist junk—the same from store to store. We pass through into the Christian quarter past more Menorahs, shawls, shoes and creepy Jesus pictures the eyes of which follow you no matter which way you move. The shop owners are aggressive. “Please, come inside. Just look, you don’t have to buy! Can I ask you a question? What are you looking for? Please. This is a new store. You are my first customer of the day/last customer of the night/it’s been a slow day/I want to make you a special deal.”

Mike finds his favorite antiquities dealer, a Christian preacher named Zac who runs next door for Cokes for us. Mike is perusing two thousand year-old olive oil containers, honey pitchers. Me, I’m in the market for old coins.

Mike openly laughs at me as I systematically reject Byzantine and Roman and Greek coins, looking for Second Temple Period, settling on a Herod the Great. I have become such a Biblical history snob.

I briefly turn over a Tyrian silver shekel—the same coin with which Judas might have been paid. I say “briefly” because it costs $900.

After that, Mike asks about a bathroom. “The closest one is probably at the Church,” Zac says. We head down the street.

“The church” turns out to be that of the Holy Sepulcher.

It’s late, most of the pilgrims have cleared out. I blink against the darkness and walk right on in. Before me lies the slab where Christ’s body was said to be prepared for burial, illuminated by a wealth of hanging lanterns.

I’m in a weird state of—I don’t know what. I did not expect to happen upon this church, not tonight. I am having a hard time reconciling what it is supposed to be with my being here, so absolutely unprepared.

We talk about it, walking back to the hotel. Ron is a scientist and pastor, Mike is a former pastor and professor. I am grateful for their company, their insights, their opinions.

Shabbat has come in while we’ve been adventuring. Back at the hotel, we get taken hostage by the Shabbat elevator. It goes all the way to the top and begins its slow descent, stopping on every floor.

“Agh! Let’s get a different one!” I say on 10. Mike jumps out, but then the doors—which run on a timer on Shabbat—close. Ron and I jump out on 9, hit the Down button. Another elevator arrives, the doors open. There is Mike.

The dining room is full. Families run rampant, young couples on dates (he in his tzitzits, she in dark hose) talk out on the sofas. I eat dinner: fish, hummus, salad. I am so disinterested in food.

February 11: Masada, Dead Sea

2010-02-17T17:49:00.000-08:00

Float
Masada is amazing. Herod the Great was a monster, but he was responsible for some serious building. We pack in the cable car like live sardines and spill out at top. We sit in the synagogue, wander the Herodian palace, consider the cistern system—rainwater runs down the canyons into several collection holes.

It’s warm today; I’m wearing cut-offs. On this trip we have seen rain, sleet, snow, hail and now this beating sun all in the space of ten days.

And then we hike down. Forever. I will not be needing to work out tonight. Or next week.

We visit the waterfall at Ein Geddin. A waterfall in the desert is a major event, and this is where David hid out from Saul (that David and Saul sure got around). I don’t go see the waterfall. I eat French fries at the Ein Geddin store, check out the stinky mud products instead. Everything here smells like sulfur.

Back at the hotel, I run down to the beach. The sun seems to set early here in this valley 400 feet below sea level. It is just barely warm enough to wear shorts, let alone a swimsuit, so I squeal and take off running into the salty water for the obligatory float in the salt. I’m at the Dead Sea; it’s a moral imperative.

Floating. See? Floating, floating—okay. I get out, run for clothes, hotel, shower, massage.

Afterwards, I wolfed down some more hummus on some yogurt cheese chickpea falafel pita shawarma.

No I didn’t. I squealed all the way down the street to McDonald’s for some truly international cuisine.

Note: There are no cheeseburgers here (dairy and meat together isn’t kosher).

PS: What is it about those double Royales? I have never seen a burger that huge at McD’s—or pretty much anywhere.

February 10: Sepphoris, Capernaum, Beit Shean

2010-02-16T16:24:00.000-08:00

Goat
I’ve been waiting to visit Sepphoris for days because it figures prominently in the early chapters of Iscariot. This is the Galilean capitol, the city Jesus might have worked in. It is here in 4BC that a rebel took the city in one of several revolts during the end of Herod’s life.

But enough about Sepphoris—if you want to know more, you’ll have to buy the book (Please tell me I’m not taking notes like a spastic monkey for nothing. ;)

I can, by now, spot the opening of a cistern from fifteen yards—a mikva/ritual bath from thirty. Sepphoris has many of both.

Capernaum is famous because of Jesus’ preaching in the synagogue. And though there’s a spectacular hanging church there and tons of the devoted, we only stay a little while.

There’s a money changer in the parking lot of Capernaum—I recognize him as the same man who rode a short way with us yesterday as we returned to Tiberius, exchanging currency for some of the group on the way.

Beit Shean is the site where Saul and Jonathan’s bodies were hung on the city walls. It was the most westerly city of the Decapolis and its residents were killed during the Great Revolt.

Geeze. What a depressing place.

We eat lunch before tackling the ruins: turkey hot dog. In a pita. With hummus.

A random goat comes along and eats the leftovers, the paper wrappers, the garbage. My shoe.

Incidentally, my Hebrew name, given to me by my adopted Jewish mom and dad, is Yael. It means "goat." Though I'd like to point out that goats are climbers--ostensibly ascending to the High Places and, you know, doing otherwise really important things.

Or they're just looking for pork products in a kosher country.

I know. I am so going to Sheol.

The ruins are huge. A series of mosaic-clad rooms bearing the image of Tyche crown the cardo.

Ron, Elliott (both from Manhattan), Mike (from Colorado) and I climb the tel where there are older ruins from the time of David and Solomon, destroyed by Shishak of Egypt. The Egyptian governor’s house is up top dating to 12 BCE. I step inside, come face to face with a bunch of hieroglyphics.

We drive south through Palestine as the scenery goes from lush to sand. Greenhouses swath the banks of the Jordan. Jordan the country rises from the foothills of its banks. Past Palestine, the Dead Sea is grey and flat. Clusters of date palms, planted in neat and unnatural rows stop and start, a strange oasis against an inhospitable background.

Dinner is the same-old, same-old—buffets for the hotel guests seem to be the rule here; I have yet to see any sit-down-order dining. Just salad, fruit, cheese, fish and bread buffet for breakfast, soup, fish, salad again for dinner. With pickles. And hummus. And did I say hummus?

February 9: Mount Beatitudes, Hippos

2010-02-15T08:36:00.000-08:00

Shards
I am staring at the boat found in the sea of Galilee—the Jesus Boat to pilgrims, “Frankenstein” to archaeologists because it is thrown together of so many kinds of wood. Of far more interest to me is the demonstration of the tallit, the Jewish prayer shawl with the knots on its edges, given to me by a worker in the gift shop. She hows me how it symbolizes the covering of the law, how one draws together the corners of it, winding the long strands of the tzitzits through the fingers and bringing them to the forehead in order to pray for the return of Israel’s children. Forget the boat, preserved ten years in solution so it can stand on its metal frame in the museum—here is a living thing.

We go from there to the Mount of Beatitudes, which has a church on it today. I have by now seen the remains or the sites of so many Biblical events that it is starting to—I don’t want to say that it is getting lost on me, but I am by now missing a little of the mysticism that has been stripped bare of simple stones in the dirt. I don’t have great faith in mysticism or in superstition or even tradition. But there are moments when the Sea of Galilee is smooth as glass and it might be Lake Tahoe if you look at it askance… when the mount here might be a hill anywhere else covered in verdant green. I feel a little sacrilegious saying that, but if anything, it drives home the idea that the cornerstone of my faith is less about this place or these objects, and more about what was done here and with them. Though I admit to gaining a great deal more context.

We visit the House of Anchors Museum at En Gev, a maritime museum—so here I can see now the kind of nets Peter would have used, weighed down by small stones bored through with holes. This is the day we eat the obligatory St. Peter’s fish lunch. And it tastes a lot like… a fried fish.

I am by now starting to be bored by the same flavor profile everywhere. Shawarma, falafel. Salad. Olives. Chicken broth. I am actually dying for some bacon. I would love a ham and cheese sandwich. I hate to admit this—I am a seasoned world traveler and complaining seems ungrateful and pedestrian. But if I’m honest, I would be mean to a small child right now if it meant eating pork chops for dinner.

We go also to Korazim, condemned by Jesus for its unbelief. We see the synagogue, which faces Jerusalem, and sit on cold stone tiers along the wall. I am surprised but no longer scandalized to see an image of Medusa on one of the lintels.

We spend the rest of the day in Hippos tracking through the ruins with one of the archaeologists of this site from Haifa University. There I see preserved the actual footprint of a Roman soldier—there are the nails in the bottom of his shoe. There I note ancient graffiti on a column of the cardo, the mason’s mark on the stone of the street itself. The past whispers in fragments as scattered as the ever-present pottery shards upon the ground.

The white broom tree is in bloom—the smell is strong and sweet, reminding me of plumeria. Beyond the ruins snake coiled wire fences and bright yellow land mine warning signs.

That evening I head out for dinner, eat pasta and chicken-liver pate at an Italian restaurant just up the street from our hotel in Tiberius. I ought to work. I ought to write. But I am tired.

***

Both of these photos are Korazin--that is the archaeologist, Michael, in the background, farther down the hill.

February 8: Hazor, Jordan

2010-02-12T05:26:00.001-08:00

Origin
I forgot to add from yesterday that for every five ships that left port in ancient times, only two might make their destination. That’s why there’s so much crapola (some of it shiny) in general dumped all over the ocean floor—including sites only 70 meters from shore, which is where Raveh found the ship we saw in the museum along with a bunch of other things. Raveh’s dog even found a large cache of something or other (the joke goes that this dog is the most famous maritime archaeologist in Iareal) just off the beach during a family picnic. When Raveh opened the paper to read see how the story broke, there was no picture of him—only the dog.

Near the Scottish hospital in Tiberius, Jewish guys wait for the bus in their hoodies, tzitzits dangling against their jeans.

We go to Bernice Hill, named after the “scandalous” Queen Bernice, daughter of Agrippa I, great grand-daughter of Herod the Great. She was (I believe) once poised to become Empress of Rome. It’s a story I’d like to visit at some point—though perhaps not in its own historical context, but a fantastic one. Remind me of this when I’m done with my next book and bemoaning the fact that I don’t know what to write next.

We are headed up to the long corner between Lebanon and Syria near the foot of Mt. Hermon. The last few nights I’ve had wine from Golan Heights, which is just east of the highway we’re on now.

Hazor is the first stop Abraham made coming down into this area from the north. Here are Israelite ruins on top of Canaanite ones. In the “high place” (holy place) of the tel inside the 30-foot walls is a large protrusion from the floor. It is, how shall I say, phallic in shape and nature. Again, no wonder: for ancient peoples, half the children of which die by the age of 6, for who old age is 35, for whom malaria might be the death sentence of an entire community and rain is a blessing because without it you cannot grow your crops and eat, for whom children are the ultimate blessing and hope of propagating your people—your main shot at continuity, if not immortality... fertility is everything. There are some archaeologists who don’t recognize this particular stone as serving this symbolic purpose, though it ultimately doesn’t matter; it does not change the facts or priorities of the time.

Consider that a man like Abraham, facing the prospect of children beyond count, would be facing a giant promise. I think I blogged a day or so ago that there is a good possibility, I believe, that Abraham was once affected by the pagan philosophies of his neighbors and that God’s command to him not to sacrifice Isaac was his call to be set apart from the norm of the day. The more Astarte figures I find in Jewish history, the more I see the range of piety in early Israel (as in any religion) and the more I understand, too, scriptures where God bemoans Israel’s worship of other gods.

Speaking of perspectives, a few of us muse that it is a shame we cannot have the dual perspective of a Palestinian guide, but they are not able to be licensed here.

The Jordan river starts at the foot of Mt. Hermon. This is the area of Caesarea Philippi. Up the hill, the water comes out of the rock in several places, though in the time of Christ it would have come out of the mouth of the great cave, considered by pagans of the time to be the gate to Hades. There is water in the cave, which served as an offering place to Pan. Offerings taken down to the underwater tunnels without incident were considered to be accepted. If blood appeared anywhere after the fact, it was not accepted (and then, I suppose, someone would get upset at someone for having botched the job.) Along the face of the mountain to the right of the cave are carved alcoves that once housed images for votive offerings. And farther to the right are the ruins of a Temple to Zeus.

In the sharp ear between Lebanon and Syria we take lunch and Amnon talks about the six-day war of ’67. These are details I know little about; my interest in history has never included much of what I consider the present. Amnon talks about Israel being down to its last bullet and Nixon opening the American artillery in Europe. “For that, I will take my hat off to Nixon until the day I die,” he says, doffing his cap.

There’s a lot of talk about this strip of land, which I have just laid eyes on, that may pass again into Syrian hands. On a nearby hill stands a cluster of satellite dishes and antennae, the “eyeballs” of Israel. They provide Israel about 20 seconds warning of anything incoming.

Back on the bus, more talk about Syria, the 6-day war, Lebanon. Meanwhile, my mind is on my manuscript, on Judas, the clash of present-day reality and seemingly endless history here, before the Israelites, or even the Canaanites or Egyptians, or Neolithic farmers, the Stonehenge-like traces of which remain in sites such as Gamal (see below), where the sun shines on the center of a megalithic maze on—what else?—the longest day of the year.

During all this time, I am thinking of stories. It always happens like that; one looks more shiny and intriguing always than the current one, and I hear murmurs of it like those of the bee in the broom tree, buzzing as I try to concentrate on what’s in front of me. And so I’ve been stroking the short hairs of a new idea—fantasy—inspired by some of these early lives. I have a strong sense that Iscariot may be my last straight Biblical fiction, at least for a while.

Can I just point out that we are going all over the place here, and it is truly a small area, this country. Small wonder the Old Testament is filled full of wars and raids for the best fertile valleys, water.

“If you have a gun, you can write history,” Ron points out. It’s true.

The Qatzrin Museum, housing artifacts and presentations about the findings and digs at Gamal, is of great interest to me because of the time period; this is a village situated exactly as described by the historian Josephus (made available after the 6 days’ war), which fell at the beginning of the Great Revolt. The city has more or less been preserved as it fell. In a few days we go to Masada to see the famous mountain-top city that fell at the end of the Revolt.

As we leave Gamal, gunfire crackles in the distance. I have heard it numerous times since arriving, including from my hotel room. We pass a UN military policeman in his car as we return early to Tiberius. I haven’t checked my e-mail for two days and have not worked on my manuscript for as many. So tonight is a work night.

And then I’m getting a massage.

February 7: Dor

2010-02-11T21:31:00.000-08:00

Hot-Cold
Cold. I am tired of being cold. I have been living in my long underwear, my polar fleece headband, polar fleece neck thing, and the down coat for which I thought I would be seriously mocked. (Tourists and pilgrims from other groups compliment me on it in passing, most enviously, one of them quoting scripture to the effect that one who has a better coat should give it to the one with the lesser, to which I pleaded ignorance. And a lack of English. Which doesn’t work as well when it’s a member of your own group).

The Bahai garden is here leading down to what is presumably a domed temple, but it is covered today. I've had friends who are Bahai--what I didn't realize is what a young religion it is--less than 200 years. I think it was founded around 1830, actually. Knowing little about it except about its universalist themes, I can attest that the gardens are indeed immaculate.

We visit the Stella Maris church built over the “Cave of Elijah.” This church was built by Crusaders who had formerly been living hermit and Elijah-style in caves. Though the domed painting of Elijah in his chariot is gorgeous, the dome style itself reminiscent (at least to my eye) of larger ones in Rome, it is of less interest to me on this trip. A service begins as we are standing in the narrow narthex. We head back into the cold. I am irritable and bored and freezing as Amnon decides to talk at some more length, telling the story of Elijah, fed in the desert by ravens. As he says this, a raven chooses this moment to caw loudly from a nearby palm. And, just as I am grousing about standing here in the cold, two ravens swoop in and drop a pinecone a few yards away. I am the only one who notices and blink at it for several moments.

The funny thing is, pine cones are edible.

We go to the Hecht Museum in Haifa to meet with marine archaeologist Kurt Raveh and to view a boat pulled out of the Mediterranean. We wander the museum and grab some yogurt from the student union; one never knows when (or if!) Amnon will stop for lunch. And then Kurt is coming with us to take us to the maritime museum at Dor, and then to the top of the sea-cliffs at Dor to walk through a settlement there, up in the wind designed to carry away the smells of a stinky tannery, to fan the flames of a bakery.

Let me say something about Kurt. He came here to fly planes for the army and eventually to dig and teach. Between flying around, going to the Dept. of Antiquities and having artifacts stolen to show up later (even in the States), he is a real-life (marine) Indiana Jones.

Yeah, I think he’s sexy.

He’s got some artifacts in his backpack, wrapped up in a paper bag (that’s how much there is here—artifacts everywhere, potshards everywhere, history in pieces, everywhere); they’ve already appeared in some articles. One is a statue that looks a lot like Astarte, but it’s Tanit—similar in use and worship to Molech—a far less benign deity, one to which some parents sacrificed their children. Amnon and Kurt argue about whether Tanit is really Molech or not.

I should say something now, and this is pure speculation, but it is this, and it has been the occasional topic of a larger conversation in this group: that when Abraham started to sacrifice Isaac and then was stopped by God, this is the illustration of the fact that he was being called to be set apart, different from his pagan, (sometimes child-sacrificing) contemporaries. Speculation, but these stories in context tend to have a lot more meaning, and considering that he was surrounded by worshippers of Molech or Baal… well, you can decide for yourself.

I learn that the Mediterranean doesn’t have much for tides. There is no regular tidal movement here. The explanation is a bit beyond me, but it has something to do with the channel and the phases of the moon, but not the usual kind of morning and evening movement of the ocean.

Back at the hotel, I actually hit the gym. Though it is full with guests and locals, I am the only woman there.

February 6: Megiddo, Nazareth

2010-02-09T10:59:00.000-08:00

Source
One thing I forgot to mention yesterday while in the necropolis. Amnon paused at the front of one sarcophagus in particular. “Do you see this? It reads: Shalom. This is my ancestor saying to me, ‘hello.’ One generation greeting another. And so how can anyone say that this land is not that of my ancestors?”

Today: Megiddo or, if you believe in the last days, Har-Megeddon. This settlement’s name is carved on the walls of Karnak detailing Thutmose III’s victory here 1468BC. It probably fell to David. Solomon improved upon it. It fell later to the Assyrians. You really can see a long way in all directions over the Jezreel valley. At the head through the pass of Carmel range, Megiddo controlled the Way of the Sea.

There is a great, round altar, facing mostly east when you go up the steps. The oldest temple here was built 3000 BC. The round altar came into being 500 years later. The rites that took place here were ancient, pre-Israelite. Yes. I'm speaking euphemistically. Ritualistic sex is a non-surprising fact of ancient cults; one good bout of disease may wipe out most of your settlemnt. Infant mortality takes half or more of all children born by a certain age. Fertility is paramount. No wonder the ever-present temptation for followers of a monotheistic faith to hedge bets with Astarte (as we saw in Gath). And how strangely set-apart monotheists must have seemed to contemporaries of the time.

Mitchner wrote about this area. New to my reading list: The Source.

After Megiddo we go to Akko, visited by Alexander the Great, given independence by Pompey in 63 (the same year Rome entered Israel). Akko is fascinating for anyone interested in the Cruades, the Hospitaliers, or any of the history surrounding modern-era events depicted in the movie “Exodus.”

Of equal interest to me are some of the vendors inside the ancient walled city (today a modern city complete with really nice ruins that aren’t really that ruined at all). We buy pomegranate juice, freshly squeezed in front of us, from one guy—and again, a little later on, from another. We buy coconut-pistachio bars from another. The guy selling it cuts off a slice for Ron, who shares with Rick, who seems to offer me the remaining bite—but is suddenly very, very stingy at the last minute. Yes, it’s that good. We eat shawarma and falafel from a little shop, starting with “salad” from a little stand against the corner: pickles, chopped cucumber and tomato salad, hummus, dill yogurt.

We go from there to Nazareth. Nazareth in the time of Jesus might have consisted of 20-30 families—no more than a hamlet. Nazareth today is busy and sprawling upon the hills. Repair shops, stores, restaurants, churches, mosques. The Muslim presence is strong and noticeable in this city (which was no more than a hamlet in the time of Jesus) so associated with Christ.

We go to the Sisters of Nazareth Convent and meet with Sister Margaret, who takes us down to the remains of a Byzantium church discovered beneath the church while digging out a cistern. But—and this is the part most intriguing to me—beneath that, discovered only recently, are the remains of a first Century home. This is the only home dating to the time of Jesus found so far in this area. Supposedly, when the land was sold to the church, it was done at a very high price by a woman who justified it by saying it contained the tome of the Righteous One. And sure enough, right under the house is a tomb with some four chambers in it. We ask the sister who the Righteous One is. “How can we know?” she smiles. “The only one we know of being called that in the New Testament is Joseph, Mary's husband.”

Who can know. But the thought is extremely alluring.

We take coffee in a small shop. A (I am guessing) bishop of the Greek Orthodox church comes in in his hat and robs, long, billowing sleeves. He’s picking up some baklava-type sweets (and, from the look of him, does so often). Outside on the step, a large billboard proclaims the sovereignty of Islam, that all who do not choose it are going to hell. The green and crescent-adorned dome of a mosque peers up behind it, beyond which looms a church, the bells of which are ringing.

Back at the hotel, Shabbat is coming to an end. Life is lazily resuming on a day when people check out from hotels later than normal in the afternoon. So few patrons remain tonight that dinner has been moved to the smaller bar area. We drink wine from the Golan Heights, talk to Ruth and David, a couple from California.

Upstairs I catch the end of American Idol.

February 5: Antipatris, Mt. Carmel

2010-02-08T13:55:00.000-08:00

Bring Out Your Dead

I poop out between 4 and 6pm. I Pep up around 10pm at night just enough to want to try to work far later than I Ought. Agh!

We pass several Kibbutzes-collective communities ( "We're all Britons and I am your king!" "I did not know we had a king. I thought we were an autonomous collective.") On land typically owned by the government. Three percent of the population lives here, Engaging mostly in agriculture. They make up 19% of the economy.

We've come to Antipatris, once taken from the Canaanites by Joshua, once the property of the Philistines (in the first battle Philistine captured the Ark of the Covenant-Samuel-4 in the second, they Slaughtered Saul and Jonathan). Herod the Great built here and named it after his father, Antipater. The southern battles of the Great Revolt were Fought here, and the Crusaders built a fortress here. You can still see part of the Herodian-era road here still-the Cardo, or Roman road. Walking along it I am amazed as I have continually been by the Potshards in the mud as common as pebbles. They date back to Roman times or before. Some of them have ridges in them, some are even painted. On occasion you can see part of a pot's curved handle poking up from the dirt. There is so much of this stuff everywhere as to be unremarkable except to outsiders and tourists like me.

We grab lunch at a mall food court: pizza. Some of us take Phyllo dough with potato, cheese or Spinach in it. It is served with a hard-Boiled egg and pickles. Pickles, everywhere.

We visit the Necropolis of Beit Shearim, founded during the Reign of Herod. There are some Ornate Sarcophagi here, surprisingly decorated in animal images-one with mirror images of a flying goddess Nike. I'm very surprised by this, especially to see eagles on some of them-the very symbol torn down from the Temple by Judas and Mattias rabbis from the Temple (for which they were burned alive by Herod). Amnon explains that it has to do with what was Deemed acceptable by the Sages at the time.

From there we go to Mt. Caramel, Regarded as high and holy since Phoenician times. Egyptians called it the "Holy Headland," a 4th Century author called it the Holy Mountain of Zeus. We visit a small chapel the name or significance of which I can not remember; I dozed for the duration of Amnon's explanation. Upstairs, the roof is painted with a wheel of arrows pointing in the direction of an array of locations including Lebanon, Nazareth, Jerusalem. You can see in all directions from here.

Shabbat comes in and the dining room is full, not just with tourists but with locals as well. Tonight the workout room closed early. One can ride the Shabbat elevator. I eat and return to my room to talk with you on my Facebook page, to watch an old episode of The Obsournes on MTV.

February 4: Modi'in, Gath

2010-02-06T09:42:00.000-08:00

Goliath

Well, the whole morning person thing wore off pretty fast.

I eat breakfast of tuna and smoked salmon, dill and garlic yogurt, hummus. I am single-handedly responsible for the demise of countless numbers of chickpeas.

We're headed for the Neot Kedumim Biblical Landscape Preserve near Modi'in (where the Maccabean Revolt began). Despite being located amidst the hills, this is called lowland because it is lower than Jerusalem. It is stony here, everywhere, and nestled amongst the olive, almond and sycamore trees are ruins dating back to the Maccabees and then to Byzantium.

Here are some things I learn:

The almond tree, the first to flower, symbolizes alertness, watchfulness, diligence.

A woman offering to draw water-and for your camels, too!-is setting herself out for a lot of work. Many, many buckets of water. So when Abraham's man encounters a potential wife for Isaac, she is obviously generous, strong, and hard-working. Of course, she might have seen that his ten camels were loaded with a bunch of rich goods ...

When God says the he is the living water, he is making a deliberate contrast to stagnant water, possibly in a broken cistern-one without proper plaster.

Egypt was one of the main customers of olive oil exported from these areas.

Tamarisk (mentioned in the Bible) acts as a natural air conditioner. Its leaves secret salt, drawing water from the air.

The wood of the white broom tree burns for a long while. Psalm 120:3-4 refers to the words of a false tongue being like embers of the white broom-namely the hurt never quite goes away.

The Sycamore tree is a symbol of rehabilitation because you can cut it to the ground and it will grow back. Note the implication for Zaccheus the tax collector.

We find the ruins of a chapel built for Crusaders, the altar of which is built directly over the giant basin used for crushing grapes. "Hedod!" is the sound that would have rung from these hills in that season, tannins in the air.

Here is hyssop, which is oregano. It smells delicious. I wish I had been here before writing Havah, though somehow managed to incorporate much of the same information into the story. "Purge me with hyssop," David wrote in Psalms. Hyssop, the meek and humble plant. It is the opposite of the Lebanon cedar, the building stuff of Solomon, who was said to be wise from the hyssop to the cedar (from humble to great things). According to the preserve guide, leprosy was once considered a disease of the arrogant to make them meek. When a leper went to the Temple to be declared cured or clean of leprosy, the priest's rite consisted of elements of both plants-a sign that the proud had been made humble.

All of this we learn to the sound of crackling gunfire on the range of the Israeli training site in the valley below us.

At the site of the settlement associated with Philistine Gath (you can read more about why they formed the association here) Once lived nearly 30,000 people. There were Judean elements found here amidst the Philistine ones-namely statues of Astarte, the Canaanite goddess. No one really wants to talk about this much; they were not supposed to have these.

It is extremely windy as we walk along an excavated lower settlement near the city wall. You have to imagine the rest of the line of the wall today-most of the larger stones are buried under a verdant carpet of green. It is the opposite here: lush green and in winter, brown and gray and bare in summer. Despite the mud, we decide to make the trek up the tel to see the rampart. There is an Arab shepherd silhouetted against the sky, sheep and goats moving along the face of the tel. "See?" Amnon says, "the goats move independently. The sheep move in a line with their noses in the next sheep's tukis. "

[As I am typing this, I spellcheck "Tukis," which Wikipedia calls the "Jewish word for 'butt.'"]

It is really muddy as we veer off the edge of the tel toward a hill. This side is Philistine. This other, where we come across a group of grazing cows including an abandoned calf curled up under a tree with an infected eye, begins the hills of Judah.

We go up the Judean hill between rocks and thistles and prickly pear cacti, anemones and little purple flowers, to see the excavations of the ramparts. Up top it begins to rain, passes through, and rains again, pelting us this time with bits of ice.

I am freezing my tukis off here in the Holy Land.

On the way back, water has collected in puddles. We are sopping wet and muddy. I'm openly fantasizing about hot and sour soup, prickly pear margaritas. (I know that meal violates one international law or another, but still.)

"Wow," the archaeologist from this site says, "This is a new experience for me."

Back in the bus we drive away, pass a young Jewish hitch-hiker in jeans and a hoodie, the long strands of his tzitzits billowing in the breeze. I giggle. Cuz you know what I'm thinking.

We go from there to Tel Azekah to overlook the plain where David would have been most likely to meet Goliath. The valley below is a natural meeting place from those coming from Gath and Saul's army. Amnon reads the Biblical account. It starts to rain.

By the time we get to Zora winery, I am only half alive. Squishing along in mud-heavy shoes and soggy socks, I'm so tired my contacts are clouded over. I struggle to stay awake during the tasting itself. I want to go directly to bed, but end up checking e-mail, eating a little dinner, joining Rick and Elliott from our tour at the bar for some wine from Golan Heights. It's in talking to Elliott that we learn of the Shabbat (Sabbath) elevator. On Shabbat, it will automatically stop at each floor so that you need not push the buttons. And so now you know.

* Again with the weird formatting and capitalization. If I missed any, sorry! What a pain in the tukis.

February 3: Ashkelon, Beersheba

2010-02-05T13:08:00.000-08:00

(Strange capitalizations from this point on are due to a translation issue while posting from Israel. I'm not sure why, it just happened.)

Shekel
I wake at 4am without Compunction, threats or Blaring alarm. Hey look! I'm a morning person. Haha.

Do not worry; Jesus is not coming yet.

Up early, I head out for a Brisk Walk along the Mediterranean. There is an international fitness 6am traffic out for their morning exercise. Breakfast an hour later is mostly Smoked salmon, Tuna, cheese.

Internet here costs 70 shekels a day. It makes me want to measure my PC screen in Cubits.

It is clear in Tel Aviv. We are going to Ashkelon where two days ago barrels of explosives washed up on shore from Gaza, closing down a strip of local beach.

Amnon is off and talking, rolling his Rs Extravagantly. I Have Flashbacks of Longshanks from Braveheart. I'm curious about the other travelers in this group of 14. We have some true scholars and otherwise smart people on this trip and I feel better about my Tourette's-style Shofar-Blurting yesterday.

Ashkelon is a 10,000 year-old city of commerce on the Way of the Sea, linking Syria and Egypt. Its name derives from the shekel, meaning "to Weigh" - appropriate for a city of commerce. The Biblical significance that it is was one of five Philistine cities, is mentioned in the Eulogy of David for Saul and Jonathan in 2 Samuel 1:20. It's also linked to Samson in Judges 14. Jews lived here for several decades before the Great Revolt, during which 2500 were murdered here according to Josephus.

Trivia: a special onion comes from here with a name derived from Ashkelon - the Scallion.

The city gate is very small, only a few people wide. In the event of Siege, I imagine freshly-fallen enemy bodies would easily add to the local Barricade. Inside are an array of African Granite and marble Corinthian columns.

From Ashkelon on the coast we head Inland, east toward Hebron, to Tel Maresha. The countryside is truly beautiful. Green wheat fields grow in Swaths between natural vegetation and man-planted forests. The almond trees are in bloom and I think in moments I have glimpsed Eden. The wheat, however, is modern, bred to form shorter stalks. "Why spend water on hay?" Amon says. Everything here is about water.

Tel Maresha (Tel = a Mound built up over ages of settlement) is full of man-made bell-shaped Caves. One can not walk safely off the path here without the hazard of twisting an Ankle in the least, or falling into a hole at worst. This is old Idumea (formerly the Edomites). This area is mentioned in 2 Chronicles 11 and 14. A hill away is the Birthplace of the prophet Micah.

There are 169 man-made Caves discovered here so far. The houses above them were created by essentially Quarrying stone out of what would become the basement. These resulting spaces became home factories - olive presses, Pigeon Coops, baths, storage. They're truly cavernous and you can see still the Chisel marks on the Ceiling, The Coves chipped out for oil lamps high-up from a time before the cave reached its full depth, and where chunks of block were taken from the wall for repairs above-ground.

What happened here is John Hyrcanus I Conquered the territory of Idumea and required the population to convert to Judaism (these are the great grandparents of Herod the Great) - before Issuing a move-out-or-die Edict. Residents seem to have torn down their homes and filled in the Caves with the refuse in what seems to be a hell-if-you're-living-in-the-product-of-my-hard-work reply. There are no Strata, just twenty-some feet of stones and household refuse and other items thrown all in together. Here they've found the significant Stele of Helidorous, which Sheds light on the events leading to Hannukah. Read more about it here.

We've joined the dig of Ian Sterns, who has Funded more than two decades of work here with his Dig for a Day program. With Trowels and picks, we dig into a silo area of cave 169. I find a Shard of cooking pot, pieces of Kiln. We find a few animal bones. On the way out of the cave, I pluck up a piece of a pot handle sticking up from the dirt floor. There's just that much here.

I ask about Menorah coins, minted by John Hyrcanus, learn the modern-day 10 coin is a replica of the ancient one.

By the time we get to Beersheba, it is not only cold, but windy and rainy at this settlement above the Negev plain. (I am wearing two layers of polar fleece, my down coat, and gloves.) We Descend into a huge town Cistern, Afterward consider the well outside the city wall. It goes all the way to the level of the plain, below, to tap the underground river. Here it is thought that Abraham struck seven of his covenant with Abimelech. Beersheva used to have a local alter which was later torn down, the stones of which were used to Fortify houses after the Reforms of King Hezekiah in 2 Kings 18.

Beersheba was destroyed by earthquake-possibly the same from Amos 1. The temple at Beersheba was Condemned by Amos in Amos 8. Mike, a former Pastor and first century Archaeologist in our group, points out that all the homes in the settlement face east - a characteristic of early Israeli homes.

Leaving Beersheba, Bedouin litter Smatters the dry Riverbed near the highway. They are this nation's Gypsies, more or less. Truly there is garbage all over the area. "They live the same as in Biblical times," says Amnon, "throwing away their garbage as others used it to throw over the city wall." Except that the garbage is now made of plastic and other bright and less Biodegradable materials.

We stop at a local mall (where Backpacks are searched by security at the entrance) for camera supplies by one of our members and hot tea by others. Food court vendors call us over, street-style Hawker. "Yes! Please, please, here." He's got the plate ready to sell us something from the hummus, roasted Veggies, Olives and peppers Heaped on the counter. There's a Burger King further down. All I want is hot tea.

Back at the hotel, I'm ready for chicken Broth. There is a large population of Spaniards here in the hotel restaurant. Last night I watched a chic chemical blonde make her way through a Gigantenormous pile of food, including a plate of bread and two whole fish. I call her the Five Loaves and Two Fishes girl.

I buy my 70 shekel internet connection so I can Reconnect with you, post my first day's blog, and get sucked into e-mail until 1am. Oops.

* Strangely, when I Pasted my blog here, the formatting and some of the word order changed. Hopefully I've fixed it all.

Tel Aviv: Dream

2010-02-03T11:40:00.000-08:00

February 1-2
There is something wrong about the waking-up side of 4am—this, the sacred realm of paper boys, donut makers and deviantly-wired morning types.

I barely remember the drive to Omaha, the flight to Newark. This layover will go on for nigh on ten hours—all of it spent working, lunching, eating a tuna salad sandwich.

I admit to a dislike of Newark and its airport. I have been stranded here one too many times (if not as many as O’Hare). But neither am I fond of any scheduling shenanigan that might lead to missing my evening flight to Tel Aviv.

By 9:30pm, the 10:50 flight is lining up for screening into the secured Tel Aviv gate. I have already been fascinated once today in watching a Hassidic Jew half undress at security. You have no idea how much I wanted to touch his tzitzits.

I know. There’s a special place in Sheol reserved for me for that.

One the plane, the girl next to me looks lost. “This is my first international flight,” she says. The attendants have no mercy. “Turn off your phone. Put your bag up. Clear the aisle way.” I show her after we’re airborne how to take out her TV, pull out the console complete with mini keyboard and gaming joystick. “See?” I show her how to plug her earbuds into the adapter on the airline set.

“This is all so complicated!” she says.

Well, I guess it kind of is.

She doesn’t like the kosher meal her family ordered for her. Asks for a regular one, too. And then eats sushi in between. I watch all of this, fascinated. It all seems rather complicated.

An hour and a half before landing, she says, “Wow. You were out forever!”

That’s because most of our flight was flown in daylight, honey.

***

My archaeology group coalesces outside. The guide’s name is Amnon. “Do I look better in my picture or in person?” he grins.

It’s only 4pm and so we’re headed already to Jaffa. I’m glad but fighting the notion to drool against the bus window.

In Jaffa, though, everything changes. I see the Mediterranean. Here is the city where the cedar for Solomon’s temple was brought in to port to Lebanon. It is the same port given by Marc Antony to his lover, Cleopatra (when she died, Augustus gave it to Herod). The crumbling wall is lit by modern lights. Tufts of flowering greens grow out of it. A whale fountain (the whale looks much too happy) commemorates Jonoh’s sailing from here to Tarshish in his blowing-off of Nineveh.

We pass two bridal parties taking photos—and join one of them for a group picture—before heading inside the old city. This area of old Arab houses later became a red light district—or, as Amonn says, “filled with men and women of the night.” It’s since been beautifully redone to house galleries and chic restaurants. And a bevy of feral cats.

Up through the corridor-like streets to the garden on the hill, we’ve reach the highest point on the city. Here in Gan ha-Pisga is a carved henge of angels ascending and descending on one side (Jacob’s dream—and the angels, who have no regard for gravity descend head first), Abraham, Isaac and the ram on the other. The lintel across the top is made up of barefooted bearded fellows. “Do you see what is in their hands?” Amnon says. And how they are barefoot from the wilderness?”

“Huh. Shofars,” I say. “Must be the guys blowing down Jericho.”

I am such a dork.

Below the hill, St. Peter’s Monastary is lit up against the night and looks out to sea. Here—or at some house near here—Peter was said to have visited the house of Simon the (stinky) Tanner and had his vision of the unclean animals he was to eat, a prophecy to take the word to the Gentile nations.

“Everyone thinks Christianity began in Bethlehem and Nazareth,” Amnon says. “But really, it began here.” Put that way, I suddenly remember Susan, my Jewish mom, saying Nazareth boasted little but one Christmas tree when she was here once over the holidays.

I’m having a surreal post-flight moment after a more-or-less 28-hour day that started on the drive to Omaha. Now I’m in a city said to be founded by one of Noah’s sons, idly watching five hip young Muslims—the girls with stylized hair coverings and chic t-shirts, skinny jeans and sneakers—saunter by.

Seriously.

We take Ben Yehuda (“son of Judah,” which might also be translated “son of Judas”) street to our hotel in Tel Aviv, a modern city a scant century old founded by some 60 families as a suburb of Jaffa.

“But this is our dream,” Amnon says, comparing it to that of Jacob with his angels. “That we would see our sons and daughters returned to this place, and here it is now—“ he indicates the tall buildings topped by blinking red lights to signal the incoming air traffic that flies directly over it—“and now see it has come true.”

I am not sure how much hummus, roasted eggplant and olives I ingested at dinner, but it was a lot.

I doze off to some British lawn sport (aren’t all British sports mostly lawn-oriented?) on TV, dreaming of modern-day Jews, ancient corridors and feral cats.

Going, Going...

2010-01-20T07:53:00.000-08:00

And so, as the re-releases of Demon and Havah prepare to rise in the East (repackaged versions coming this summer from B&H), the first edition of my books rambles toward the horizon. Demon is no longer in stock on Amazon though copies from other sellers are still available. Havah is not only in stock, but bargain priced at the moment for $6. (If you want a copy, buy, buy now.) Oddly, that one spent a good portion of Monday at #10 on Amazon's Biblical fiction list behind two editions each of the Red Tent, Francine Rivers, and each of Anne Rice's two Christ Our Lord books. Fine company, especially in the midst of being out of print!

What you won't find in the first edition but will in the B&H version of Havah is a name list of all the characters--including the animals--with their meanings. The names I gave every character have significance (as do the names that were already given, of course).

Demon's changes are subtle--minor characters have been recast and named after some of you.

Don't worry. I didn't kill anyone.

Far as you know.

Quirk

2010-01-18T07:53:00.000-08:00

I so enjoyed your notes, your messages and other introductions. And I want to know more. Please, let me hear from you: who are you, how did we find one another, what passions, fears quirks do you claim as your own?

So I promised to share a few things about myself. You know most of my passions and fears. So here are some of the quirks:

1. I was named after a Puccini opera. My father, who had a great love affair with Maria Callas (though she never knew it) originally wanted to be an opera tenor. He named me after his favorite opera.

2. I was originally supposed to be named "David." Apparently I was full of surprsies straight from the womb.

3. My father is Korean and my mother is Caucasian. My parents were denied a marriage license in Athens, Georgia, in 1968 for this very reason.

4. I'm not sure how I became a writer--my strength in school growing up was science. I even set the scale in my high school Chemistry class... much to the chagrin of the guy I used to cheat off of.

5. My sister is a physician and medical school teacher. Her strength in school growing up was English.

6. I once caught a 60-pound halibut deep sea fishing in Alaska. I became embued with the (superhuman) strength to reel it in alone after someone on the boat promised me a cookie.

7. I love to eat. Except watermelon.

8. I have been to Transylvania.*

9. I unthinkingly ate raw garlic while in Transylvania.

10. I am still mortal.

On February 1, I leave for Israel and will be touring the Holy Lands for 16 days. Join me here as I blog my trip; I would love for you to accompany me.

To follow me on Twitter, go to www.twitter.com/toscalee, or click the Twitter link on the Tosca Lee tab of my Facebook page HERE.

* The archive for the Balkan trip, among others, is located at http://hundredthousandmiles.blogspot.com/

Two-Way

2010-01-14T08:59:00.000-08:00

And now enough about me. This mirror at last must go both ways. I want to know about you. Who are you? Tell me something of yourself. I see your pictures on my blog and Facebook pages. I recognize some of them but know far fewer.

Leave me a comment with something of yourself here. So that next time I can say, "Aha!' And intrigue will be familiarity. In return, I'll tell you a few unexpeted things about myself and tell you about my upcoming trip.

Sleight of Hand

2010-01-11T07:30:00.000-08:00

At the heart of any debate surrounding Judas is the meaning of the Greek word most commonly translated as "betrayal."

The standard lexicon for classical Greek, Liddell and Scott, gives these fundamental meanings for the Greek word paradidomi:

1. To give, hand over to another, transmit, such as virtues from teacher to students, documents, dgive up an argument, etc.
2. To give a city or a person into another's hands, esp. as a hostage or an enemy with the collational notion of "treachery, betray."
3. To give oneself up to justice.
4. To hand over legends, opinions, doctrines.

The Greek word for "betrayal," however, is prodosia.

According to William Klassen in his book Judas: Betrayer or Friend of Jesus?, there is no precedent for translating paradidomi as "betray" in any literature before the four Gospels and that a more accurate translation might be that Judas "handed him over."

My question to you: if the English text were more commonly translated that Judas "handed over" Jesus, would it effect your perception of Judas' deed?

Mysteries and imponderables! Join me at my Facebook page for my latest give-away. Click HERE for more.

Mess

2010-01-11T07:14:00.000-08:00

And so. My office has exploded--there are books everywhere. I've tried to put them in neat piles: Ancient Israel and Jewish history here... the life of Jesus there. Books on Judas over there... commentaries here.

I'm trying not to look. I tell myself that this is what happens--this is what must happen. It's getting messy. Time enough to clean it up in, say, a year.

That's an inward groan. This is very hard for an OCD girl.

I've got nearly 100 pages of outline notes laid out on my credenza. The binder I'll put them in is too skinny.

I'm not looking I'm not looking.

**

Join me in pondering imponderables--and in my latest give-away, HERE on my Facebook page.

Means to an End

2010-01-09T12:34:00.000-08:00

Thomas De Quincey:

The crime, though great, of the Iscariot... was to promote the purposes of Christ... by means utterly at war with their central spirit.

Adam

2009-12-31T08:14:00.000-08:00

So I've just looked up at the television and Criminal Minds is on. I don't watch this show, but there was Shemar Moore.

Sometimes people ask me who I would want to play Clay or (the many faces of) Lucian or Havah in a movie. At the time that Demon was staring at an option (a project since put on hold), it was a question that merited a lot of blank stares from me because I really don't visualize characters that way.

Except for one: Adam.

To me, Adam wore the face of Shemar.

Oh, it was laborious research, sorting through the galleries of all his fan sites, picking a few to display near my monitor (the things we suffer for art), trying to wax poetic about the curve of his jaw. But I preservered, (if never recovered completely).

On Leave

2009-12-26T17:17:00.001-08:00

The title, that is--not me.

Demon and Havah are going on haitus. That is to say, they may not be available between the end of this year--when the NavPress editions go out of print--and next summer when the new B&H versions release.

I've made some minor changes in each (I'll be curious to know if you note them), updated my author's notes and added a name meaning list to Havah. B&H has created new covers for each (see them both on my Facebook page HERE on the Tosca Lee tab) as well as new trailers. If you haven't seen them yet, definitely give them a gander below.

If you want, for some reason, a first version of either book, you can still order them off SignedbytheAuthor.com at least for now until the new versions release.

Meanwhile, it's Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus by Joachim Jeremias for me.

Havah, book promo from Greg Pope on Vimeo.

Demon, book promo from Greg Pope on Vimeo.

Escape to the Third Dimension

2009-12-22T14:56:00.000-08:00

This is what I think: There’s always more. There has got to be more.

A real and complex person doesn’t go eating something they were expressly forbidden to eat—just because, aw look, it’s pretty.

Not after having walked with God. There's more.

Neither does an intelligent and passionate man betray the one he calls “Master” for the sake of a paltry sum of money.

Not after having done miracles by the power of that same man.

There’s more. There’s more.

The more I read about Judas, the more questions I have and the more fascinating the entire story becomes--not his, but ours.

By Their Love

2009-12-15T05:18:00.000-08:00

A local pastor has recently died. I did not know him personally but he was, for many years, the pastor of some close to me before he retired, and beloved by them.

Now as his church home prepares for his funeral, I am mortified that the church notice has had to include this last bit after the specifics of the service (brackets are mine):

"We have been notified by the Lincoln police that [a group well known for hateful and inappropriate picketing] will be protesting outside our gathering. I suggest we react exactly the way [the former pastor] would: let's simply offer them coffee and tea while remaining focused on the joy of our purpose this day - to love God and honor one of God's children. I urge that we do not counter-protest this group in any way. The simple love and dignity of our gathering is its own message."

I am furious that this should happen at any funeral--my hands shake as I type it. I am sick for the family. I am also incredibly moved by this congregation's statement in the face of what will surely be a trying (if not completely antagonistic) presence at an already-emotional gathering.

"As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples." -- Jesus

Our Fear

2009-12-08T08:38:00.000-08:00

I am asked often for this quote, which is my favorite, and I share it often when speaking. This is by Marrianne Williamson, from her book A Return to Love (though oddly and often erroneously attributed to Nelson Mandela).

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Different parts stand out to me at different times, but it always has meaning for me in some profound way, every day.

**

Last night I finished Anne Rice's Christ the Lord Out of Egypt. What a depth of research she put into this one! If you've read this one, I'm curious what you thought. I plan to get Angel Time soon.

**

I'll be moving everything on Facebook to my new page, which you can join HERE. Coming soon: video about my upcoming Iscariot, new pictures, and gifts for you from me. (But you have to meet me there!)

All That's New (And Old)

2009-12-07T07:29:00.000-08:00

A lot has happened in the last couple weeks:

I went away to hole up in a remote cabin and work on Iscariot. The research for this one is truly stupendous. But the personal journey for me will be, too.

I took out my frustrations at the archery range and enjoyed myself so much that I've asked for a bow for Christmas. Look out.

I turned 40. Or, rather, I celebrated the 11th anniversary of my 29th birthday.

Now that I'm 40, it's time for a Facelift. Check out my new Facebook page HERE. Be sure to join and invite friends; we'll be adding new video, photos and other content as well as hosting give-aways in weeks to come as we pass the 1000, 1500 and 2000 member marks.*

Also cool: the new website. I've peeked in at its progress and think you'll love it.

For now, thank you all who came to yesterday's CWOW meeting in Phoenix--Michelle, thank you for driving such a distance!

I've returned north to work for the next week, so if you hear nothing but the occasional squeak and mad pip here and there, I'm still kickin'.

Today's reading list: Josephus, N. T. Wright's Judas and the Gospel of Jesus, Anne Rice's Christ the Lord out of Egypt.

**

Yes! You can order signed books for the holidays--mine and other authors'. Go to http://www.signedbytheauthor.com/ and you can specify just how you'd like them signed. If you've already bought books but still want them personalized, drop me a note requesting signed book plate and I will send it to you. Easy peasy--and freesy.

*Impatient with waiting--want to win something now? Michelle Sutton is giving away my books and mugs at: http://edgyinspirationalauthor.blogspot.com/2009/12/win-these-books-and-coffee-holders-from.html

Questions of Perspective

2009-11-23T07:47:00.000-08:00

I have received so many responses to my question of Judas--here, on Facebook, and privately. Thank you for your thoughtful answers, subsequent questions, your exchanges with one another... and, on several occasions, sympathetic head-scratching. I've loved the thought that you put into a historically (religiously?) pat answer.

Because you know how I am about pat answers.

So I'm still away, just returned from a horseback ride, and about to bury my nose in research again. The melancholy I expected the first day has arrived now on the third. Contemplation, silence, and time on my hands has a way of doing that. But that's not all bad.

I'm spending a lot of time today considering how one's modern orientation to the New Testament dictates perspective on scriptures--the Old Testament histories, the prophecies... the New Testament itself, even. A very exaggerated example of this is the Adam/Eve account in Genesis. A New Testament/Christian perspective of that story as the origin of sin (where Satan is present in the serpent) is very different from the Jewish rendering of the same story--one of free will and knowledge entering the world (where Ha-Satan is not a player).

You might remember my saying that despite all the questions I had going into the writing of Havah,* I left with more than I began with. And I find the same true again; research has a way of drilling holes in some of the certainty I once enjoyed--in my own understanding, if nothing else.

So I am struck, very much, by that thought today. That thought has such varied nuances to me--as a person of faith, as a writer seeking first to explain something to myself.

**

So here is something interesting about Judas: he is portrayed most generously in the earliest-written gospel--that is Mark--and with increasing darkness and villification through the subsequent gospels of Matthew, Luke, and John. What do you make of this?

* I am frequently re-asked for this list, which you can read here.

Judas: The Big Hairy

2009-11-20T10:49:00.000-08:00

I've gone off the grid now for several days to research and work on Iscariot--A.K.A. The Big Scary. *

While I'm away, I want to pose a question I have been so curious to put before you. The Big Hairy, I will call it. It is this: Judas. Where do you believe he is today? Is the Son of Perdition redeemed for his remorse, lost in spite of it, a necessary, provided-for part of the plan, or a man damned for the sheer sake of the One he betrayed?

Attention to the Gospel of Judas has brought new curiosity, insight--or brouhaha, depending on your perspective--to an already murky enigma. Attention to this controversial codex is not my reason for writing this story, though it has become an inevasible part of my research.

For those you curious about the myraid questions of Judas, here are links to an article in The New Yorker, entry in the Catholic Encyclopedia, and overview from Wikipedia.

As for me, I am intrigued--as you know I always am--by every aspect written and unwritten, spoken and unspoken, stated and between the lines of scripture when it comes to this figure and his friendship with Christ. His story becomes only more intriguing and multi-dimensional by the number of perspectives in which we are willing to view it: theological, historical, and human.

As I consider the maligned characters that so capture my attention, it occurs to me that we are all the Everyman Clay, we are all Eve, and we are all--by my estimation--Judas as well.

So while I am tucked away with my books, let me hear from you--here, or on Facebook, on Twitter or e-mail.

As always, I am honored to take this journey with you, humbled by your letters and readership, and grateful for you always.

*While I working on Havah, I went to Maine and St. Lucia. You can read these trips in my other blog, A Hundred Thousand Miles, here and here.

Bygones

2009-11-14T07:45:00.000-08:00

I've got a big question to put before you--one I've been waiting to ask since first entertaining the idea of Judas' story. I am so curious to hear your thoughts, so look for that some time next week from me.

In the meantime, I probably ought to clarify that by "original Demon" in my last post, I mean the early monologue manuscript (at that time titled They Called Me "Angel"), which provided the pre-Clay, pre-Boston grit of Lucian's story. Every editor who systematically rejected that story in the five (count 'em--five!) years it took to find a publishing home--including Jeff Gerke, who acquired it at NavPress--was absolutely right in their appraisal that it needed a new framework, an additional (more sympathetic) character and dialogue.

Hence the reason for my cringing earlier today and wanting to let first version bygones be bygones. ;)

**

The first novel I ever wrote was about the Stonehenge people of Salisbury Plain, England. I wrote it in WordStar to Clannad's "Sirius" over the course of two school summers in '89 and '90. Today it resides in a basement bin, printed and bound-by-Kinko's. I see it there when I'm downstairs rummaging for something-or-other. It stares at me from beneath the translucent lid of a Rubbermaid file tub and I avert my eyes and hurry on.

Original Demon

2009-11-13T09:26:00.000-08:00

So guess what. I hate it. My letter to Karen, my editor, and Julie Gwinn, the B&H Marketing Director, goes as follows:

"So I’m sorting through the original Demon, which we had thought about making available to readers who want it. And as I’m going through it, it occurs to me that I just don’t like the original version. In short: it sucketh. I see in it all the condescending snarkiness that first prompted editors to suggest couching the story in a more traditional framework of action and dialogue. It is true to the POV, but a hard pill to read and swallow."

If it's all right with you, I will keep this one in the closet with the other assorted skeletons.

***

To request re-release review/media copies of Demon (June 2010) or Havah (August 2010), please write to Julie Gwinn at julie.gwinn@lifeway.com with the book title in the subject line.

Writing What I Do

2009-11-10T07:01:00.000-08:00

Recently, friends on Facebook posed the question: Why do you write the things you do and what kind of reactions do you get from readers?

The detailed stories of how these ideas happened are on my websites and in my interviews, but the bottom line is that I'm intrigued by maligned, two-dimensional characters. I don't believe in them. Any story that smacks of cardboard villians is not habited by full, living and breathing characters.

Which is a particular travesty when it comes to faith histories.

The reactions: Demon scares a lot of people before they've even read it. Many readers will not pick up the book because of its title and cover work. So Demon is probably not for them, and I'm all right with that. Sometimes readers write to say that despite earlier misgivings they've picked it up and read it--and ended up passing it along to several friends. Of course I love to hear that.

Havah invites the most interesting comments--about the way the relationships in the book resonate with those who read them, or sometimes about the book's sensuality. But there's no consensus there; some deem it very light--others, PG-13. I had one woman comment that it was so explicit she wasn't sure if she'd finish it. "Really?" I said--because that was a first for me. "Which parts?" I asked.

I know, I'm terrible.

The reactions that move me are those who have experienced something deeply personal in reading one of my books. "I am mortally changed forever," one reader wrote. "I see now that I am Eve." I wanted to weep--not because I was so grateful that yes, she understood, but because I know God is a greater part of this process than I am.

Getaway

2009-11-01T14:43:00.000-08:00

It usually happens about this time of year, the intense desire to get away. I'm sure the abbreviated sunlight has something to do with it. Research does, too. By January I'll be a raving lunatic (again).

When I began work on Havah, I packed one suitcase each of clothing and books and hied myself to Maine for a week mid-summer. I went the following week to St. Lucia.

Thinking about those two weeks now, I am amazed. Has it been that long? I was burnt out (from work, writing, life) by the time of Havah's release but that is long past and now it's time for some serious work.

This week I'm going to California, if only for a change in scenery--I'll be working the entire time as I recover from a cold.

I've said I would devote some blogs to how I write, and though getting away is in no way the start of the process for me, it's the one on my mind today as the sun fades (too soon!) on a beautiful November day.

On my desk : the original novella-length monologue that later became Demon: A Memoir. It will be available via my site and/or B&Hs next year. Also, a transcript of a lecture on the beginnings of Judaism by Isaiah Gafni of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. I am still wrapping my mind around the enormous body of research required for Iscariot.

Playing in my ear: crickets from beyond my open window (and that weird under-water sound you get with a head cold).

Nashville

2009-10-28T11:02:00.000-07:00

I'm just back last week from several days in Nashville during which I met with my publisher's sales team, spent a day shooting video at Nashville's beautiful Fort Negley and photos with the very talented Michael Gomez.

I know what you're thinking and yes, it's true: I washed my hair.

My mojo is so out of whack.

For a behind-the-scenes look a both shoots (including a few of my blooper moments) check out the recent photo uploads on my Facebook page.

I've already shared that Demon and Havah have been acquired by B&H to be repackaged and re-released next summer (Demon in June and Havah in August) with new cover art and some exciting extras. One of the highlights of my meeting with the Nashville sales team was the debut of both books' new preview videos by the extraordinary Greg Pope. See what you think.

Demon, book promo from Greg Pope on Vimeo.

Havah, book promo from Greg Pope on Vimeo.

From the Archive: Social Mania

2009-10-13T19:06:00.000-07:00

Facebook. MySpace. Shoutlife. LinkedIn. Dopplr. Plaxo. Blogger. WordPress. Shelfari. Goodreads. Writer's loops. Conference loops. Endless loops.

By the time I finish updating my status, writing my blogs, pasting my bulletins, my newest pictures, my URLs and YouTube links, recruiting friends, recommending friends, sharing reads, rating reads, ranking reads, ranking friends, tagging friends, responding to posts, responding to friends, responding to blogs, ranting, reblogging, re-bulleting, re-accepting (plants, gifts, pinches, karma, flowers, flare, tickles, candy, drinks, siege warfare by angry goats and lil green patches--what the heck is a lil green patch anyway??) it's time to repost my status--and respond to those responding to my status who are reading their walls, shuffling friends, organizing bookshelves, recommending contacts and waging mob wars.

By the time I do all of that, the day is over. I have missed my hair appointment, my deadline and a conference call, needed to pee three hours ago, blown off dinner, pissed off my friends (who live in town and did not check my wall to see why I never showed up), neglected my significant other, alienated my family, and defaulted on my mortgage.

I'm already grossly behind on an article and some reading, on projects for friends and the proposal I owe my agent... and yet I cannot tear myself from Facebook because I might miss something important--say, another lil green patch--and then I will have gone from being behind with writing, reading and work, to being behind with the relational fiber of my life that is supposed to make the reading, the writing, the work all meaningful.

***

Bouncing back and forth between the social, networking and professional sites I signed up for to catch up with friends, connect with readers and promote my work, it's plausible that I might never have time to write another book--or if I do, it'll be 360 pages of one-liners that begin with "Tosca is..."

I don't know half the people in my extended network, but they came highly recommended. And even though I may not actually know Marlene in Dekalb, I'm fascinated by how white her teeth are in her picture and the fact that her relationship status just changed from "In a relationship" to "Single." I'm wondering if they broke up or she forgot to change it before her last boyfriend. And if I know any friends of friends willing to dish.

I'm fascinated by hub friends, who seem to know and be on everyone's page, horrified at how many colleagues know schoolmates who have seen me do stupid things, appalled friends' exes who never had the decency to settle down more than one degree away.

It gets a bit uncomfortable--I worry if raucous friends will offend the straight-laced among my network (or vice versa). I wonder whether I'll say something stupid that will haunt me forever--or at least until it scrolls off the new bulletin list, pushed down by the newest rants, requests, ramblings or reciprocal stupidity of others.

The only way to know, of course, is to stay pasted to the screen. I find that trolling for feedback is an especially convenient time to spy on high school friends and frenemies, the real lives of people I only see in suits, my exes, my readers (it seems only fair), my colleagues, my neighbors. And I am at peace with my virtual social life, holed up like a voyeuristic hermit, my picture neatly made up in the window as I sit stinky and unkempt at home in my sweater.

One of these days, God willing, I'll start a new project. Crickets will chip from the void that was my blog. The status line of my Facebook page will stare blankly at no one. Invites will turn kudzu on my homepage, and my Shelfari shelves will grow dust. Concerned friends will send notes like morose pings into the ether as I wrestle with metaphors and confront the empty page, wishing I could trade my Roget's for the tiniest lil green patch or bit o' karma.

***

Tosca just sent you a lil green patch.

[Accept] [Decline] [Ignore] [Wage Mob War Instead]

Perry Marshall

2009-10-13T08:04:00.000-07:00

I'm nearing the end of my Reading With series and can't miss the opportunity to introduce to you fascinating friend and Internet marketing guru Perry Marshall.

Perry Marshall is an author, speaker and consultant in Chicago. His books on Google AdWords are the most popular in the world. He's referenced across the World Wide Web and by the Washington Post, Entrepreneur Magazine, USA Today, and the Chicago Tribune, among others.

His company, Perry S. Marshall & Associates, consults both online and brick-and-mortar companies on generating sales leads, web traffic, and maximizing advertising results. He's published hundreds of articles on sales, marketing and technology, and his works include The Ultimate Guide to Google AdWords, Guerilla Marketing for Hi-Tech Sales People, and a technical book, Industrial Ethernet.

Beyond his success and obvious brilliance, Perry is a longtime friend.

His genre: Business, marketing and technical non-fiction

What he likes to read: "I read a lot of magazines and newsletters, leaning towards cultish tribes of fringe geniuses, for example Dan Kennedy's "Look Over My Shoulder" copywriting letter which costs 80 bucks a month. (You get what you pay for, and most of the free information you get from the media is worse than worthless.) My tastes range from Modern Drummer, to First Things, which is sort of like a New Yorker for Catholic/Protestant/Jewish intellectuals. As for books, I read not-enough-fiction, it's a worthy indulgence that I don't do often enough. At any given time I'm usually in the middle of a fiction book (currently Atlas Shrugged), a business book (currently Outliers), a history book (currently Josephus), and a personal development book (most recent was one on Borderline Personality Disorder and controlling relationships). I skim a lot. You can get 80% of the value of a non-fiction book by reading 3 chapters."

Guilty/secret reading pleasure: "Stephen King. I think the guy is a total master wordsmith. I love his gritty, jagged, granular prose and the odd familiarity that I feel in his stories. He really does tap into a reality that we sophisticated people in the West are not permitted to acknowledge publicly. So yeah, when I feel really indulgent I'll get myself a Stephen King book. My favorite King novel is IT."

Books that shaped you: "The Proverbs of Solomon is priceless. Wisdom of Solomon, in the apocrypha, is almost equally good. I also think the book of John in the New Testament is a barn-burner. Not only is John's theology light years above anything else, John's personal sense of relationship with his heavenly father is just palpable. You can feel the pulse of it in every chapter. This is clearly a man who has been loved by God and who KNOWS God at a deep, primal level and his words penetrate on multiple levels as you read his story. I know dozens of people whose entire life has been re-shaped by the reassuring, loving words of chapters 14 and 15 - when Jesus, in his darkest hour, confers upon all his disciples deep affection and power that men had scarcely dreamed of, and still only dimly grasp.

"Richard Koch's 80/20 Principle set my mind on fire and altered the way I see everything in the world. George Gamow's 1-2-3-Infinity captured my imagination for mathematics and science at age 12. I read A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken and I thought, 'Sheldon didn't write this book, the Holy Spirit did.' Democracy In America by Alexis deTocqueville is the most penetrating look at American culture I've ever seen, still dead-on 170 years later. And In The Beginning was Information by Werner Gitt provided a lens through which a whole stack of questions about biology could be seen with total clarity."

I am also a fan of Perry's Coffeehouse Theology and Cosmic Fingerprints sites.

You can find Perry at http://www.perrymarshall.com/, on Twitter, and Facebook.

Reading With Nicole Petrino-Salter

2009-10-09T23:01:00.000-07:00

Nicole Petrino-Salter maintains she's had three constants in her life: horses, writing, and drama. Born and raised in Seattle, she attended the University of Washington, went to work, went to Europe for three months, and found her lifelong dream of working with horses stateside, which she has done now for 30 years. Midway through her rebellious lifestyle on the track, Jesus rescued her. She spent 8 and 1/2years writing her first saga, Hope Of Glory.

Today she is the author of seven novels with two more in progress, two of which--Hope Of Glory and The Famous One--are published.

Nicole is married, has two sons, and three grandchildren... and is a fabulous friend and encouragement to me.

Her genre: Non-traditional contemporary romance.

Genre she likes to read: Thrillers, mysteries, suspense, some horror, some romance/women's fiction.

Her secret or not-so-secret, guilty reading pleasure: "It has become romance," Nicole says, "because those that suit my taste are getting harder to find!"

On her nightstand right now: I have several but they often have to wait for the CFBA choices and other publisher obligatory novels to get read first which would be on my TBR pile if I wasn't getting them free.

Books that shaped her: "Peretti's This Present Darkness, Piercing the Darkness, and The Oath because I see his words, I grasp his concepts. He writes like a film which is what I try to do in my genre. Demon . . . a memoir was brilliant , high concept, and excruciatingly well-written which is inspiring to push for the best in my writing. Same reason for Chris Fabry's Dogwood. Randy Alcorn's novels are fascinating, meaningful, and just plain good stories/writing. Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers is the most powerful novel--it should be required reading for both sexes. (My husband, who is Mr. Macho with a tender heart, and my very tender-hearted second son who read it when he was 23 or so, both loved it.) Robert Liparulo's voice is terrific, and he's the best action/pace writer I've ever read."

Visit Nicole on Facebook, or at any of these locations:

Nicole's Blog: Hope of Glory

Christian Book

The Seattle Examiner

Amazon.com

Station Break

2009-10-07T22:16:00.001-07:00

I'm writing in the middle of midnight chocolate ice cream.

Given that I'm so close to going to bed, have a photo shoot in two weeks, and am lactose intolerant, this is highly unrecommended behavior.

Which is probably why it's so irresistible.

So many things are occupying my mind these days. Among them: Judas research, the last of the web stuff, my publisher's upcoming sales conference, the state of the economy, the political situation in the Middle East...

What to wear for those photos.

Garr.

***

Coming up: The last of my Reading With series, including author and freelance editor Meredith Efken, author Nicole Petrino-Salter, and Internet marketing guru Perry Marshall. I also have an interview with filmaker, writer and internet marketing friend Chad Bring.

After that... we talk writing. Nuts and bolts. Mostly nuts.

Book News

2009-10-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

My new publisher, B&H, with whom I recently signed to write three books, has also acquired Demon: A Memoir and Havah: The Story of Eve. Both books will be re-released next May. I have to tell you I am thrilled about this. I've seen the new covers and they are stunning.

So now you know what else I've been up to in these days of blogging cricket sounds--because I've been working on some extras just for you. B&H, meanwhile, has some really exciting ideas in the works. More in days and weeks to come.

Meanwhile, the first of my new books with B&H, Iscariot: The Traitor, is underway and slated for 2011 release. Right now I'm planning a February trip to Isreael, during which I will be sharing all details of with you. I'm so looking forward to talking to you more as the Big Scary takes shape.

***

Tomorrow let's catch up with the rest of my planned Reading With series and check in with a few of my guru friends. After that, we'll come back to writing, Judas, and other oddities.

Hair and Wear

2009-10-01T08:30:00.000-07:00

So, I have very cool news to share with you. But first, I need to ask your opinion on a few site matters.

Do you want/would you like to see event photos?
Do you want/would you like a line of Demon Wear? I ask this only because I have some hilarious and dare I say snarky t-shirt ideas from way-too-brilliant friend Dan Eness (view his blog here and tell me from his tagline alone if he is not an evil genius worthy of the kind of envy that borders on hate.)
Do you want/would you like other fun things like that if I set loose the Mad Designers?
Do you want stuff about writing? (If so, what? There are a ton of great sites and columns and resources out there like Randy Ingermanson's Advanced Fiction Writing, so please be sure to be specific.)
Do you want video blogs and podcasts that will actually require me to maybe wash my hair? (Say no.)

News tomorrow! (Assuming you say no to the hair thing).

Flagellate

2009-09-30T18:23:00.000-07:00

Back from Denver, Vegas, Minneapolis... and on the cusp of taking off for St. Louis. I ought to be packing, finishing any number of projects, getting a gross amount of information, copy and documents out to others and research in or, in the least, catching up with the recent new work of some twenty writing friends.

Which is why I'm watching So You Think You Can Dance, of course.

I'm also bemoaning my shortcomings as a disciplined blogger. Believe me, I may look like I'm intently watching TV on the outside, but I'm definitely self-flagellating on the inside. Eating this hummus and drinking this wine splayed out on the sofa is all just a ruse. I'm wasting in penitence, here.

So the plan was that I'd finish my Reading With series, and by then announce a few things such as the schedule on my revamped site (I cannot wait to show it to you) and some uber-cool news on books. But since I've managed to so not blog for weeks and weeks, I'm going to give you some updates here... and then continue with the same plan. (I tried to come up with a more clever agenda, but I got nothin'.)

Thanks to the fine fish at the Minnow Project (click on lower right--warning: this site is way too fun to explore), www.toscalee.com will be freshly prepared to your specifications within weeks. Thank you for all your ideas, requests and suggestions.

The only site snag at the moment is my weird FAQ mental block. It's got to be the questions, the same questions, the questions (and the voices). Help a self-flagellating girl out and throw me a FAQ-worthy bone (the more personal or singular ones I'll tackle in a future blog, so I'll squirrel them away regardless). Please. I'm not sure why, but reconstructing Eden was easier than this.

Attila

2009-08-26T14:10:00.000-07:00

Attila, my shar pei of whom you may have heard me speak, passed away early yesterday morning, in his adopted father's arms. I'm so sad.

Field Trip

2009-08-19T11:18:00.000-07:00

What do this dog and writing have in common? Join me for my guest blog at http://www.kevinskaiser.com/. C'mon. It'll be fun.

Want to win a copy of Demon or Havah? (What, you seriously still don't have one?) Check out my guest spot at the blog of the gorgeous and amazing Nicole Baart here.

When we return from our jaunt, I'll be back with more reading with... next up: Robert Liparulo.

Reading With... Eric Wilson

2009-08-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

Just when you thought I'd never get to it--I resume my Reading With series with Eric Wilson.

Right now, I'm very excited about Eric's Jerusalem's Undead Trilogy, which began with Field of Blood (read the first chapter here) and continues with Haunt of Jackals, releasing next week (click here to read the first chapter of Haunt of Jackals).

Eric's genre: Supernatural suspense--big concept stories driven by everyday characters

What he likes to read: Suspense, memoirs, true-life adventure, and literary fiction

Secret or not-so-secret indulgence read: Chuck Palahnuik's books (Fight Club)

On his desk right now: Dogwood by Chris Fabry, When the Whistle Blows by Fran Slayton

Books that shaped him as a reader or writer:
Lord of the Flies, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Bourne Identity, Self-editing for Fiction Writers

In addition to his vampire series, Eric made another huge splash last year (to the tune of the New York Times Bestseller list) with his novelization of the movie "Fireproof." For more about the movie, click here.

Live in Washington, Oregon, California, or Tennessee? Eric is coming to your are! For his full tour schedule, go to: http://www.wilsonwriter.com/html/the_latest.html

Read an interview with Eric here. Read Eric's advice to writers here.

Behind

2009-08-03T23:11:00.001-07:00

I am so bad. So far behind.

I know. I say this all the time.

The plan is still in place--Wilson and Liparulo highlights among others. And then... writing. You're gonna like this.

So while I am getting my act in gear, I want to know: what are you behind on? C'mon. Make a girl feel better.

Back in Black

2009-07-25T09:36:00.000-07:00

The announcement of the Big Scary and new contract is made, I've gone into my bunker--and re-emerged. Interviews are done (see http://fictionaddict.com/2009/07/20/tosca-lee-interview/), the wild wind has died down, a new contest is running (see details here), and now it's simply time to work. In the weeks since my last post I've gone to a writer's retreat in Denver to hang with author friends and study under Michael Hauge, worked on consulting projects, imbibed wine, pulled a small section of my hair out, returned to Pilates, sworn off wine, recomitted to the treadmill, missed my 2am bedtime, eaten things I'll hate myself for later, and hosted a wonderful group of writer friends at my home, including contemporary author Nicole Baart, romance author Cheryl Wyatt, romantic suspense author Camy Tang, and women's fiction author Meredith Efken.

Here's what I think. I've got a cool interview with Camy on her new release, Deadly Intent, coming up later today and tomorrow, as well as promised spotlights on several other authors, including Eric Wilson and Robert Liparulo. When I'm done with those, I want to blog about writing, about my reasons for writing the story of Judas, and some of the fascinating things I'm learning. I want to continue to answer your questions--yes, even about pageants--and, within the next few months, hopefully, unveil the revamped website, built for you.

Sound like a plan? Can I get an "Amen?"

***

Why I write fiction, and my best advice to aspiring authors. All here, spilled beans: http://fictionaddict.com/2009/07/15/tosca-lee/

Camy, Part II: Return of the Noodle

2009-07-21T15:25:00.000-07:00

Friend and author Camy Tang says in part II of her blog visit:

I adore Chinese food, but my favorite is Hong Kong style noodles, which is chow mein noodles that have been deep fried until they’re crispy, served with this saucey sauté of vegetables, beef, chicken, pork, and shrimp, which gives the dish a combination crispy-soft texture. The sauté isn’t low fat, either. On the other hand, many Chinese stir fry dishes are very low fat because you simply fry meat with vegetables, maybe add a little bit of some very salty, strong tasting sauce like black bean sauce to flavor the entire thing, and serve it over rice (we try to eat more brown rice these days). Very low fat and healthy, too.

In my book Deadly Intent, Becca Itoh serves to the hero a sushi snack called makizushi. My grandma used to make this all the time, and my mom and aunties always said hers were the best.

It’s cooked rice mixed with Grandma’s secret combination of rice wine vinegar, sugar, and sake, or rice wine (I think she added sake, I’m actually not 100% positive about that). Then the rice is spread out on a sheet of nori (dried seaweed paper), filled with various ingredients, and then rolled up so the nori is on the outside (the rolling part is REALLY hard to do well). The roll is sliced into wheels to eat.

Grandma usually filled it with tuna, shrimp powder, shredded carrots, and daikon Japanese radish. Very low fat, yummy, and good for you...unless you eat more than, say four. That much white rice (mixed with a little sugar) isn’t very good for my blood sugar levels, unfortunately. See? It’s a love-hate relationship.

You can see pictures and read a little about makizushi here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Makizushi#Makizushi

Anyway, I hope you enjoy Deadly Intent and get so hungry you go out for Japanese food!
~Camy

Deadly Intent
The Grant family’s exclusive Sonoma spa is a place for rest and relaxation—not murder! Then Naomi Grant finds her client Jessica Ortiz bleeding to death in her massage room, and everything falls apart. The salon’s reputation is at stake...and so is Naomi’s freedom when she discovers that she is one of the main suspects! Her only solace is found with the other suspect—Dr. Devon Knightley, the victim’s ex-husband. But Devon is hiding secrets of his own. When they come to light, where can Naomi turn...and whom can she trust?

2009-07-20T14:01:00.000-07:00

Visiting me today (literaly visiting me--she's here in my living room) Camy Tang!

Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. She used to be a biologist, but now she is a staff worker for her church youth group and leads a worship team for Sunday service. She also runs the Story Sensei fiction critique service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels every week, and she ponders frivolous things like dumb dogs (namely, hers), coffee-geek husbands (no resemblance to her own...), the writing journey, Asiana, and anything else that comes to mind. Visit her website at http://www.camytang.com/ for a huge website contest going on right now, giving away fourteen boxes of books and 30 copies of her latest release, DEADLY INTENT.

What would two Asian writers hanging out in Nebraska talk about, do you suppose?

Well food, of course!

Camy writes:

I’m so glad to be on my friend Tosca’s blog today! She and I are the few Asians who write Christian fiction, so we tend to band together and revel in our Asianness.

One thing I love about writing about Asian characters is that I get to write about Asian food. I love Asian food, but it doesn’t always love me.

Some Asian food is very healthy, whereas other Asian food, not so much. For example, Korean meat chun/jun is fantastic, but it’s marinated beef (most of the time, rather fatty beef) coated with eggs and fried. Can you say, heart attack on a plate? My family usually eats it with rice, too, so we’re not exactly Atkins adherent. On the other hand, kim chee (spicy pickled cabbage or cucumber) is low fat.

(Tosca's note: And kim chee is Korean! But if you eat it today, it will surely come out your pores tomorrow...) Speaking of tomorrow--come back for part II of Camy's Visit!

The Big Scary

2009-07-06T13:42:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is--and I have been chomping at the bit to finally share it with you.

I've signed to write three novels for B&H Publishing, the first of which will be the story that has been germinating (festering?) in me since late 2008: the first-person story of Judas Iscariot (A.K.A. The Big Scary).

I know, I'm insane. Writing Havah was the second-hardest thing I've ever done. I was totally burnt after finishing it, as you know. So I was looking forward to something lighter.

Obviously, this isn't going to be lighter. But a lot has transpired in the last year--from the release of Havah, which I honestly feared might be a giant flop, to my panic attacks last January, which occurred within days of telling my agent, Steve, about the Judas idea (which I half-hoped he'd talk me out of).

But right now, I can honestly say this is the most important thing I believe I can write. It has become one of the most important purposes in my life--which doesn't mean I'm not crazy for doing it or worried about how to accomplish it, because I am.

So there's my course of action through the end of next year. Judas' story will release in 2011. I realize this is a little longer between books, but stay with me; I'm hoping we'll journey this one together. The toscalee.com site redesign will be happening over the next few months. There I will be posting progress, news, and pictures from my trip to the Holy Lands, which is likely to take place early next year. I'll be sharing chapters cut from the original Havah and unpublished content from Demon.

Because, wouldn't you know it, Lucian hasn't gotten his last word in yet.

***

Click here for the B&H press release.

Reading With... Karen Ball

2009-07-03T12:02:00.000-07:00

Currently the Senior Acquisitions Editor for B&H Publishing Group, Karen learned her craft while heading up fiction for Tyndale House Publishers, Multnomah Publishers, and Zondervan.

Karen's latest full-length novel, What Lies Within, has been nominated as the Best Inspirational Novel of the Year. Karen's writing is powerful, uplifting, and fun!

Karen's genre: Suspense and Thrillers

On Karen's nightstand right now: Cartoon digest books of For Better or For Worse, Zits, and Stone Soup; Her Bible; Streams in the Desert; the newest Iris Johansen, Deadlock; a book on Madeline L'Engle.

Book that shaped her as a reader or writer: The Hobbit; The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe; The Last Unicorn; anything by Dorothy Daniels, Phyllis Whitney, or Victoria Holt. Karen says, "I LOVED the gothics."

Writers, see Karen's tips for writers here.

Editors and would-be editors! See Karen's tips for you here.

Karen writes from her home in Oregon, where she lives with her husband, Don, and their two "kids": Dasha, a mischievous 4-month-old Siberian husky, and Dakota, an Aussie-Terrier mix that should have been named Psycho.

Follow Karen on her blog at: http://karenball.blogspot.com/ or on Twitter at: www.twitter.com/karenball1

Reading With... Stephanie Whitson!

2009-07-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

This is Stephanie Whitson

A native of southern Illinois, Stephanie Grace Whitson has lived in Nebraska since 1975. Since her first book, Walks the Fire, was published in 1995, Stephanie's fiction titles have appeared on the ECPA bestseller list numerous times and been finalists for the Christy Award, the Inspirational Reader's Choice Award, and ForeWord Magazine's Book of the Year. Her first nonfiction work, How to Help a Grieving Friend: A Candid Guide for Those Who Care, was released in 2005.

And... this is Stephanie Whitson.

She loves motorcycle trips and antique quilts, pioneer women's history and French, Italian, and Hawaiian culture. But most of all, she loves endless story-telling possibilities.

Stephanie's genre: Historical Fiction

Her secret indulgence read: Suspense

In her reading stack right now: The Ties of the Past, The Gettysburg Diaries of Salome Myers Stewart 1854-1922 by Sarah Sites Rodgers, The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthuir Conan Doyle, Words Unspoken by Elizabeth Musser, Breathing Grace by Harry Kraus, M.D., Plot and Structure by James Scott Bell (Hey, we just did a spotlight on him!), A Study in American Domesticity, Love is Eternal by Irving Stone, Mary Chestnut's Civil War (her diary edited by Woodward).

"Yes," she says, "the pile is that big. These are from my 'I'm reading these' table by the kitchen table."

Books that shaped her as a reader or writer: A Lantern in Her Hand by Bess Streeter Aldrich (although I didn't realize it at the time, Aldrich's work probably influenced me greatly as a writer.) As a writer. . . Stein on Writing by Sol Stein and On Writing by Stephen King.

A Claim of Her Own (Bethany House 2009)

It's 1876, and 20-year-old Mattie Flynn is determined to make a fresh start after fleeing from her sinister boss in the gambling house where she was employed as a singer. Mattie travels to Deadwood, South Dakota, in search of her younger brother, who went ahead of her in hopes of making a fortune in the gold mines.

All Mattie wants is a safe and respectable life for the two of them, but that doesn't seem to be her destiny as she faces more heartache and trials. Will the suspicious bottles of gold dust from her brother's claim be the key to her future...or does the handsome street preacher, who is always turning the other cheek, truly hold the answers to her deepest longings?

Read an excerpt here

***

Sometime around 2004 I ran into Steph at the spa. "How's your writing going?" she asked, toes in the pedicure tub. Despite the fact that I knew who she was, I was floored that she knew me (still languishing in trying to find a home for Demon as I was). I'm pretty sure I just groaned in response. A few weeks later, I got a note from Steph in the mail, accompanied by a page from a newsletter that Strang Publishing was starting Realms, a new fiction line. I promptly called my agent. "Let's send it there," I said. We had nothing to lose--we'd already been rejected by pretty much everyone else.

A few weeks later, Jeff Gerke, Realms' acquisition editor, called back. He loved Demon. He wanted to have it.

Course, then he got hired by NavPress, where he did eventually acquire it, along with Havah.

So I mark the start of my career in fiction with that fortuitious day at the spa with Steph.

And pedicures, of course.

Reading With... Kristin Billerbeck!

2009-06-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

Kristin Billerbeck is the author of The Trophy Wives Club series, Spa Girls series and Ashley Stockingale series, non-fiction and romance--some 20 novels alone, by my count, with awards thrown in. She is a fourth-generation Californian, a self-described American mutt who identifies most strongly with her Italian heritage. She has four children, eye-popping book covers, and a killer smile.

Kristin's genre: Chick Lit and Women's Fiction
What she likes to read: Biographies, non-fiction, and classics
Secret or not-so-secret indulgence read: trampy autobiographies--currently Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelseaby Chelsea Handle

On Kristin's nightstand right now: The Power of a Praying Wife, Crime & Punishment, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society Books that shaped her as a reader or writer: Tess of the D'urbervilles, The Thorn Birds, The Accidental Tourist

Keep up (or try to!) with Kristin on her blog.

Writers or aspiring writers, read Kristin's advice for you here.

Watch the trailer for She's Out of Control here and then click on the book cover to learn more.

***

The Big Scary has landed. My publicist, new publisher and I are announcing it right after the July 4th holiday--which gives me just enough time to finish this series on writers and reading. Once that's all done, I'll be blogging about the new project, writing and all the random extras--including topics I've received from you. (Thank you--please keep sending them to me.)

Coming next: Historical Fiction Author Steph Whitson, Women's Fiction Author Meredith Efken, Contemporary Romance Author Nicole Petrino-Salter, Editor and Suspense Author Karen Ball, Internet Markeing Guru Perry Marshall, the Ever-Thrilling Eric Wilson, and the Incomparable Robert Liparulo!

Reading With... Angela Hunt!

2009-06-26T07:56:00.000-07:00

Angela Hunt writes for readers who have learned to expect the unexpected in novels from this versatile author. With nearly four million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of more than 100 works ranging from picture books (Tale of Three Trees--click below) to novels (The Nativity Story)to non-fiction.

Her books have won the coveted Christy Award, several Angel Awards from Excellence in Media, and the Gold and Silver Medallions from Foreword Magazine’s Book of the Year Award. In 2007, her novel The Note was featured as a Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel. Romantic Times Book Club presented her with a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2006.

What she likes to read: The Help by Kathryn Stockett. (Angela says: Wonderful book!) Some of her other recent reads: The Story of Edgar Sawtelle,Prayers for Sale,A Town Called Alice, Handle with Care, The Last Child, Under the Tuscan Sun, The Unthinkable: Who Survives When Disaster Strikes - and Why. Also reading nonfiction: Liberty and Tyrannyby Mark Levin. Next read for her book club: Water for Elephants: A Novel.

Best manuscript read lately: The God Hater, by Bill Myers (coming soon!)

Favorite classics: The Picture of Dorian Gray, Black Beauty,The Call of the Wild,The Phantom of the Opera,The Scarlet Letter

Favorite reading toy: her Kindle 2 (click on the image at right).

Favorite reading friends: her neighborhood book club.

Favorite genre: all of 'em!

Secret indulgence read: The Twilight Series

Book that shaped her: Gone With the Wind,Jane Eyre,The Nun's Story

Little known fact about Angela: one of her mastiffs was featured on Live With Regis and Kelly as the second-largest canine in the world.

Current or aspiring writer? Read Angela's tips for writers here.

Reading With... Camy Tang!

2009-06-22T08:01:00.000-07:00

Camy Tang writes romance and romantic suspense with a kick of wasabi! Pow! Her Sushi series--Sushi for One?, Only Uni and Single Sashimi--has garnered five-star reviews, an ACFW Book of the Year award... and lots of chuckles from her readers (me included). Read the first chapter of Sushi for One here.

Her new romantic suspense, Deadly Intent, releases this July. Run, don't walk (or click on the cover to the right), to get it now!

Look for an upcoming feature with Camy here in July to celebrate Deadly Intent's release as we talk about... what else? Food!

Camy's genre: Contemporary romance and romantic suspense
What she likes to read: Historical romance
Secret indulgence: Harlequin Presents
On Camy's nightstand right now: 45 Master Characters by Victoria Lynn Schmidt
Books that shaped her as a reader or writer:
Persuasion by Jane Austen
Dragonsong by Anne McCaffrey
Regency Miss by Alix Melborne
Techniques of the Selling Writerby Dwight Swain

Into books? Camy does more book give-aways than you can shake a chopstick at. Go to: Camy's blog to sign up!

***

Order books signed by Camy and other favorite authors at: http://www.signedbytheauthor.com/

***

Want to follow authors I've included here on Twitter?

Camy Tang: www.twitter.com/camytang

James Scott Bell: www.twitter.com/jamesscottbell

Rick Acker: You can follow Rick on Facebook here

Next up... best-selling author Angela Hunt!

Reading With... Rick Acker!

2009-06-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

Rick Acker writes his novels while commuting to and from his "real job" as a Deputy Attorney General in the California Department of Justice. His most recent novel, Blood Brothers, is an intense sequel to the legal thriller Dead Man's Rule.

Rick's genre: Suspense.

What he likes to read: Usually either classics (he's currently working through a Kipling collection and a new translation of Gilgamesh) or future classics (i.e. stuff his friends write).

Secret indulgence: The stacks of old science fiction and fantasy paperbacks sitting in his garage.

On his reading pile right now: The Kipling collection, the California Code of Civil Procedure (Tosca: always good before sleeping...), back issues of Sports Illustrated and the Economist.

Books that shaped Rick: "The book that is having the biggest impact on my writing right now is Don Maass's Writing the Breakout Novel. Most of his advice is terrific, especially for suspense authors like me."

Read the first chapter of Blood Brothers here.

Read the first chapter of Dead Man's Rule here.

Reading With... James Scott Bell!

2009-06-16T19:18:00.000-07:00

Well, guess what. I took one look at some of the authors on your lists and thought it might be fun to poll some of them about reading habits.

First up, James Scott Bell. JSB is the author of Deceived, Try Dying, Presumed Guilty and others. His newest release, Try Fear, comes out next month. (Read a chapter by clicking on the book's cover under "News" here.)

JSB's genre: Suspense

What he likes to read: Thrillers and classic noir (40's and 50's)

Secret (or not-so-secret), guilty or (not-so-guilty) indulgence read: Horror

On Jim's desk right now: Roadside Crosses by Jeffery Deaver

Books that shaped JSB:
Hemingway's short stories
My Name is Aram, Wm. Saroyan
All of Raymond Chandler and...
The Hardy Boys!

***

One of my highly-recommended books for writers: JSB's Revision and Self-Editing. If you don't have this one, run and get it now. (You can read a copy of my review here.)

So... that's JSB on my left (I think he stole my cake right after this photo) but who's that guy on my right? Why, that's another author-attorney, Rick Acker! We'll peruse Rick's reading stack next.

Recant

2009-06-12T06:14:00.000-07:00

Meredith Efken goes through novels like a crisp piece of biscotti with her chai--savored in nearly one sitting. Eric Wilson reads, as far as I can tell, in his sleep. Michelle Sutton inhales books like air, in great swimmer's gulps a few at a time.

I have no excuse for being so slow except that I'm OCD and hate to miss details. It is the reason for the markings, for the thoughtful meandering of greasy fingers laced with salt and french fry oil. I leave books with verbatim memories like gems prised from the page--the opening line of The Red Tent, the moment Anne Rice's Louis realizes the Mediterranean Sea is black, rather than blue, Anne Lamott's gnostic use of the F-word in Plan B's Ham of Shem.

I savor and then save each one.

The books that have shaped me: Lord Valentine's Castle, The Iliad, Richard Adam's now out-of-print Maia, The Mists of Avalon, Animal Farm, Little House on the Prairie, Memoirs of Cleopatra, Memoirs of a Geisha, Pilgrim's Progress, High Tide in Tucson, Chronicles of Narnia.

Authors responsible for my momentary incontinence: Anne Lamott, David Sedaris, Stephen King (On Writing--must. Read. About. Eula Beula. Pow!)

Waiting on my desk: Lamb, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Eve, the Orthodox Heretic.

On my nightstand: When You Are Engulfed in Flames, Skinny Bitch, I Am Legend, Chasing Harry Winston, The Darkest Evening, The Host.

In my living room: Twilight, Christ the Lord Out of Egypt, Judaism in the Beginning of Christianity, The Letter and the Scroll.

In the kitchen: A Generous Orthodoxy.

In my purse: The Shack and Bringing Down the House (still).

In the bath: Twitter Power.

(Well when did you *think* people stole the time to Twitter??)

***

What's on your desk/nightstand/commode? What books have shaped you the most?

Reading With Bob Liparulo

2009-06-11T19:20:00.000-07:00

Robert Liparulo is the author of hit thrillers Comes a Horseman, Germ an">Deadfall as well as the young adult series, Dreamhouse Kings. He is working with director Andrew Davis (The Fugitive, The Guardian, Holes) on the novel and screenplay of a political thriller and a police sniper trilogy based on the short he contributed to James Patterson's Thriller anthology.

Bob is also a great friend. As many--including myself--can attest, there are few full-time writers as accessible and generous with their time, advice, and encouragement.

His genre: Action/adventure thrillers or high-tech thrillers, young adult action/adventure and fantasy.

What he likes to read: Dean Koontz (about half are straight-forward thrillers, like The Good Husband, and about half have strong supernatural elements, like The Face); David Morrell (he’s the creator of Rambo, but has a lot of assassin-type novels); Larry Bond (excellent Tom Clancy-like books, in fact he wrote Clancy’s first few books); Dennis Lahane; Lee Child (overall a good series of books featuring Jack Reacher, who “settles scores” for people who can’t do it themselves); Thomas Perry; Harlan Coben; James Byron Huggins (a Christian writer who went mainstream—he’s a friend and I love his work, especially The Reckoning); Ridley Pearson; Jeffrey Deaver; Brett Battles (an excellent up-and-coming thriller writer); Steve Berry (a friend and a very good writer—a New York Times bestseller in the vein of Dan Brown, but with less conspiracy); James Rollins (another friend, he writes action-adventures). Christian thriller writers I like: Eric Wilson, Tony Hines, Brandilyn Collins, James Scott Bell, Travis Thrasher... Tosca Lee! [Really, his response says that... far as you know. ;)]

Secret or not-so-secret, guilty or not so guilty indulgence read: Elmore Leonard horror stories!

On his nightstand right now Thomas Perry’s The Butcher’s Boy (again)

Books that shaped him as a reader or writer: Richard Matheson’s I am Legend, Stephen King’s The Stand, Dean Koontz’s The Face, Robert Stone’s Dog Soldiers, James Dickey’s Deliverance, Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses, Morrell’s First Blood.

For more on Robert, including why he writes: http://fictionaddict.com/2009/06/28/author-spotlight-robert-liparulo/

Follow him on Twitter: http://twitter.com/RobertLiparulo

Listen to a roundtable discussion as Robert and Travis Thrasher talk books with Jake Chism and Frank Redman of FictionAddict.com: http://fictionaddict.com/2009/09/01/podcast-9109-the-road-to-publication/

Reading Confessions

2009-06-11T10:13:00.000-07:00

People ask me a lot what I like to read.

I understand this question in the way that I'm curious what chefs like to eat, and because I'm aware that writers are supposed to read like whales on a plankton binge.

That is to say, copiously.

The truth is, my reading life is embarrassingly piss-poor compared to the erudite, prolific, and occasionally high-brow reading lives of friends, writers and non-writers included. As writer friends are discussing the hero's journey, I'm sneaking time with People Magazine. As non-writing friends are reviewing the latest "This American Life" with Sarah Vowel, I'm taking notes on Bringing Down the House, (moreover, those notes are not about writing, but blackjack.)

So here is the dirty on my secret reading life.

Dirty secret #1: I am the world's slowest reader.

I have been reading Bringing Down the House, The Shack, and Twilight since November.

Dirty secret #2: I often like to acquire books more than I like to read them. You know. Just in case I need to know about the social lives of courtesans, practical zombie survival skills, or the Druidic sacrifice of Lindow Man.

Dirty secret #3: I get a little Gollum-like (mine!) about returning borrowed books.

That is to say, I don't.

It's getting better; two years ago I returned some library books that were due in 1988.

Dirty secret #4: I am a book defiler. Any book read by me inevitably ends up underscored, dog-eared, written in, with crumbs in the binding, grease spots on the pages, and coffee cup rings on the covers.

Except for your copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Mer. Of course I'm keeping that one safe. As far as you know.

(to be continued)

Demon: The Trivia Continues

2009-06-09T06:08:00.000-07:00

The Bristol Room, Four Seasons Hotel--Boston

14. Clay’s small apartment building on Norfolk is based on one exactly like it on the same street.

15. The Gospel Room is a real church the size of a house across the street from Clay's apartment on Norfolk.

16. The tea shop in Cambridge is called Tea Luxe.

17. All of the Bible searches conducted in Demon are based on BibleGateway.com and yielded the same results that Clay found.

18. Professor Skarda was my Smith College Biblical Literature professor, though I based her appearance on my minor advisor's.

19. Clay’s office exists as described in Cambridge, across from Quantum Books, which just moved last year.

20. I am named for a Puccini opera. Both operas mentioned in Demon are Puccini operas.

21. The dim sum restaurant is the China Pearl, in downtown Boston's Chinatown. I get there almost once every visit to Beantown.

22. The Four Seasons Bristol room was indeed refurbished just before the re-writing of Demon.

23. The Grover book is a real book acquired by me in the same manner described by Clay--from a cousin living at the time in Grand Island, Nebraska.

24. Clay’s Cabo get-away took place at the Riu resort.

25. You really do have a choice to make.

***

Among my additions to the new website: photos of actual and inspried locations in Demon. Coming soon!

***

Any trivia I missed?

Demon: The Trivia

2009-06-08T06:30:00.000-07:00

1. The quote by Isak Dinesen is from Out of Africa, my favorite movie.

2. The liquor stores mentioned in the book were originally written as “package stores,” which is a New England term.

3. The Borders store in Chapter 2 was the location of my first Demon book signing.

4. Esad is based loosely on the story of Emsud, a local Bosnian tailor in my home city.

5. Sheila’s two boys, Justin and Caleb, are the two sons of a friend since first grade, Julie.

6. The star-shaped perfume bottle that used to sit on Aubrey’s bathroom counter is “Angel” by Thierry Mugler. (My girlfriend Cynthia, who won Mrs. America when we competed together in '96, recognized this right away as she used to be a spokesmodel for the company and gave out bottles of the perfume at the national pageant.)

7. Lucian’s “Carpe Brewem” sweatshirt in the coffee shop chapter came from the Lazlo’s brewery in Lincoln, Nebraska.

8. Lucian in the coffee shop (wearing the brewery sweatshirt) is my friend, Scott. (He will never let me live down the fact that I described him as having a "prominent nose.")

9. The Asian Lucian on the plane with the receding hairline and Gold-Toe socks is physically based on my Dad.

10. Lucian’s “Animals Taste Good” t-shirt in the Commons chapter is made by David and Goliath--the same company that made my favorite "Come to the dark side--we have cookies" t-shirt that I bought for myself as a prize the first day I wrote 10,000 words on Havah.

11. My sister and I have a cameo at the bar at the Four Seasons hotel. Did you see us? My sister recognized us right away!

12. Every piece of art mentioned in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts was on display at the time of the chapter’s writing in 2005. Tour the "Mummy Room."

13. The house is Haverhill is based on one owned by my college girlfriend, Heather.

Demon: The End

2009-06-07T06:30:00.001-07:00

I get hacked on about Demon's ending all the time. Some people hate it. Some people love it. Some people just want to strangle me.

(Some folk don't have to read the book to want to do that.)

Without spoilers (if you haven't read the book by now, what are you waiting for?? Go on--shoo--get yourself a copy), I usually avoid this question, but now I (think I) want to know: What did you think about the end--and what do you believe happened?

If you're irked, uh, maybe include one good reason for not strangling Tosca with your comment. ;)

***

If you haven't read or finished Demon yet, don't read the comments--skip on to the next post!

One

2009-06-06T06:30:00.001-07:00

So think this through with me now.

What if you made one mistake?

One.

What if one moment you were worshipping the Mighty God and Creator that brought you into existence…

…and the next you were damned for eternity?

You had never seen sin, you had no experience with death, you had never felt separation from your god. But you had turned your worship to the greatest being under God in an impulsive moment that seemed to make sense at the time. You only belatedly realized that something had changed. You just weren’t sure what.

What if you watched as that same god replaced you in his affections with a baser, uglier, mortal breed—a creature made of clay. And what if you watched in horror as he breathed into their mud bodies the essence of his own spirit—a gift you had never received?

And what if they took every God-given thing considered precious by you for granted as they failed again and again… and then turned away from God altogether?

Would you feel some satisfaction when God, unable to allow them to continue, decided to destroy their world and all of the clay people along with it? And would that satisfaction be lost when you learned he couldn’t bear to kill them all, but had decided to spare a family—a seed group of those mud people to repopulate the earth?

What if you watched as God patiently taught them laws so they could stay in relationship with him… and they continued to do the same things that had ruined their relationship with him in the first place—and over and over again?

Remember: you only did one thing.

And what would you think if that same God decided, in a radical move, to become one of them, to take on that mud flesh forever, and to let them kill him, and to die for them, so they could be reconciled with him and with him again… forever?

You were supposed to be with him forever.

You only did one thing.

How would you feel upon knowing that not every mud person jumped at the chance to have that great gift that you feel so much more deserving of—(only one thing!)—that the majority of the mud people decided they didn’t want or need?

Would you be jealous? Would you hate the mud people?

Would you want them to die?

Of course you would.

Mythbusters

2009-06-05T07:11:00.000-07:00

There were other reasons I wanted to write Demon's story. For one, I wanted to tell the story of the Bible from the viewpoint of a demon. Why? Because I've been fascinated for a long time by a verse in the Bible that essentially says, "You believe in God. Good job. So do demons."

Another reason was that I wanted to confront several myths about Lucifer, demons, and their ilk:

1) Satan is out to collect souls. He's in a race against God--he with the most souls wins.

("Winning souls" does not really benefit Satan anything except perhaps the temporary satisfaction of thwarting God's will. And Biblically-speaking, if it were truly a contest, Satan would win.)

2) Satan is in charge of punishing dead people in hell.

(Satan doesn't technically get thrown into the lake of fire until the Millennium--at which point I assume he'll be busy suffering.)

3) Satan is God's evil opposite/arch nemesis (I can't write "arch nemesis" without having a Buffy the Vampire Slayer snicker moment--it just never comes out with a straight face).

(No created being under God is God's equal.)

4) Satan is a fallen angel.

(Based on Ezekiel, Satan is a cherub--an annointed one, no less.)

5) All sins come from the devil.

(You'd be surprised what we can cook up on our own.)

6) Satan can't go stand in heaven in the presence of God.

(He has access to the presence of God--see Job.)

7) Satan is ugly, hideous, red and has horns.

(Satan was once considered the most perfect being under God. Scripture says he masquerades as an angel of light--drop dead gorgeous, as my friend Greg Stier likes to say.)

If you don't necessarily believe in God or angels, this is of passing interest. If you do believe in it, this affects your fundamental thoughts about much day-to-day living. I've always been amazed by the way that pop culture, conventional wisdom, (lacking one thing, as Lucian says: wisdom) and traditional convention have shaped our perception of things scriptural.

But that is a separate blog post.

Note: I didn't just conveniently decide to debunk these myths at the time Demon's storyline occured to me. That happened after I shared my new project with the current Mrs. Nebraska, Peggy Malzacher. Peggy gave me a booklet by LaVern Schafer about Satan (the things beauty queens talk about these days!) that was hugely instrumental in my research. Thank you, Peggy!

For more on my research, see my Author's notes at the back of Demon: A Memoir. What? Don't have a copy? Run! Don't walk!

The Eternal Drive

2009-06-04T06:30:00.000-07:00

From my FAQs: How did you come up with the idea for Demon?

The answer is that one day as I was driving the stretch of Nebraska road that led to my acreage, I found myself wondering what it would be like to be angelic and fallen. Would I go around tempting people to lust, covet, envy... to smoke, lie or (God forbid) eat carbs? Would I do it because I was Evil, or just for kicks?
It seemed fine for campy, comic book demons, but too shallow for any complex, spiritual creature.

Then I realized that being angelic and fallen must be similar to being human and fallen-—except for one major difference: the provision of a Messiah. (The Bible suggests that angels long to look into the idea of grace, but that there is no provision for them.)

So I immediately wondered what it must feel like to be unquestionably damned-—and worse, to watch humans luxuriate in and take for granted the grace made available to them from a doting God. And I thought: why wouldn't an angelic creation resent a human recipient of grace? And why wouldn’t a demon want to prove that creature unworthy again and again as a result? Now I knew what it must feel like to be an angelic outsider looking in with jealous eyes and razored heart.

I re-read the story of God’s love affair with humans through this new lens and the story that was to become Demon: A Memoir was born.

The Gender of Hope

2009-06-03T06:39:00.000-07:00

The thinking behind choosing a male main character was that female readers will more readily identify with a male character than a male reader will with a female one. (What do you think--do you agree?)

I wanted the story to appeal to both genders, to the largest readership possible. Because I wrote it for men and women, churched and unchurched, the believer and the atheist, the horror reader, the thriller reader, and the philosopher.

So Clay was created--again, so to speak.

Because I was on a tight schedule, he inherited many of my frustrations and challenges: his divorce, his frustrated writing... his obsession.

When Demon came out, it seemed to resonate with both genders. It was listed in a list of best Christian fiction for men (to this date, that list and Romantic Times, where Havah received a 4.5 star review, are the two places I never thought to see my writing).

Almost a year later, as I read Havah's gallies, I worried about my male readers; Havah was so decidedly female. She was, in many aspects, also me.

But, as I said, a part of me was also Clay. And Lucian. And Kayin.

At any rate, I was stunned when I began to receive mail from Havah's male fans.

I just didn't see that one coming. Some of them even preferred Havah to Demon. Blew a minuatire hole in my brain, but there it is.

So what do I know? In the end, I can only write about the human condition--our fears and failings, our hopes and chances for something greater. There is no gender bias to hope.

The Everyman

2009-06-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

So I rewrote the first 30 pages with the new, tense beginning and NavPress responded with a three-book offer.

I spent the next several months rewriting the rest of the book--essentially fleshing out the new, parallel story of Clay, the recently-divorced small-press editor fortunate (or unfortunate)enough to have been targeted by Lucian to hear his story.

I had less than a year to do it between consulting jobs and trips, divorce proceedings of my own, house hunting, house-selling, and anxiety attacks. So I recruited the extra eye of Dan Mueller, my Taos summer conference fiction teacher and author of How Animals Mate to critique as I went. Dan pushed me to pick a gender for my new protagonist--I had so far managed to tell the story from my main character's point of view without naming a gender or a name for him, my argument being that my main character needed to be an Everyman or Everywoman the reader could identify with since Demon is ultimately the story of the reader.

But here's the thing: readers identify even more with specifity.

So I chose a male character. I named him Clay.

(to be continued)

***

During the rewriting process, I proposed several new titles for the story--L., The Demon Memoirs, and the more mild The Appointment. L. was deemed too similiar to The L-Word (one of my favorite TV series, actually), The Demon Memoirs too scary for the market. The committee landed on The Appointment. But midway through the editorial process, they returned with Demon: A Memoir. And though the title has scared off plenty of cautious readers (and perhaps for this reason), I admit to loving it.

Are you following me on Twitter? C'mon. It's fun.

The Original Demon

2009-06-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

I had a question about the target audience of Demon vs. Havah. I have to tell you, that has been one strange discovery.

The first Demon was originally only 45,000 words long, written as a monologue, and titled They Called Me Angel. That first manuscript was even more polarizing than the book--people either really loved it or really hated it. Well, publishers didn't love it... until Jeff Gerke (www.marcherlordpress.com) came along.

Jeff loved Angel (that is just too weird now, calling it by that title), but the committee sided with every other editor who had seen it to date; they wanted traditional narrative, dialogue... and other characters.

I had no clue how to do that. (If I had, I would have redone that sucker in a cocaine heartbeat--remember: it took me five years to sell the manuscript and by the time we did, I didn't think there was anyone left to show it to; Nav had already passed on it once before they began their fiction program.)

Jeff suggested I consult other books based on a conversation (Tuesdays With Moire, Dinner With a Perfect Stranger) and rewrite the first 30 pages.

I was't keen on what took shape; though I now had a second (nameless, genderless) character to take part in Lucian's conversation, the new format added no tension to the narrative.

Somewhere in my giant file of notes I had scrawled an experimental new beginning to the story about a man has just had the freakiest encounter of his life. He pulls a wadded up restaurant receipt from his pocket--proof that the unnatural exchange actually took place.

My friend, Scott, read it and said, "There's your beginning. That's what you need to do."

Scott is a more prolific reader than me, so I sided with his judgement.

After shopping it around for a few more opinions, of course.

I'm a woman. It's what I do.

(You should see me when I need an opinion on shoes.)

(To be continued)

Barney and Me

2009-05-31T12:36:00.000-07:00

Why is it that when people unfamiliar with my work find out I write books their first question is:

a) “What do you write—children’s books?” OR

b) “What do you write—romance?”

I’m a divorced woman without kids wearing a “Love hurts” t-shirt with a skull on it for crying out loud.

***

Havah just won ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Bronze in religious fiction at Book Expo America.

Barney says: Cool beans!

***

Carol, get a hold of me, please at tosca[at]toscalee[dot]com!

Siren

2009-05-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I met with the web gurus. I took with me the full list of your ideas, suggestions and requests (thank you!). We talked about what it would take and--after initial sticker shock, resulting coronary and the handy zap of a conveniently-located defibrillator--decided it was going to be uber cool. I'll keep you posted.

So now that I'm home, no longer ill, and staring the Big Scary up the left nostril, the siren song of procrastination is shrill as ever. Nothing seems quite as important as seeing who advances to the choreography round on So You Think You Can Dance, pruning my Japanese maple, clipping my cuticles, or shopping for clearance underwear online.

Isn't that just the way it goes?

***

Have you read one of my books? Please consider posting a review at Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, or the online bookstore of your choice!

Office Space

2009-05-26T17:35:00.000-07:00

Author Donita Paul features a page of writer's spaces on her site (http://www.donitakpaul.com/gallery/offices/index.html). Among my favorites: Karen Kingsbury and Rick Acker's. You can tour mine there as well.

At one time I meant to have stenciled "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here" above my office door. They are the words in Dante's Inferno carved above the gate to hell. It might be a bit morbid--made complete by the ever-favorite shot of a piano about to crush me Wiley E. Coyote style (a too-apt depiction of fear in my life). But considering my time shut up with commentaries on Satan as I rewrote Demon, and all the tough things that seem to accompany the writing process in general, it seems about right.

Don't get me wrong; I love this room. On my desk sits a cold cup of coffee, trip itineraries and an assortment of pens in a celedon vase, Velvet Elvis, Meredith's well-loved copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Lamb... Eat, Pray Love. Propped against my lamp: The Jewish Study Bible, The Book of God, Handbook to the Bible and an Illustrated Encyclopedia of Bible Facts. Leaning against the other side: two books on monsters, another on conapiracies and secret societies, and The Blood of Flowers.

On the wall to my left: a Raina Gentry print (above) titled It's All in Her Mind. I fell madly in love with it while browsing an art gallery in Jerome, Arizona.

Poking out of my bouquet of pens and highlighters are two scraps of paper--the focal point of the room: one printed with Isaiah 30:21, the other a snippet of an e-mail from friend Randy Ingermanson: "If you do anything significant on this planet, you'll get criticized for it. Heavily. You'll also get thanked by many people."

One Ocean: The Sit-In

2009-05-23T22:55:00.000-07:00

I hate to leave One Ocean in Jacksonville. I'm thinking of chaining myself to the dresser. Seriously, this place has a docent service--people in suits with name tags who bring you coffee after your wake-up call, which is done by a real, live person. The Coffee comes equipped with cute little flaky cookies. The snacks in the mini-bar are a complimentary assortment of chocolate and cookies and dried mango and pineapple.

And I'm supposed to just up and leave this in the morning??

Now that I've returned to a measure of my former vigor, expect the full account, coming soon to my too-long-silent travelogue, http://hundredthousandmiles.blogspot.com/ --where travel is sometimes spiritual but always gastronomical.

In the meantime, be sure to browse the archives; from Thailand to Austria, Singapore to Transylvania--there's a madcap adventure waiting for you.

On Sickness

2009-05-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

Cannot. Get. Better.

Tomorrow I'm getting on a plane to Jacksonville for book signings. Am trying to figure out how to enact a miraculous healing between now and then. Have already cancelled dinner with a colleague (twice), appointment with the new web team, and physical therapy. Have committed Twitter faux pas, hacked and coughed through a call with my publicist and drained two bottles of cough syrup.

I had such goals this week--for research and web projects, for book ideas and redoing the garden, creating jobs, facilitating peace and solving world hunger.

Instead, I have watched the season finale of House, Fringe, Dollhouse and the Tudors. I've watched three episodes of Life Without People, Warriors, and have re-watched the last three weeks of American Idol. Last night I resorted to live TV--Dancing With the Stars, no less.

I know. I've totally hit bottom.

***

Have you read my books? Please post your review on Amazon.com or the online bookstore of your choice--your thoughts are important to me.

***

Nikki, you won Create Your Writer's Life! Carol, you won A New Kind of Christian! Make sure I get your info.--drop a note to: tosca[at]toscalee[dot]com, please!

My Favorite Things: Food

2009-05-16T22:48:00.000-07:00

Let's talk about food.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I Tweet nearly as much about food as I do about writing.

Perhaps more.

Yeah, probably more.

I wish I did not love food so much. As it is, I love the feeling of sitting down to a meal as though to Thanksgiving dinner. I love the pleasure of eating the way I love lolling in sun-warmed sheets that smell like skin. The way I love a great foot rub, hot water in a bath, fires in the winter.

If I had to pick a last meal, I'd be hard pressed; I could feasibly eat a last meal every day from now until I'm 80.

Among my favorites:

Movie buttered popcorn with evil fake buttery topping
Red Lobster cheese biscuits
Any biscuit, actually
Mashed potatoes
Ham gravy
Caviar--especially with all the accouterments
Hot dogs with mustard
Greasy cheeseburgers
Miso soup
Roasted garlic soup
Feta marinated in olive oil and herbs
Crisp tater tots
Guacamole
Perfectly grilled cheese
Tomato dill soup
Phad See-iew
Enchiladas
Chicken salad served in half an avocado
Morels
Truffles
Korean seaweed and rice
Homemade croutons
Smoked salmon eggs benedict
Mulligatawny soup
Pistachio gelato
Fresh oysters
Warm donuts
Ribeyes
Pumpkin tempura
Warm chocolate cake with fudge frosting
Fried chicken and cold slaw
Anything with alfredo sauce on it
Crispy salads with blue cheese
Warm, crusty bread (and cold, salty butter)

When I'm queasy, I head for McDonald's. There is something seriously medicinal about McDonald's fries and orange Hi-C. Or, if it's early, there's nothing in the WORLD--anywhere in the world--like McDonald's hashbrowns.

Can I get an "Amen?"

Ifs, Ands or Butts

2009-05-15T19:50:00.001-07:00

Right. So, no sooner had I tweeted the link to Revenge of the Green Worm (see previous blog)--complete with provocative, participation-invoking question (eruditely mysterious, or painfully human?)... but I got a response from dear friend, Dineen.

Dineen (in Direct Message):
**
I think you just described yourself.

Me (responding to Dineen's Direct Message via TweetDeck's handy Direct Message button):
**
LOL With the painfully human part, right? I am so coughing and snot-filled today I am grossing myself out.

Me (adding further to what I believe is still a Direct Message but really is not because I forgot to re-use TweetDeck's handy Direct Message button this time):
**
And... I was evaluating this as I get closer to turning 40 this year: I swear my butt used to be higher. WHAT'S UP WITH THAT?????

And viola. I have just broadcast a) my age and b) the fact that my butt is migrating south... to my entire Twitter followship.

I am now going away for a little bit.

Revenge of the Green Worm

2009-05-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

My doctor must cringe when he sees me on his agenda. There I am, hacking up a lung, wanting to talk about allergies, OCDisms, and my impinged shoulder (not being able to do pilates is making me grouchy). I walked in with a list of grievances, you see--along with the cold I got from my niece.

So here I am on Friday night, sick. This is where I normally call Susan, my adopted formerly-of-the-Bronx Jewish mom (who has naturally retired to Florida):

Susan: Doll. Come visit. I'll make you matzo ball soup.
Me: From scratch?
Susan: You are sick, aren't you?

Everyone should have a Jewish mom to foist food and love--in the form of guilt--on her.

Susan: I called you last week.
Me: I was dying and couldn't get to the phone.
Susan: I haven't eaten for a week. I didn't want my mouth to be full just in case you called back.

***

So I'm at home, sick, Jewish mom-less, cookie-less and soup-less, pondering the greater mysteries of the netherverse.

I have a question for you: in a comment earlier this week, Chas mentioned that real life accounts of (madness on the fringe of) the writing life might challenge the fascination of fiction. What do you think? Should a writer be hermit-ly distant, or humanly out-loud? With the advent of so much social interaction, does familiarity ruin mystique, or even breed contempt?

I'm tempted to agree with Chas--truth is, in many ways, stranger than fiction.

I follow Anne Rice, Neil Gaiman, Robert Liparulo, among others, on Twitter. I keep waiting for Anne to say something about her local undead. Turns out she watches a lot of old movies. Neil travels a lot--eats a lot of dinners, likes to return home. Bob works with a lot of school kids. He's like, a normal Dad or something.

Bizarre.

***

I have taken notes on your ideas and requests for the revamped websites--great stuff. Please, keep them coming--it's gonna be cool. And... news on the Big Scary is on the horizon.

Going Dutch

2009-05-11T21:08:00.000-07:00

Demon and Havah are going to the Netherlands! Dutch translations are in the works, following the Indonesian translation of Demon. This week I received mail from readers in Wales, Amsterdam and Australia. And so far, Aussie book clubs ask the toughest questions. A sampling of questions from Rel's group in Australia as they met to discuss Havah:

Why didn't you use the name Abel as the traditional name of Havah's second eldest son?
TL: I wanted to use the traditional Hebrew, nontransliterated names for Eve, Cain, and Abel, and Seth, etc. It seemed somehow more organic to keep them in the Hebrew and not use the English versions--also to help get away from the standard images that arise when we hear “Adam and Eve” or “Cain and Abel.”

How did you come by your description of the serpent?
TL: I knew the serpent had to be something special, and that it had to have legs or wings or both before the fall. So I was thinking something bird-like, but birds are also rather reptilian, too. I liked the idea of it shimmering because I wanted it to be bright, as Lucifer is said to be in the references to him as a star or masquerading as an angel of light. Because I characterized Lucifer as drop-dead gorgeous in Demon, it made sense to me that he would want to inhabit or be personified by something beautiful. (More notes on Lucifer in the back of Demon if you’re interested.)

It was interesting that you described a storm as Adam & Eve left the garden - I had heard that the rains that bought the flood in Noah's day were the first God sent. Is that incorrect?
TL: The vapor canopy theory has lost some popularity with scientists of late. The Bible only tells us that before there was man, there was mist because there was no one to work the garden. So the question of rain was up in the air for me. After consulting physicist friends on some of the complications surrounding the theory (namely having to do with air pressure and temperature), I leaned in favor of having rain and storms.

Was it difficult to come up with so many names for the children of the adam and Havah?
TL: Yes. But at times I knew sort of the sound I wanted. And I did find it interesting looking for more obscure names in my Hebrew baby book that had meaning to the character in the story. Hint: all of the character’s name have significance. ;)

Were there times when melding fictitious detail with biblical fact was difficult? How did you work through those challenges to come to a solution you were at peace with?
TL: Yes, many. Trying to come up with the mark of Cain, for instance, was difficult. In the end, I just try to look at all the scripture and the few facts available, and try to explain it to myself in a way that makes sense. A lot of what I do in my writing is to try to make sense of things for myself.

See the full interview: Book Club interview with Tosca Lee on Havah: The Story of Eve

***

Nikki, you won Create Your Writer's Life! Carol, you won A New Kind of Christian! Make sure I get your info.--drop a note to: tosca[at]toscalee[dot]com.

Please continue to send your web revamp requests and ideas. When you say pictures, do you mean from my trips--i.e. India, Transylvania, Maine...?

Coming up soon: I tackle your blog requests.

Disappearance of the Green Worm

2009-05-11T20:22:00.000-07:00

According to sources, writers write every day.

By that standard, I am not a writer.

So I'm more than a week behind here and need to draw for two books. I really apologize for the delay--I got slightly derailed last week. I will promptly do the drawing tomorrow, promise.

Today I hung out with my not-yet-two-years-old niece, Kaya. We went shopping, ate ice cream, played in the sandbox, and pooped in the bathtub. We napped, ate Korean dumplings, and stuck stickers on the bulldog. The little sponge bugs that pop out of dissolving capsules in warm water were a big hit--until the dog came along and ate a green sponge worm. We played play-doh, Attack of the Stuffed Penguin and ran around the sofa... 28 times.

In Kaya's purse she keeps a few precious items: a ladybug compass. A rubber duck. Some keys. A phone. A pedometer (why she needs one, I have no idea, but the "pedommitter" is somehow important to this prodigy child of two Brown University graduates), and a picture of Aunt Tata.

So 28 times around the sofa it is.

After squeezing in a few hours of work, Aunt Tata is going to bed. She will do the book drawing tomorrow, between play-doh and Return to the Sandbox.

We are going to try to avoid a bathtub redux.

***

I'm excited to announce I'm revamping my sites. What would you like to see or see more of? Better interaction, missing book chapters, shorts, articles, play-doh creations...?

On Lethargy

2009-04-27T12:23:00.000-07:00

I feel extremely dull today. Yesterday it was all I could do to stay awake. Maybe it's the stormy weather. Maybe it's allergies. Maybe it's the fact that I'm staring research in the face and starting to eat this Big Scary elephant a sporkful at a time. But I feel about as razor sharp as... something not very sharp.

This doesn't bode well, does it.

So help a girl out, here.

I have a copy of Create Your Writer's Life by Cynthia Morris and A New Kind of Christian by Brian McLaren, both to give away. All you have to do is leave a comment any time between now and Friday about which book you'd like--along with a blog topic you'd like to hear from me on in the near future.

***

Thank you, everyone who purchased Sara Mills' books. Sara was very moved by your support and your books from me are going into the mail this week!

***

I do have exciting announcements coming in the near future: web page revamps, cool new stuff, reader mail, free articles and more. But first... need solar energy.

Are you following me on Twitter yet? www.twitter.com/toscalee.

Sara Mills

2009-04-23T10:57:00.000-07:00

I'm starting a new book give-away, but before I do that, I wanted to announce a more important opportunity. Friend and fellow author Sara Mills recently lost her husband--he was only 40. Today and tomorrow, purchase both of Sara's books (or two copies of either), drop me a note letting me know you purchased them, and I will send you a signed copy of Havah.

Miss Fortune, Allie Fortune Mystery Series #1

By Sara Mills / Moody Publishers
In 1947 Allie Fortune is the only female private investigator in New York City, but she's kept awake at night by a mystery of her own: her fiance disappeared in the war and no one knows if he's still alive. Until Allie finds out, she will have no peace. When there's a knock on her office door at four in the morning, Allie suspects trouble as usual, and Mary Gordon is no exception. Mary claims someone is following her, that her apartment has been ransacked, and that she's been shot at, but she has no idea why any of this is happening. Allie takes the case, and in the process discovers an international mystery that puts her own life in danger.

Meanwhile, the FBI is working the case as well, and she is partnered up with an attractive, single agent who would be perfect for her under other circumstances-if only she knew whether her fiance was still alive.

Miss Match, Allie Fortune Mystery Series #2

By Sara Mills / Moody Publishers
FBI agent Jack O'Connor receives a letter from Maggie, a woman he used to love, saying she's in trouble in Berlin. The FBI refuses to get involved, so Jack asks Allie Fortune to help him investigate. Allie and Jack pose as a missionary couple who want to bring orphans back to the United States.

A child finds important documents that everyone in the city - Soviets and allies alike - want for themselves. Maggie refuses to tell Jack what the documents are, saying if things go wrong, they are better off not knowing. Through the course of the search, Allie's past is brought back to her, half a world away from home.

Three Minutes in Hell

2009-04-20T10:54:00.000-07:00

Just back from pilates. My post-workout slogan: Survived another one!

People observing my hot dog and Cheeto debauchery ask me how I stay in shape. The truth is it's half lucky genetics (though I wonder if there's some statute of limitations on those because they seem to be running out) and half that I have two pilates instructors who routinely kick my ass for 60 minutes at a time.

Peggy: "We're just going to plank now for a little while."

Me: "Define 'a while.'"

Peggy: "Oh, maybe a couple of minutes."

Me: --Stare--

Let me be clear: I'm pretty sure planking is what they make people do in hell. Sagging between my elbows and toes, I can actually picture damned souls planking over fiery pits, writhing in Gehenna.

The kicker in all of this is that Peggy is my mother's age.

Yeah. I know.

***

The Miss USA pageant aired last night. I understand there's some blog outrage at Miss California for stating her conviction that marriage takes place between a man and a woman. Regardless of anyone's personal beliefs on the topic (and my opinion on the inanity of asking these kinds of questions in a beauty pageant), it takes real chutzpah to stand by one's opinion on such a polarizing topic--on national TV, no less.

***

I occasionally get asked questions about pageantry and modeling--you know, the hemorrhoid-cream-under-the-eyes and all that. I understand people are interested in knowing these tricks--if only in a morbid, what's-really-in-the-sausage kind of way. I've always joked that if I really wrote what I knew, I'd be selling books on pageant tricks you can do with duct tape and the best way to sleep on planes. Some day if there's enough interest, I'll post some tidbits here.

***

Coming soon: news on the Big Scary and another book give-away!

The Assassin Wore Black

2009-04-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

So my friend John Olson, author of Shade and the soon-to-release Powers, designed a role-playing game for members of the teen track at Mt. Hermon Writer's Conference last week.

"Can I recruit you to play a part?" he wrote ahead of time.

Now, anyone who knows me and my seedy gaming past knows that I would eagerly take on the chance to escape reality any day of the week over chocolate and sometimes, even, bacon.

"You are a highly-paid assassin," he instructed. "You never fail. Bring a disguise with you."

Right.

The only problem was I was coming direct from Molokai, Hawaii. The only thing I could convincingly disguise myself as was a tourist with an bad fake tan.

"Quick," I wrote to my girlfriend Meredith, "can you scrounge up a prayer cap for me?"

"Prayer cap?" she blink-blinked in e-mail.

That's right.

I had decided to become The Amish Assassin.

You gotta admit, it's a great disguise.

In the end, we couldn't even find one to purloin (just as well--there's a special level of hell reserved for prayer cap-stealers, isn't there?). By the time Meredith offered to make one out of a napkin, I was in the throes of trying to kill off the Infamous Mr. X for the sum of a cool half million disguised as nothing but an orange-skinned writer.

Chas Funderberg, drop me your info. at tosca (at) tosca lee (dot) com--you won Self Editing for Fiction Writers!

Be-LAX

2009-04-02T22:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon I spent an hour standing on the beach, watching whales breach along the horizon.

Tonight I'm stuck in LAX.

Isn't that just the luck?

***

This is a short one since I'm leaving for San Jose, in theory, some time before breakfast tomorrow.

I wrote the majority of the Big Scary's proposal this last week (minus the sample chapters and synopsis, which require the start of what will undoubtedly be a year of intense research.) It's in my agent's hands as of this morning.

This is me, seizing like a whacked-out gekko.

Next up, don't forget to leave a comment on your biggest writing struggle or tic--I'm giving away Self-Editing for Fiction Writers on April 5!

Lastly, for anyone who still does not own a copy of Havah... Shame on you!

Just kidding.

No, seriously. A pox on you.

Kidding again. Sort of.

Run, don't walk, to Dineen Miller's blog at http://dineenmiller.blogspot.com/2009/04/havah-story-of-eve-by-tosca-lee.html to read her review and sign up to win a copy of your own.

Thank you, Dineen!

More soon, from Mt. Hermon writer's conference, including Why Tosca is Searching for a Prayer Cap. Stay tuned...

Shimmy and Twitch

2009-03-28T18:55:00.001-07:00

It's windy on Molokai. I'm kicked back on the sofa, watching the living room curtains billow out from the open sliding glass door. Travelers palms shimmy beyond the lanai on which I sprawled only a few hours ago, naughtily soaking up midday sun against dermatologist orders.

The inbox is cleaned out. The perpetual pile of orphaned notes and torn-out magazine pages that normally accompanies me anywhere on the globe has been reduced to a mere fluttering of dog-eared sheafs. In three days I'll travel from Hawaii to San Jose to attend this year's Mt. Hermon--the very writer's conference I spent the majority of sitting on a pillow in a cheese grater of a metal chair working on Havah edits.

"I'm going to get you something, even if it's short, in time for Mt. Hermon next week," I told my agent.

"You're teasing me, right?" he said.

But here I am, midway through the skeleton of a proposal started over a glass of syrah last night, bringing the Scary.

***

I just recently learned that Havah is a ChristianFictionReview.com top pick of 2008 (and that Demon was on the same list for 2007, which I did not know), and has finaled for the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year awards. Well, shoot, that makes me feel good. And like giving stuff away!

This week I'm offering up Self-Editing for Fiction Writers. Leave me a note here with your toughest writing challenge--or, if you can identify it, your biggest writing tic. You know--the one thing you do waaaay too much, often as a twitch, just as unconsciously. For me, it's the overuse of hyphens. Or the word "seemed." (Now don't go back through my books looking for them!) What's yours?

***

Check out my newest reader's guides posted on www.demonamemoir.com and www.havahstoryofeve.com. Want to contribute a set of discussion questions? Write to me! Read one of my books? Consider posting a review at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, or the bookstore site of your choice. Post a new review of either book to three or more sites, and I'll send you a surprise--just let me know you did it, and where.

***

Stay close--I'll draw a winner April 5th and will give more books away in weeks to come!

Miss Daisy Anne, sending me your address please--you've won Eats, Shoots and Leaves from my shelf!

The Short(ening) List

2009-03-10T23:39:00.001-07:00

I've had a lot on my mind.

Since my last post, I've returned from NYC and Atlanta, New Jersey and Detroit (twice). Can I just say that it's been nice to concentrate on just one job at a time... except that I'm getting that itchy writing finger.

So naturally I'm procrastinating.

The problem is I'm almost out of stuff.

The kitchen cabinets are spotless. My closet is stripped. My office is sorted. My taxes are done. My basement storage bins are organized and dusted. My taxes are turned in.

I'm starting to get caught up on those four months' worth of e-mails, which should occupy a good chunk of time, but one of these days I'm going to be out of stuff to do.

The Big Scary Cometh.

***

Happenings from the last few weeks:

I went to an Academy Awards party at Robert and Jodi Liparulo's house a few weeks ago and got thoroughly admonished to get the Scary to my agent.

I attended a book club meeting in Colorado Springs of some 14 or so readers of Demon. It was such a pleasure to meet each of you.

I met fans (how surreal to say that--"fans") in Atlanta the day after the February 28 snow storm and spent the evening with two more book clubs discussing Havah.

Eric Wilson is headed to the Holy Lands, and has solemnly promised to take notes for me for the sake of the Upcoming Project.

Meredith Efken and I ate a wonderful celebratory dinner tonight in honor of the completion of her upcoming Lucky Baby, a novel about a couple who adopts a child from China--an evocative and beautifully-written book.

***

I'm still sorting out thoughts from my get-away to Dunton Hot Springs, but I can report that I am less riddled by anxiety to the point of being functional. And that I am having a lot of really weird vivid dreams--including a recurring dream of rushing in late to a pageant competition, only half made-up in my Spanx and missing one shoe. What that's all about I have no idea, though I suspect it has more to do with eating blue chips late at night than any deep missive from my psyche.

***

In cleaning out my shelves I have found a few treatures--the first of which is Eats, Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation. Want it? Leave me a note on your favorite form of procrastination. I'll pick a winner on the 18th and announce another give-away then.

***

Among other distractions, I'm a Danny Goke fan.

Poo-Poo Head

2009-02-10T11:37:00.000-08:00

West Palm to Houston to Omaha
Note to self: do not fly with head cold.

I'm returning from visiting my Jewish mom--five pounds heavier than when I first arrived, foggy-headed on Robitussin, still half zoned from last night's Nyquil, my cold in full worse-before-it-gets-better glory, half deaf in one ear.

Despite the candy, cookies and death threats should I not rest and take care of myself pushed on me the last four days, I feel like caca. Merde. Crapola.*

I had the best intentions. I went down with a stack of Writer's Digest magazines, calls to make, e-mail to answer, trips to book, GPS updates to install, and proposals to outline.

I've got the bug--the sickness, rather. That antsy, nagging sense that I have way too much free time on my hands if I'm only a year behind in updating my Garmin maps and I managed to run my last batch of errands sans the help of my errand guy (more a product of recession than true desire to do them myself, but there it is). My to-do list has shrunk to an alarming two pages, I'm not traveling five days a week for work, and the anxiety attacks are mostly under control.

I hardly know what to do with myself.

Well, yes I do.

Except for the detail of my head feeling like a pile of poop, that I have to fly to Detroit tomorrow for work and the one thing propelling me inexorably homeward is the promise of American Idol tonight.

I've been on the verge of writing for weeks--before the onset of sudden anxiety and other such crises. I'm so sick of it.

Some time this weekend I'm tossing back the cough syrup and throwing down the gauntlet.

* Christian authors aren't supposed to say "shit," or so I hear.

Sometimes Truth

2009-02-05T15:24:00.000-08:00

I blogged today. Really. Just not here.

Check out my guest spot at author Lyn Cote's blog: I've written there the story of my great, great, great grandmother on my mother's side (the side that is mostly Scottish--what, you couldn't tell I was almost half Scottish??). This is the fascinating account* of Azuba Moncrief, one of Nebraska's first women homesteaders--the woman I portrayed with my state costume at the Mrs. Nebraska pageant in 1996. Forget the glitter--I did it in an ankle-length prairie dress and work boots, carrying a shovel.

Sure beat wearing a bathing suit.

* Wild West Magazine published my longer version of this account in 2003 based on the research of my mother** in her book, Moncrief: From the Scottish Highlands to the Nebraska Prairie.

** Yes, my entire family writes. Dad writes academic books and articles. Amy writes poetry and stories. Mom writes geneaology and history. I write fiction. And some true stuff.

*** The astericks are the influence of evil genius Dan Eness. Check out his amazing blog, Strange Wind, here: http://strangewindx.blogspot.com.

Editor For Sale

2009-02-04T10:26:00.000-08:00

I'm back from Detroit, sitting in my hairdresser's chair with a head full of tin foil and purple hair color. But I have to get this up ASAP because it's such a good deal.

Jeff Gerke, the acquiring editor of both Demon and Havah, is up for auction. If you need affordable editing help with a manuscript or work-in-the-works, check out his auction TODAY.

Jeff and his wife are in the process of adopting a baby girl from China and the auction is going toward this very good cause. But it ends tomorrow, so hurry!

If you are not in the market for editing help today but will be in the future, I refer everyone to friend Meredith Efken; her Fiction Fix-It Shop has a stellar list of clients, as well as a stellar list of writers and editors who work with her. She's got a range of affordable packages for people who want help shaping their stories.

More soon--

Meet Me Tonight!

2009-02-01T14:42:00.000-08:00

I'm back from Colorado, and from Detroit... and am back in Detroit again. I'm still behind, still procrastinating on the Big Scary, wondering if it's bad that I forgot my medication, and avoiding the SuperBowl.

What's a girl to do? Why, give some stuff away!

Come join me at WritersChatRoom.com at 7Est tonight, where I'll be guesting and giving away a copy of Havah and one of my cool Havah travel mugs. C'mon. It'll be fun.

Want a chance to win some more? Check out friend Michelle Sutton's blog, where she gives away books every week:
http://edgyinspirationalauthor.blogspot.com/

Stay tuned--I'm still returning to life. More to come.

Hide Away

2009-01-26T10:42:00.000-08:00

I've been ensconced at a small ghost town resort in Colorado for the last four days--eating, sleeping, reading. A pretty rigorous schedule all told. Yesterday I had a massage; it was an ambitious day. I just extended my stay until tomorrow in order to fit everything in.

Has God shown up? I can't say I've had any thunder strike epiphanies (except for a couple hundred pounds of snow sliding off my cabin roof in a booming shudder at 3:45 a.m.), but little nudges and thoughts have drifted into my lap like the snow here. I've captured a few in a notebook. What I imagined to be an ascetic several days of eating, sleeping and reading a Spartan diet of books and scripture and prayer has turned out to be a quiet lulling dispersed between long bouts of musing rest and delicious meals. I wonder if we at times forget that God is a god of abundance and extravagance. I know I do.

So anyway, here I am, the only guest here today--for most of my stay, in fact, except for the owner family over the weekend. I've gone from hot springs to the library cabin, to the main building to chat with the chef, who has cooked me all manner of delicacies with the personal attention of a favorite aunt.

Thank you for your comments and encouragements over the last few weeks--I'm about 100% more functional than I was. What a relief--just in time to take a couple work trips later this week and early next. I don't think I realized just how very tired I have been, despite not writing anything at the moment. The lull between books has not been as quiet as expected, especially as my consulting job remained crazy busy through the fall despite the economic crisis. So thank you for all the ways you have encouraged me, and thank you also for your ideas on signing Havah.

Speaking of signing, look who left his mark on the old bar here in Dunton after ripping off the bank in Telluride:

On Being Uncool

2009-01-18T20:48:00.000-08:00

Today is perhaps the second truly normal day I've had in the last ten, which were riddled with anxiety attacks. I won't bore with details, but suffice it to say that the last two weeks have sucked and I am truly thankful for my trusted friends, counselor, doctor--and Xanax.

I'm just getting back to things and will write more soon. For now, the Big Scary looks like a go, which I'm only semi-thrilled about because it seems like bad things always happen to me when I write. :(

And that's just so uncool.

At any rate, I'm planning a get-away alone next week for a few days to go "head-to-head with God," as my friend Meredith calls it. I hope God shows. I'll keep you posted.

***

So, talk about being uncool: several hundred autographed copies after Demon's release, I finally came up with something clever to sign the book with. Because of Clay's obsession with Lucian's story and needing to know how it ends, and because of the book's controversial conclusion, I now sign: "How does your story end?"

But alas, there is no such coolness for Havah. She remains dorky as I lamely scribble, "Enjoy" or "With love." For a writer with a supposed strong command of the language, I got nothin'.

C'mon, help a girl out here.