Author: Tori Lennox

Just your average writer chick enjoying her literary fantasies.
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Bits and pieces along the way…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

While I won’t post two or three times a week in the future, I’m keeping my fingers in the writing pool while I take a few days off from novel writing. (I had a minor fall a couple of days ago that has left me in enough discomfort to be distracting but not seriously hurt.) However, since I need to write in some capacity to salve the guilt of not doing what I should be doing, I’m writing a couple of random blogs like this one.

Several weeks ago, I discovered a writing contest sponsored by reedsy. One prompt caught my eye, so I decided to enter which was simple. All entries must be between 1000 and 3000 words, the entry fee was $5, and the prize was $250. While I never expected to win, this contest was a good place to test my Regency writing chops so I did. First, I was pleasantly surprised my excerpt from an upcoming novel was accepted. Then I was pleasantly surprised several people “liked” my entry. I’d passed my self-test which wasn’t about winning the contest or how many “likes” I received. It was about seeing if my entry was read at all.

Since my blog is about writing, I thought I’d share my entry for fun. I used two prompts of the five or six prompts given. The first prompt involved an unexpected event occurring and the second prompt involved a character saying, “I didn’t see that one coming.” Now, on with the story:

1811 A.D.  London, England

Tossing the calling card in his hand on his desk Barrington Monck made a face. After giving his butler permission to show their guest to the library, he murmured “I didn’t see that one coming.” to an otherwise empty room. Rising to his feet, he heard the faint whisper of kid slippers gliding across marble as he awaited his uninvited guest. Not just uninvited, but unexpected, if not exactly unknown. He had been formally introduced to Lady Clarisse during her first season. He’d even danced with her several times. However, all of that was before The Incident when she was still a diamond of the first water.

While something of an acquaintance in the past, he felt he knew her far better now that she laughed in the face of propriety. Many in Town felt that way. It was rare they found a bona fide Adventuress in their midst, and even rarer that one survived the poisoned tongues of the ton’s self-appointed purveyors of virtue. However, the Tipping chit had. Survived. She was incorrigible and she wore her disrepute like a badge of honor. While annoyed to have his work rudely interrupted, he would confess to a mild curiosity where this fast woman was concerned. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a respectable miss taking the marriage market by storm. However, that was before P.W. Nance published her first tawdry gothic romance.

Not that the ton knew one of their ranks was Nance, even one fallen so far. Most didn’t. If they did, the scandal would be complete. The only reason he was thus informed was his silent partnership in her publishing firm. Thanks to her editor, he knew she’d quickly produced three smoldering bestsellers no decent woman would admit to reading. However, that didn’t mean those novels weren’t hidden between mattresses or within secret drawers in writing desks. Nor did it mean that her fourth novel soon going to print wouldn’t break previous sales records. It likely would. Laughing softly, Monck decided that was reason enough to meet the woman without the rest of the story.

***

Gathering her thoughts, Clarisse ignored the faint slap of her olive slippers on the pristine marble flooring. Awed at the luxury surrounding her, she wasn’t surprised the townhouse was as opulent as she’d heard. Watching the butler silently open the doors to announce her, she stepped into the magnificent library much larger than Uncle Horace’s before starting at the faint click of the doors closing behind her. Stepping forward, Clarisse watched Aloysius Barrington Monck sign a document before setting the paper aside.  

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” The Duke rose from his desk. “And the risk of destroying both our standings?”

“Desperation.” Clarisse stared him down with more confidence than she felt. “And the need to  collect on a note of hand.”

“Note of hand?” She ignored the disbelief on his face. “I owe you no note of hand.”

Removing her Parma violet capote bonnet to expose riotous Titian curls, Clarisse motioned to one of the two claw & ball oak framed tub armchairs.  

“By all means.” While his first instinct was to toss the comely want-to-be-extortionist out on her ear, something urged Barrington Monck to hear her out instead. “Make yourself comfortable while you tell all.”

Watching the giant of a man settle back against the edge of his desk, Clarisse lightly caressed the royal blue leather. Carefully draping her olive shawl over the arm of the second chair, she sat on the edge of her seat and took a deep breath. Nodding, she reminded herself that Emma would be ruined if the Duke refused to fall in line. More importantly, their three younger sisters’ prospects would end before they ever began.

“Do you remember Lady Cecilia Northrup’s house party on the twelfth of October two years ago?” Clarisse spoke calmly as though making idle pleasantries. “If you don’t, I can refresh your memory.”

“I remember it well.” He agreed. “I tried to make Horace divulge his Claret supplier and failed miserably.”

Northrup served the finest Claret in Town.

“I may be able to help with that.” Whether she would divulge such a closely held family secret depended on the outcome of their conversation. “In the meantime, we have more important things to discuss.”

“This mysterious note of hand.” The Duke nodded. “I fail to see how such a thing can exist since we danced have but three or four single sets after our introduction.”

 “Oh, we’ve done more than that.” Clarisse snorted lightly. “We had amorous congress in Aunt Cecelia’s library on her new ponceau silk sofa that October night according to the Tête-à-Tête.”

“We did no such thing.” Deep in thought, the Duke walked around his desk to sit in his leather armchair. “Dear God, you were the mysterious auburn-haired Lady C. seen leaving the library in the sumptuous, torn pea-green gown?”

He tended to ignore on dits, but he’d listened to that one. Once he’d confirmed the woman in question wasn’t his ladybird, Augusta’s locks were more gold than red, he never thought about the matter again. It was so much taradiddle. He would have known if another woman were present in the library with them.

“You jest?” Her raised eyebrow spoke volumes. “You didn’t know?”

“I do not.” The Duke shook his head. “And I did not.”

“That isn’t possible.” It couldn’t be.

“It most certainly is.” The Duke sniffed haughtily. “I thought the whole matter a Banbury tale spread by Cochran’s brat for giving her the direct cut for sniffing about my heels.” He answered honestly. “I never believed she saw a woman leave the library.”

Augusta departed another way.

“But she did.” Clarisse’s laugh was ugly. “One who fled the library a few minutes before you did, and one who’d torn the sleeve of her gown in her haste to escape before she was seen by its other occupants.”

“You?” None of this made sense. “How is that possible?”

“Easy.” Clarisse shook her head. “I fled to the library to escape Sir Harry and witnessed an unholy event from the ladder while getting a novel from the fourth shelf.”

“Again, how is that possible?” His tone was puzzled. “The door was locked.”

“I have a key.” Clarisse shrugged. “Uncle Horace allows me to use his wonderful library whenever we’re in Town.” Much to her parents’ despair, her maternal uncle had nurtured her bluestocking tendencies for many years. “Since we both know the library is always locked, the bigger question is how did you get in there?”

“The secret passage.” The Duke reluctantly admitted. “The one I assume only family knows about.”

“The secret passage?” Clarisse was the only person outside her Aunt and Uncle who knew there were secret passages connecting the library and the bedrooms to a hidden external exit. “How do you know about that?”

“I spotted a familiar inconsistency in Northrup’s floor plan.” Unlike most of Horace’s guests, the framed drawing proudly displayed over the study fireplace had caught his interest. “Great-grandfather had a similar passage added to Amberly when the townhouse was built. I should think the Great Fire was still fresh on both of their minds when the construction was done.”

“Probably.” Clarisse nodded. “I hadn’t thought about the drawing.”

She should probably suggest that her uncle move the revealing plan to a more private location. Surely Albemarle wasn’t the only guest capable of making such a deduction. It wouldn’t do to have family secrets fall into the wrong hands.

“Now, let’s get back to this note of hand.” The Duke absently tapped his fingers on his desk. “You wish to lay your fall from grace at my door simply because you stumbled upon my tryst with Lady Jermyn?”

“Yes.” Clarisse nodded not sure she liked her situation being likened to forgetting to leave one’s card after a morning visit. While a serious faux pas, that could be rectified. Being ruined, not so much. “I believe Jemima Cochran wished to settle the score for cutting her by hurting your lover. Unfortunately, she maligned the wrong woman.”

While not what she’d originally believed, she believed that now. The fact he didn’t know it was her in the on dit from that dreadful night changed everything.

“Or perhaps it wasn’t a mistake and she meant to better her odds of making a suitable match by destroying a diamond of the first water.” The Duke rejoined. “Cochran’s brat is an unpleasant, hatch-faced chit with the wit of a bumble bee.”

“Yes, she is.” Clarisse shook her head thinking the situation was worse than she’d thought. “If you are right, what happened to me was worse than innocent scandal-mongering.”

“Is scandal-mongering ever innocent?” The Duke stared her down. “As for the note of hand, I can do nothing to restore your reputation.”

She’d been branded an adventuress, a Cyprian, and worse, years ago. If those sins weren’t bad enough, her forays into gothic romance weren’t necessarily as much of a secret as she thought. She wouldn’t be so successful if they were. While they smacked of the tawdry, from what his cousins said, she spun a delightfully wicked tale.

“No, there isn’t.” Clarisse leaned forward. “It’s too late for me; but not for my sisters.”

“Lady Emma?”

“Lizzy,” Clarisse shook her head. “and my younger sisters. Emma is already in trouble.”

“Eason?” So even the most detached rake at Court noticed her sister’s folly. “He’s a disreputable buck.”

“Howard.” Clarisse corrected. “Before the banns were read.”

“He’s been a busy man.” The Duke snorted softly. “The latest on dit is that his bride is in a delicate condition as well.”

And seemingly far enough along to raise eyebrows.

“Has the fop been told?” The Duke’s tone was derogatory. “If he has, it didn’t go over well or you wouldn’t be here.”

“He doesn’t believe her.” Clarisse ignored the nasty words tripping through her head. “He denies their encounter happened. I suspect he called her a few rude names though Emma denies any such a thing.”

“Do you believe her?” The dirty look was expected. “It was a masquerade.”

“Emma was heavily pursued by several young men that night including Howard.” Clarisse’s voice was soft as she realized Howard must have resumed Eason’s pursuit of her sister when the other man moved on to easier prey. “I saw him flirting with her and told her there was talk of a secret betrothal. It seems she did not listen.”

“I see.” He had yet to see how her sister’s pickle had anything to do with him. “As for this imaginary note of hand, what do you expect me to do about your sister’s dilemma?”

Surely she wasn’t cork-brained enough to think he would wed the girl? Then again, it wouldn’t surprise him. He was clod-pated to listen to her in the first place.

“Find Emma a worthy husband.” Clarisse forced the words past her lips. “She is truly a diamond of the first water and her dowry is generous.”

At least in looks, if not behavior. 

“I see.” The Duke walked around his desk to stand in front of her. “You wish me to find a suitable match willing to overlook your sister’s intimate faux pas and accept her by-blow as his own?”

She sounded beyond addle-pated when the Duke put it that way.

“Yes.” Clarisse nodded. “You can’t save my reputation, but you can save Emma’s.”

“All you ask is that I find the one saint among the sinners,” Clarisse bristled at his mocking tone. “And you will consider this note of hand satisfied?”

“Yes.” Clarisse nodded again.

“I see.” The Duke laughed. “I should send you packing and ensure this scandalous visit by the unchaperoned Lady C. of the Parma violet pelisse becomes the latest on dit, but I won’t. I like your sister. I will help you instead. There is a gentleman who was quite smitten with Lady Emma at the beginning of the season. He left Town for the countryside soon after he realized his affections weren’t reciprocated.”

“What of this gentleman?” Clarisse couldn’t bear the thought of her niece or nephew being mistreated. “Will he accept the child?”

“As he already has an heir and a couple of spares, Emma’s child will be just another chick in the brood.” The Duke snorted at the thought that Lord Roderick was more of a mother hen than any woman he knew. “The child will be fine one way or another.”

Clarisse nodded not sure his answer was acceptable.

“Stop.” The Duke decided to put her out of her misery. “Roddy is a widower and a devoted family man who prefers long walks through the village with his beloved to rubbing shoulders with the beau monde.”

He would adore Emma’s child and raise it as his own.

 “A country gentleman?” Her family spent as much time in Town as they did at the Hall. “I’m not sure Emma will take to living in the country.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” The Duke walked back around his desk. “We are done for now. I will send Roddy a letter and share his response at Lady Haversham’s ball. If he agrees, an introduction will be arranged.”

“I’m not invited to Lady Haversham’s ball.” Clarisse shrugged knowing she wasn’t admitting anything he didn’t know. “I only attend Aunt Cecilia’s balls because no one recognizes me beneath my domino.”

“You only attend your aunt’s balls because no one will risk getting cut by a leading hostess for backbiting her beloved niece if they do.” The Duke said what she wouldn’t.  “Besides, we both know your reputation wasn’t destroyed that night.”

Her character was slowly assassinated over the following days and weeks until all possibilities of making a suitable match on the marriage market were shattered. That’s when she’d decided to mail her first novel to the bestselling Lilly White’s publisher with a letter of introduction from the retired author. Fortunately, she had already met the elderly bluestocking over one of Aunt CeCe’s intimately casual afternoon teas. Lilly graciously offered to read her novel. She’d taken her under her wing soon after.

By the time she fell from grace, her novel was ready. Thanks to Uncle Horace’s tutelage, her offering was well received and royalties favorably negotiated. The publication of her third gothic romance last month along with her Uncle’s wise investments on her behalf ensured she was a woman of independent means. To this day, few knew she was P.W. Nance, and hopefully, no one ever would.

“You’re right.” Clarisse agreed. “I learned of my shame when I was turned away at Almack’s and discovered my voucher revoked three days after Aunt Cecelia’s ball.”

While Aunt Cecilia had attended the ball determined to get to the bottom of the situation, she’d returned home to scour the newspapers. It hadn’t taken long to locate the toxic insinuations in Tête-à-Tête or to realize who was behind it. While Aunt Cecilia’s favor had ushered her mother to her place within the ton, many in their ranks still referred to her as that vulgar lady Joscelyn behind her back.

However, their feelings for the mother didn’t extend to the daughters. It wasn’t wise. Her father was an exceedingly wealthy, popular man and his daughters held great promise of being comely breeding stock, especially the eldest. Clarisse snorted. It hadn’t taken much to take her from diamond of the first water to social pariah. Just an unfounded rumor whispered by a sneaky whey-faced poltroon hiding behind her cackling mama’s skirts.

“If you want my help, meet me at Lady Haversham’s ball.” The Duke’s gaze conveyed that was non-negotiable. “If I were you, I’d wear a sumptuous Pomona green gown.”

Nodding, Clarisse felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as she rose to her feet. Barrington Monck was up to something, she knew it. But her suspicions were neither here nor there. All that mattered was getting Emma’s delicate situation resolved. She would agree to almost anything to see that done including gatecrashing Lady Haversham’s ball to discover what the Duke of Albemarle had up his sleeve. While her appearance was unlikely to affect his standing, it was social suicide for her. Oh, that’s right, she was already dead to the ton so she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Hopefully, that included the priceless introduction between the mysterious Lord Roddy and her sweet Emma that would change both of their lives forever.

Placing her bonnet on her head, she smirked daringly, “Then, until we meet again at Lady Haversham’s ball.”

Thank you for reading. Until next time,

Tori

Novels · writing · Writing & Creativity

Hello again…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

As I said in my last post, I uploaded my latest historical romance, Back from the Shadowlands, three weeks early. While confident I wasn’t changing anything in the manuscript or the cover, I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for the novel to go live today. Until you get that message from Amazon and D2D, there’s no guarantee there won’t be some last-minute issue. There wasn’t. So, I’m at peace, and on to other things like writing this post which isn’t about BftS, or the fact the novel went live without a hitch. It’s about writing as I promised.

I hit a brick wall two days ago with my latest contemporary romantic suspense. It’s about a third to halfway finished depending on how certain undefined elements weave through the story. I thought I was writing a “romance” with a touch of danger thrown in, but the characters aren’t happy with their lives being so simplistic. The bad guy is a real you-know-what so they feel there is more to the tale than I wanted to spin. Two or three books more. As ideas develop on the periphery and I learn where this story is headed, the words will start flowing again. This isn’t a presale, so I’m comfortable waiting as long as it takes to write a good story.

Since things aren’t coming together as quickly as I’d hoped with Cassie and Neil, I’ve moved on to a different idea so far out of my wheelhouse that it should frighten me. It doesn’t. I didn’t think I could write contemporary novels. My bestselling novel is a contemporary romance. I never believed I could write romantic suspense. Toxic Illusions placed in an RWA contest before it was ever published. I didn’t think I could write fanfiction, and I have. The next genre I’m tackling is a Regency time travel romance with a touch of murder thrown in. Yes, you read that right. Just reading the words out loud sounds screwy, and I have likely lost my mind, but this novel isn’t a presale, so I have time to flesh out the series.

While I have a straight regency romance on the back burner, this strange idea has thrown down the gauntlet and I’m just off-beat enough to accept it. I like the touch of humor already appearing in this story, I like the quirky characters that are developing, I like the twists and turns beginning to appear in the outline, and I adore the fashion and ridiculous cant. Honestly, I like the touch of murder as well. Overall, I like the challenge of discovering whether I can take this idea and write a believable (right!), enjoyable story most of all. I believe I can and that’s half the battle.

However, I can’t say how my immensely talented designer will feel when I request a book cover featuring a male protagonist wearing a stylish Regency gentleman’s outdoor ensemble standing beside a female protagonist wearing a modern English riding outfit minus the jacket. If I know Melody, she’ll roll with it and produce something fabulous that won’t need a single change right out of the gate. Especially since I’ve already chosen my models from an image site. I’m fortunate to have discovered her work years ago, and I’m grateful she still accepts my commissions now that she’s in such high demand.

Until we meet again,

Tori

Novels · writing · Writing & Creativity

It’s been too long…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

And many apologies. Let’s just say real life can be personally/physically/mentally challenging at times but it’s the little things that make us strong. Enough said.

Let’s start by saying I’ve renamed my first blog to reflect a change in direction to be geared more toward writing instead of random commentaries. The second blog I attempted for that purpose was a total mess. Again, many apologies. I went in like a bull in a china shop and ended up somewhere I never meant to be…

Enough with acknowledging I’m less than perfect which is true, and on with the story. I wrote a while back about the difficulty I had writing the sequel to The Wolf and the Warrior. First, I had some temporary physical challenges that interfered with my productivity. If that wasn’t enough of a distraction, the story outlined from start to finish in my head refused to be written. Yes, I said the STORY refused to be written. I don’t know if any of you writers are as nutty as I am, but I’ve had a couple of books that “dictated” how they would be written and how the story would be told. This was one of them.

While my contemporaries are light beach reads that aren’t that difficult to write, my Golden Wolf Series historicals are anything but easy. The difficult novel in question was the second book in this series. When I realized I would never get Back from the Shadowlands out in July of 2024 as promised, I wasn’t sure what to do. Eventually, I pushed the release date to October 24, 2024. Amazon wasn’t too happy with my actions. I wasn’t either because I still wasn’t sure the novel would be finished in six months.

After making that decision I had no choice but to step away from the novel until the characters decided to share their tale. Once I stopped pressuring myself to write the story I’d outlined, Thor and Alexandria started sharing a different series of events and the book started flowing again. No, my characters don’t literally talk to me although I do converse with them aloud at times especially when I need to experience an emotionally charged scene I’m writing about.

I’m happy to say that once I started “listening” to Alexandria and Thor, the novel was finished ahead of schedule. While it isn’t the novel I meant to write, it is the next installation of their story as it was meant to be told. I’m always nervous about a new novel coming out, but I think I’m a bit more nervous because this novel is so different from The Wolf and the Warrior. The characters are the same, but the events are different. We’ll see what happens after the twenty-fourth. While nerve-wracking, rolling out another story is exciting, too.

In closing, my intent is mainly to share my most serious writing challenge to date and its resolution. While I thought this was writer’s block in the beginning or burnout from writing too many books too fast, it took me much too long to realize that wasn’t the problem at all. I don’t know how many people write as I do, but my characters are very real to me. Even more so in my historicals than my contemporaries. I ignored that fact and spent several unproductive months trying to force my characters into a story I thought would be exciting to write. While that story may get told one day, it won’t be with Alexandria and Thor. It wasn’t their story, and they didn’t fit. Sometimes a writer just needs to listen to the whispers in her head.

In closing, I believe next week’s blog will be about the contemporary romance suspense I’m writing now.

Until next time,

Tori

Food For Thought · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Opinions · Religious · Supernatural

Sometimes it’s hard to write. (Part 1)

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

I’m in that place where it’s hard to think about a novel much less write or edit one. Between book submissions, taking care of Mom, and nurturing our dachshund through four months of surgeries (she’s doing well now) my creativity is nil. It’s not writer’s block or any such silliness. Emotional and physical stress have temporarily sucked the life out of me. That happens sometimes. Usually during the summer months when it’s too hot to enjoy the long walks that keep me emotionally grounded.

Right now, I take Mir for short walks in the morning and at night supplemented with outside potty breaks throughout the day. That’s a poor substitute for long prayer walks surrounded by nature. That’s my God time when I talk to my Father about random thoughts, praise Him for the life I live now, and thank Him for the lessons I’ve learned over the past few years. Right now, I’m eagerly anticipating next month when temperatures drop enough in Florida to start walking again. Hopefully, when that happens, my desire to write will return.

In the meantime, my headspace is introspective. My mind is more on my faith than on imaginary settings, situations, and characters. My next two or three posts will be more spiritual in nature. Please consider yourself forewarned that you may not want to read further posts for a while. However, if faith isn’t your thing, you still might enjoy reading about subjects you probably won’t hear in Sunday service or anywhere else for that matter. You may decide I’m totally nuts or a heretic, or you may decide there’s more to this world God created and Jesus saved than the “I’m okay, you’re okay, your sins are forgiven, so welcome to Heaven.” feel good sermons so many pastors preach today.

If you’ve read any of my past blogs where I talk about my life or my journey to believing again, the next couple of paragraphs may bore you. If you don’t know me, I took a long, painful, destructive road to get to a place where I talk with God every day because I want to, not because I’m supposed to. By talk, I don’t mean prayer although I do that every day, too. I mean casual conversations like I’d have with you. The gentle, reassuring awareness I’m in the presence of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that I feel deep inside tells me that He listens.

Looking back, this isn’t a place the old me ever thought I’d be. It just didn’t fit with my perception of an angry God and an all but nonexistent Jesus. I didn’t get a relationship with my Heavenly Father at all. In fact, I would have believed you were crazy if you told me intimacy with God was even possible a few years ago. However, I’ve been walking and talking with the Lord long enough now to know anyone who says that isn’t crazy. They’ve just spent long enough seeking the Lord to have the kind of deep relationship with their Creator most of us never have.

Moving on, I spent many years seriously involved with occult studies like astrology and tarot cards. Truthfully, I’ve spent more of my life co-mingling my Christian beliefs with New Age beliefs and practices than I have as a believing believer. Like many of us, I desperately searched for identity, purpose, and an end to the depression and worthlessness that plagued me for most of my life. It was a long, difficult journey filled with bad choices and damaging consequences. The downside, I spent a lot of miserable years. The upside, I’m in a good place with a solid spiritual and emotional foundation that isn’t easily shaken. While I’m still working on the purpose, my faith and my relationship with God pull me through the occasional bumps in the road.

The only reason I’ve reiterated things I’ve said in the past is to underscore the fact, while I’ve always believed in God and Jesus and considered myself “Christian” (I was not), I wasn’t raised in the Church or educated in Christian schools. I attended church sporadically the first fifteen years of my life. I spent the next thirty as a worldly believer not practicing my faith. While there were belief systems I wouldn’t touch like overt witchcraft or satanism, I skirted as close to the occultic edge as I could with my spiritual poisons of choice in my quest to understand the human condition, world history, and why we believe the things we believe. I was, and still am, driven by a deep desire to know. To understand. To pursue knowledge for the sake of knowledge. It’s a passion that’s been a curse at times. I just didn’t know it.

I think you’re starting to get the picture I’m trying to paint. I’m a more introverted, scholarly woman. I’ve devoted most of my life to studying history with side interests in everything from medicinal herbs to forensics to art to psychology to physics and so on. In other words, you can’t study history without venturing into the overlapping fields that impact history and I’ve done that.

To my credit, I’ve always attempted to temper my understanding of the past within the context of the culture and time period I’m investigating. To keep my personal moral judgements out of it as much as humanly possible. To understand what seems horrific to me today was a part of everyday life in the Ancient Near East or Dark Age Europe. That’s part of being a serious scholar – not trying to revise history to fit some predetermined narrative – but being open to interpreting the raw information that’s really there.

I also believe in doing your due diligence and I use a lot of sources including articles/books that don’t necessarily agree with my current scholarly or religious beliefs. In other words, all of my sources aren’t Christian, they’re secular, too. I also understand new discoveries are made every day – that doesn’t include the unsubstantiated revisionist or ancient alien theory of the week – and I believe those solid, substantiated discoveries like the DNA results on the skeleton of King Richard III should be taken into consideration. Now that I’ve exhausted that rabbit trail, I’ll segue back to the subject at hand with apologies for my ramblings.

As I’ve started spending more time with God, I decided to start rereading my Bible a few months ago. It’s been a few years since I’ve done that. I made it to Leviticus before I abandoned the Old Testament and read through the New Testament instead. Once I finished the NT, I moved back to the Old Testament and realized I was reading it with a different understanding than I had before. Verses that had always seemed so harsh and violent to me, I suddenly understood in the context of the ancient cultures involved. I suddenly understood what I was reading through the eyes of a loving God who cared about his people in a way that I’d never seen before.

Yes, I know a lot about ancient history from my studies and I know what the biblical atlases, etc. say; but I’d never viewed what I was reading with the clarity I did now. If I was more “religious” and less scholarly, I don’t believe I would have understood why. But I am more scholarly, so it didn’t take me long to realize what had changed: I’d read and/or reread several books that gave me a deeper understanding of the cultures and society my faith was birthed in than I’ve ever gotten from any church sermon, encyclopedia, or biblical commentary.

While I don’t embrace every idea or belief the authors put forth in any book that I may mention, these sources have given me food for thought and ideas to pray about and dig deeper into using RELIABLE, peer reviewed sources. Any author I mention uses footnotes in their books so you can verify where they get their information. Or, at the least, they will tell you where their information comes from. While not infallible, I prefer using actual nonfiction books and scholarly magazines and articles over random sites on the internet or Wikipedia and the like in my research.

Thanks to a book I read recently and the clarity I received as a result, my understanding of so many events in the Bible clicked into place in ways they never have before. I discovered missing pieces of the puzzle that have mystified me for years. While not a plug for The Rabbi, the Secret Message, and the Identity of Messiah by Carl Gallups, this is me admitting this book made me embrace a process I’d started but hadn’t fully completed.

That process is learning to approach my faith more through the eyes of a Messianic Jew from the Second Temple Period than a modern Christian living in America. When I finished that book, I knew despite my best efforts to understand history within the context of the time and culture I’m studying, I’ve predominantly viewed my Bible through twenty-first century gentile eyes.

That’s a surprising confession for me to make since I’ve read a lot of books over the past seven or eight years that have influenced me to have a more “supernatural” world view than most American Christians do. Dr. Michael Heiser’s Supernatural and his Reversing Hermon are two easy to read books that helped strengthen my faith and opened my eyes to the cultural context of the Bible. His The Unseen Realm is both more scholarly, and much harder to read along with his books Angels and Demons. I own all of these books and I can honestly say they’ve helped me understand my Bible better.

However, just reading Supernatural and Reversing Hermon opened my eyes so much and they are my picks for anyone who doesn’t want to wade through his more complex scholarly works. Again, while I don’t agree with everything Dr. Heiser says in every book and that’s how it should be when we examine the evidence and think for ourselves, I’m not the expert in his fields. He is. The bottom line is I respect his research and what he has to say. If I had to sum up Dr. Heiser’s most impactful point, it’s the reality that we can’t believe what we don’t understand, and we can’t fully understand the Bible if we only see it through modern eyes. I don’t remember if those are Dr. Heiser’s exact words, but they are definitely my takeaway from what he has to say so he gets the credit for those words and that idea, not me.

I’ll leave you with that thought.

Until next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · Opinions · Uncategorized

It’s been a long time…

Tori Lennox1 Comment

Just a brief update. I hope to start blogging on a regular basis soon. There’s so much going on in my personal life and in our world that I don’t even know where to begin. Writing from the perspective of a young, pushing 60, I see things with a maturity and a clarity I didn’t have in my 20’s or 30’s. I think part of that is because, while I always wanted to belong, I was always hyper aware I was too different. I still am. The difference between now and my younger days is I’m finally comfortable in my own skin. I like who I am instead of wishing I was someone else.

As difficult as it’s made my life in a lot of respects over the years, I’m grateful I was raised with a very definite sense of right and wrong. One that hasn’t changed as culture has. No, I wasn’t raised in a Christian home. We believed in God, and we went to church sometimes, but any real relationship with our Creator was lacking. However, my parents were honest people with clearly defined values they taught me which included personal responsibility and an awareness that right and wrong didn’t change with culture or the fact I wanted them too.

I don’t mind telling you that I made a lot of wrong choices in my life, and I did a lot of things that went against my values. I paid for every one of them in emotional blood. However, as painful as that reality became, I accepted the fact I created the situation, and I had to live with the consequences. I couldn’t blame anyone else or shirk my personal responsibility.

Obviously, there’s no “fluidity” in my world. I’m grateful for that. The “rigidity” of the values my parents taught me saved my life. If I hadn’t had these beliefs so strongly ingrained in me, I wouldn’t have survived the years of pain, depression, and misery. I’m so grateful I was grounded in something real. Grounded enough that I knew what taking my own life would do to the people who loved me. Grounded enough that I knew suicide was wrong on so many levels. Grounded enough to know if I ended my own life, I was letting my demons win. That idea didn’t sit well with me. I’m a fighter to my core.

I am so grateful I chose to live. So grateful I’ve worked through the things I’ve done, the things that were done to me, the people who hurt me – all the baggage that destroyed my self-worth. The past few years have been worth all the mess that came before. I’m pursuing my dreams and I’m content.

This blog isn’t what I meant to write. Nope, I just wanted to share our new dog had back surgery the week after we got her and taking care of Mir and Mom has taken most of my time the past few months. Added to that, I’ve been editing and submitting novels for publication. Oh, and this year we have two baby cardinals instead of one – a boy and a girl. You know, the good stuff. Didn’t happen, did it? The old muse took over instead.

Honestly, I think this blog poured out because I see so many young people who should be happy in their success and in their opportunities and in the excitement of living their day-to-day lives who aren’t. I see a bunch of so-called “influencers” trying on this and that and discarding it in favor of the next fad in a frantic search for self-awareness, identity, and satisfaction. On the surface this “fluidity” sounds good. In reality it means you aren’t grounded in anything. You have no real identity because you haven’t defined your borders.

Humans aren’t emotionally made that way. We need to know who we are. We need to love who we are. We need to take responsibility for ourselves and our choices. We need to know where we draw the line on what we will and will not do. I personally learned to forgive myself, love myself, and appreciate my talents through my faith. No, I don’t go to church; but I do have an intimate relationship with Jesus. Yes, I know that doesn’t work for everyone and I’m not trying to convert anyone. You have to go on your own journey of self-discovery. I’m just saying for me, the depression and suicidal thoughts left when I finally accepted God doesn’t create any mistakes so I wasn’t one and if my Creator can forgive me all the things I’ve done and overlook the things that were done to me, I can do the same.

I guess my bottom line is, in a world where this is immensely unpopular to say, I thank my parents I’m a 58-year-old woman who is proud to be unapologetically female who would have proudly called herself a mother if she’d been privileged enough to bear children. Honestly, to use pronouns and words that take my gender away from me is to rob me of my identity and my sexuality. No, it doesn’t give me more options. I wouldn’t have a clue who I was if I started playing that game. No, I’m not narrow minded, I understand who I am. I love the fact I’m an attractive female approaching 60 who’s finally confident in being a woman. I wouldn’t trade her for the young woman who didn’t think she was pretty enough, or smart enough, or worth anything but being abused and taken advantage of.

Yes, that girl was prettier than I am because she was young; but she was oh-so-lost in so many ways. I can confidently say the woman I am now is far more attractive in the ways that matter.

In closing, everyone’s path is theirs to choose. However, speaking as someone who has lived a much harder life than she should have, life shouldn’t be as difficult as it is and we’re making it more difficult with every passing day. It’s time to simplify our lives, decide who and what we are, and stick with it. Don’t make decisions you’re not willing to live with for the rest of your life. You may do something you’ll regret the rest of your life if you do. I know I did.

Until next time,

Calla

Uncategorized

Reflections and Introspection

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

You probably already know I’m critter crazy and I love my nature walks. That’s when I do my praying and just bask in the sunshine and wildlife – squirrels, turtles, birds, egrets, ducks, herons and cranes. Citified wildlife, not the foxes, possums, deer, etc., I grew up with in the country in SC; but wildlife all the same. Anyways, my walks aren’t quite the same right now because of the recent death of my best friend. Mentally, I’m in that strange place you wallow in when you’ve lost someone you care about. Not a parent or a child or a spouse; but a close friend you always hoped would be here.

I say hoped because my best friend had serious diabetes related health issues from childhood, so I knew in that way you “know” that he likely wouldn’t live to old age. However, I didn’t really think about his demise unless he brought it up. My friend’s pessimistic world view and negative attitude about his health didn’t help him. In all the years we knew each other, I never impacted his outlook to the degree I would have liked. I don’t believe that would have changed if I’d in the same town with him as I used to be. If we’d seen each other face-to-face often as we used to do. More likely my more positive attitude would have become more negative thanks to his influence. However, that doesn’t mean I loved him any less. We always accepted each other for what we were unconditionally the way you do with heart friends.

Bad experiences with doctors and a brittle disease led him to poor choices like not consulting his doctor when he should have and not embracing some treatment options that might have helped. I believe those things contributed to his early death. The thought he might still be here finishing his novel if he’d been a little less stubborn makes me sad. However, it was his life and his choices to make. Robert lived his life his way. I’ll always love and respect him for that. His was an honorable life well lived and I can’t be upset about that.

However, that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling in other more selfish ways that aren’t tied to missing my friend. In a world where you can be surrounded by people and still be alone, I’m struggling with the reality I basically am alone. All of my real family and my oldest friends are gone. My home is now no longer home. I don’t mean my home here in Florida with my “mom.” I mean South Carolina, my home state and my hometown. With Robert’s death, I no longer have any tangible, emotional connection to my home state beyond being born there. It’s no longer my emotional safety net because my friend is there. He isn’t.

As a result, I’m in the midst of mentally accepting the reality Florida is no longer my home just because I happen to live here; but Florida is home-home. I don’t see myself ever leaving now. It’s where I have family and friends. Where I’ve started over and built a new life that I’m happy with.

I know this is a weird post; but my headspace is weird right now. At least a little weirder than usual. On the one hand, I’m happy because I’m making progress with getting my books ready to publish. On the other, I’m dealing with the reality you can’t count on all those Plan B scenarios we all work out in our head. It’s better to just live your life prepared to roll with the punches and land on your feet as best you can. I can tell you from experience that when you hit rock bottom, you honestly don’t have anywhere to go but up as long as you don’t quit. Not that I’m at rock bottom. I’m not. I’m actually in a good place overall. Just thinking a bit too much. What else is new?

Anyways, things aren’t all gloom and moodiness. I saw the sweetest sight on mom’s swing yesterday – Daddy Cardinal feeding Mommy Cardinal sunflower seeds. As precious as that sounds, it was more like, “Here, Darling, let me ram this big seed in your mouth like the good mate I am.” They’re so funny to watch because that’s exactly what they did to the baby last year – cram seeds in his mouth and stand over him until he ate his meal like a good little automaton. I love my Cardinals. They’re a beautiful pair although they both get a little scruffy when they have a baby in the nest!

See you next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · Life in general

I’m still here….

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

It’s been a long three months for a lot of reasons. Mainly because I was torn by my writing. I wasn’t sure which book I should finish or whether I wanted to continue submitting manuscripts to publishers. Not because I’m bothered by rejection notices. Actually, the rejection notices were promising. However, I continued revisiting the reason I wanted validation by a large publishing house in the first place for a few weeks and realized it was no longer relevant. I decided to learn everything I can about self-publishing and do what needs to be done to promote my books myself instead. It just makes more sense since I already have several books finished and I have the time to do the work now.

Another reason I haven’t blogged is because I had family coming in from SC in February. Actually, it was Mom’s family. That was a hoot and not in a good way. I ended up getting verbally attacked in a restaurant because mom wasn’t there by her sister-in-law, her daughter, and her son-in-law who seemed to believe I could have influenced her to come with us as she used to do. They missed that Kathy and thought I was either to blame for her staying home or that I could have made her change her mind.

Neither was true and I miss that Kathy, too. But she doesn’t exist anymore. First off, Mom is 93 years old. Two and a half years ago, she had a bad fall that almost killed her. Two years ago, she had her first stroke. A year and a half ago she had her second stroke which led to me leaving my job to come home full-time. Added to that, she has health issues that make her a poor candidate for the covid vaccine, so no shot. That’s the downside.

The upside is despite all of that, she’s doing great. Her mind is sharp, and she has no bad deficits from the stroke. She’s healthy and vibrant. However, she uses a rollator and she doesn’t have a lot of endurance. It takes everything out of her to get ready for an outing. But she’s living her life to the fullest the way she wants to. She no longer does things just to make other people happy like she did before her fall. She dictates her life and I let her unless it’s something unhealthy or potentially dangerous for her. That’s the “influence” I have over her.

You might wonder why I’m writing all of this. It’s because this whole incident made me realize something important – we need to love people for who they are. Not who we want them to be or who they used to be. I was deeply wounded by the attack until I realized how pathetic those three really are. They’re so preoccupied with their selfish wish for what used to be that they’re missing out on the pleasure of what is.

I love spending time with Mom watching the birds and the squirrels. I enjoy watching tv with her. I enjoy going outside to sit in the swing with her. I enjoy knowing she’s still as sharp as she used to be in so many ways. I love the fact she has so much life in her. They should too; but they don’t. Mom’s response to the whole situation was, “They just won’t let me get old.” She’s a wise woman who doesn’t mind being old because she still finds so much joy in her life. That’s a lesson we should all learn.

Another reason I’ve been gone is because, in addition to visiting family (we had another family member down from Tennessee the next week), I was editing my best friend’s novel. It was an “interesting” take on a common theme and, I believe, it would have been great when it was finished. Unfortunately, I received a call from his girlfriend six days ago informing me my friend had passed away three weeks earlier. She found him on his bedroom floor. “They” think he died from a blood clot. While I didn’t cry, I felt like everything inside me was going to implode for a couple of days. I just couldn’t process the whole thing. I was too shocked he was gone. The sad part is I’d sent him an email a couple of days before to check on him and promise to send the rest of the edited manuscript up soon.

My friend was a 58-year-old attorney who’d recently retired due to health issues. However, his sudden death was not expected! We’d spent a lot of time talking about what he was going to do next. We were talking about finally starting that publishing company we’d been tossing around for six years. He was starting to write again and hoping to develop a whole new career path. The last time I spoke with Robert, he was doing well.

Due to conflicting schedules and the fact we lived almost five hundred miles apart, I hadn’t seen my friend in close to twenty years. However, we were still close. We spoke on the phone every month or two and emailed more often. My friend was more than a friend. I loved him dearly. I would have done almost anything for him, and he would have done the same. We’d been friends over forty years.

What started as acquaintance in junior high became casual friendship in high school became deep friendship in college and law school over “Crazy Kate” to eventually a dating relationship a few years later. Unfortunately, although we tried to make it work three or four times, I never felt the degree of love for him that he felt for me and that wasn’t fair to him. However, we both valued our friendship more than a failed romance despite the bump in the road.

Although it may seem otherwise, there is a point to this rambling mess and that’s to treasure the people you love where they are for who they are. Find great joy in your relationships knowing they aren’t perfect and never will be. Don’t take advantage of others’ feelings even if you can. I could have made it work with Robert; but I would have been settling and denying him the depth of love a truly good man deserved. My mom’s relatives are missing out on incredible moments by not accepting her as she is. Honestly, their loss is my gain.

The best advice I can give anyone is spend every second you can with family and friends just basking in the little things. Don’t take for granted the idea they’ll be here when you have the time. Or when it’s more convenient. They won’t. I lost my mother when I was 32 and she was 51. My now “mom” is my ex-mother-in-law. I lost another close friend last year on March 4. She made me want to pull my hair out more often than not; but I loved her, and there’s a huge hole in my heart where she used to be. Brenda was only 66, and like Robert, was found dead unexpectedly on her bedroom floor. Likely from a heart attack. She was much too young to go that way. They both were.

In closing, this is Brenda, my mom, and me. Yes, I have an eyebrow that decided to do its own thing at some point after I’d left home! It’s okay, I still like the picture, and you can laugh with me!

Until next time,

Calla

Food For Thought · observations · Opinions · Political

While we all live in world of hypocrites…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Sometimes the hypocrisy of my leaders turns my stomach. If you’ve read my previous posts, I hope you’ve come away with the impression that, while I’m opinionated, I’m old enough to embrace true freedom of speech which means I don’t believe in censoring you because you don’t agree with me. I’m also conservative in my values, believe in definite right and wrong, and personal responsibility. Yes, I’m a charismatic Christian and while I identify with a particular party, I do not vote blindly along party lines. I research and vote for the candidates I believe have America’s best interests at heart rather than their personal agendas.

If you’ve read this far, and are still reading, let me get on with saying what I need to say. I’m tired of hearing my Congresspeople whine about how traumatized they still are by the January 6 “insurrection” or whatever you want to call it. Yes, the situation got out of hand. No, I don’t think the peaceful protestors intended what happened to happen. Nor do I think the majority of them got swept up in the madness. However, I do think radical elements got involved and they should be tracked down and punished. I don’t have a problem with that.

What I do have a problem with is this witch hunt that is continuing to drag on and on according to political and media driven agendas. Bluntly, there was enough intel in enough time to prevent the madness from happening. The politicians in charge of that chose not to take the necessary steps to ensure that so they bear as much responsibility for the debacle as anyone else and they need to grow up, accept their part, and stop the political stupidity tearing our country apart.

However, that isn’t even the main point I want to make which is many of the politicians whining the loudest are the same people who supported the wholesale destruction of their constituent cities by protesting mobs. These same politicians called looting and beating “Peaceful Protests” and refused to do anything to stop the protests and aid the traumatized homeowners and businesspeople living through these nightmares. So sorry, but there was nothing “peaceful” about what happened there. I believe in peaceful protests – the kind where people aren’t injured or killed, and property isn’t destroyed. When those things happen, it’s no longer peaceful and it’s time to end it. I know people in other countries might feel differently; but that’s my opinion.

In closing, the gist of my vent is there shouldn’t be one value system for politicians and one for the rest of us. If the Congresspeople currently in office want my support, they need to grow up. Stop the self-serving January 6 committee crap, prosecute the people who looted your cities under the guise of social justice protests, forget your personal agendas, and put our country first. Otherwise, I, like a lot of other people, am ready to vote fresh blood ready to do what you’re unwilling to do. Namely run our country freely and fairly with true diversity where a melting pot of ideas can flourish.

Until next time,

Calla

Uncategorized

This one is sort of short and sweet…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

I promise. I just wanted to share my nutty morning. By now, you probably have a handle on my usual routine. I get the mom and the pup tucked back in bed before settling in with my computer and my snarky writer’s mug of butter pecan coffee by the French doors. You also probably know I have a critter fest outside my glorified window to distract me from doing what I should be doing.

Well, the past few days I’ve had a cheeky little bugger coming up to the glass door not two feet away from me to let me know he wants more sunflower seeds in the mix. This guy is hysterical. He walks right up to the window, looks me in the eye, stands on his back feet, hops around, shows me his booty dance, puts his cute little “hands” on the glass and so on. A real comedian. Considering my six-member scurry of squirrels are loud, territorial, bullying little chicken poops that run for the treetops every time I go outside to refill the feeders, this little guy is special. Added to that, he’s the runt of the litter with the scruffiest tail of the bunch!

While I took a photo of the scamp, I can’t get it to upload so I’ll just tell you my little guy is grey with the brightest, most mischievous black eyes you’ve ever seen and a wiggly nose. No, I’m not writing this to sound cute. The little guy is standing on his back legs staring me down with big alien eyes while he stuffs black oil sunflower seeds into his mouth as fast as he can. Honestly, I can’t tell the sex, hence it’s just easier to call him a “he”. For some reason, I think the squirrel is either a young male or my “he” is really a she. Just a hunch. Or maybe I subconsciously noted tell-tale signs I don’t consciously remember.

Anyways, I just wanted to say, “Hi.” and share a cute moment with my little rodent friend.

Until next time,

Calla

Uncategorized

This one will be short and sweet, …

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Since I really need to get my mind wrapped around editing that romantic suspense that I’m avoiding. Like most writers, I’m not fond of the whole editing process; but I do appreciate the necessity. Anyways, I hope you had a wonderful thanksgiving if you celebrate and a lovely day if you don’t.

I’m still in full on thanks mode today and I hope you are, too. A package I just received kind of drove that home. In my quest to find recipes for the holidays, I stumbled across something I never thought I’d find. When my mom died back in 1996, I couldn’t take her set of Better Homes and Gardens cookbooks. They belonged to my dad. However, a handful of those books had a few recipes that captured all my childhood holiday memories and I wanted them. I’ve been searching for those recipes since with no luck. While I found similar recipes along the way, I never found the recipes. Not the ones we always used for family gatherings when all my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents came to my house for Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas desserts.

A couple of weeks ago I was on the search for the coconut cream pie recipe we made every Thanksgiving and Christmas – the one our guests liked to steal even when we hid them. While I didn’t find the recipe; I did find a private seller on ebay selling a collection of five BH & G cookbooks from the ’50’s and ’60’s. Three of my mom’s cookbooks were in that set. The fourth cookbook popped up in a recommendation from another site. Since they weren’t expensive, I bought both sets. As silly as it might sound, those gently battered books came today and I don’t think I could receive a better gift if I tried.

You see, I now have the coconut cream pie recipe I used when I was allowed to prepare the home-made vanilla custard base for the first time when I was in elementary school. I was so proud I finally got to make the most coveted dessert for the family Thanksgiving gathering. I felt like a “big girl.” That vanilla custard base and meringue recipe for what is one of the best coconut cream pies in the world was also a big part of the recipe for our southern banana pudding recipe. As silly as all this sounds, all recipes are not created equally and these are the best, probably because they were ours. Not only ours; but part of the best memories of my life. The one’s involving family.

A different book has the apple spice cake recipe with the burnt caramel frosting my mom made for my birthday back in the day when I still called her “Mommy”. It was so delicious I still remember that cake as one of the best cakes I’ve ever tasted in my life a half century later. The recipe was written in the back of the cook book in my mom’s handwriting where she’d converted the cupcake recipe from the book into a cake recipe to bake that special cake for me. In another life, my birthday cakes would have been chocolate since my mom was a chocoholic, but I can’t eat chocolate. I’ve been intolerant since I was five. While I don’t have her exact recipe, I have the means to recreate it and that’s priceless to me.

I also now have the fresh strawberry cake recipe with the fresh strawberry icing she made for a different birthday party. If I remember correctly, I was probably in third or fourth grade and the kids at that party were in heaven. I’m not sure there was anything left when they finished. They knew a good thing when they tasted it. As happy as I was to have that yummy cake, I think I was happier that she loved me enough to work so hard to create something special just for me.

While I haven’t done anything more than glance through those books for about five minutes, I’m sure I’ll find more priceless memories between those well-worn covers when I have the time to look. A part of me can’t wait to look while the other part needs some time to process. As silly as it might sound, finding a seemingly meaningless part of your past can have a far more meaningful impact than expected. I’m finding that to be very true.

Thank you for letting me share and I apologize my short isn’t really short but the sweet is kind of sweet.

Until next time,

Calla