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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

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

Food For Thought · Novels · Writing & Creativity

Today is a day of emotional ups and downs…

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Not necessarily in a bad way. Just normal. I started this day giving Mom her meds and tucking her back in as I always do. Then I watered my plants and put seeds out for the birds and squirrels. I made a cup of coffee and sat down to read my emails while I watched the critter show through the French doors when I really should be writing.

It’s the day before Thanksgiving for me here in Florida in the United States. We usually share the holiday with Mom’s family. This year, I’m finally getting to cook for us. Nothing extravagant. Just a small meal for two. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for fifteen years; but couldn’t because I worked retail. Let’s be honest, Mom wouldn’t let me because of how I worked. She wanted me to rest up to work the Black Friday sales I hated so much. If you want to see people behaving badly this is the perfect time. Since I no longer work outside the home, I’m getting my wish and I’m truly grateful for that.

It was an email from my best friend this morning that got me thinking about gratitude. Real gratitude. Not the platitude that often masquerades as that emotion. My friend had a leg amputated last year due to illness and nothing has gone right since. He recently developed a staph infection which thankfully is getting better. He’s a dynamic professional, and always has been, so this situation is particularly hard on him. I’m fortunate we’re still so close since we haven’t seen each other face-to-face in close to eighteen years.

Given what he’s going through, it’s hard to offer encouragement without sounding trite. However, the fact he’s alive with hope and something to fight for – namely his health and the opportunity to jumpstart the writing career he’s already started – is something to be grateful for. The fact that he can retire from his old career financially sound with the luxury of starting his new career without needing a day job is another blessing. It’s up to him to find the positive in the negatives and the sweet scent in the crappy hand life dealt him. That’s what we all have to do and that’s what I tried to encourage him to do. Find hope in his situation and cling to it until things get better.

As I sit here musing, I’m grateful I’m home taking care of my mom. It’s hard sometimes. I’m a free spirit who likes to come and go as I please. However, I’m also good at being solitary as long as I get those nature walks. I’m grateful I don’t want or need much at this stage in my life. I’m grateful that attitude ensures I have money to give every month to help other people. I’m grateful I’m no longer young enough to get swept up in the turmoil wracking our country. I’m in a different place mentally and emotionally and I won’t apologize for that. I right wrongs in my own way and I’m grateful to have those opportunities.

In a world where everything is a cause waiting to happen, I prefer my causes to be ones where I can do immediate good. That the tears I cry and the frustration I feel over the state of the world isn’t useless. I’m grateful I have money to pour into feeding people, giving them water, helping them to support their families and put a roof over their heads, and provide disaster relief here in my country and abroad. Having been homeless for a short time a few years ago, my heart is for helping legitimate organizations with boots on the ground that give the hopeless some degree of hope. Even though I don’t materially have what I once had, I have more than so many people and I want to share. Life is about so much more than me.

That’s what I’m truly grateful for – that I understand that now. I’m at a point in my life where I happily give of myself to take care of my mom (my ex-mother-in-law) and I happily give from my finances to help people I will never meet. Feeling that way doesn’t come naturally. Given the abuses I’ve suffered in my life, there is an incredibly selfish part of me that wants to shout “what about me?”. I want this and I want that. I’ve lost so much I’m entitled to have what I want.

Sometimes, it’s couched as more of a “need”. Right. Honestly, I have to remind that part of me that I already have more than I need. If it’s a true need like replacing worn out sneakers – then I replace the sneakers. I’m not that selfless. However, most of the time, that need is an unnecessary want and I know I’ll get more pleasure out of giving than receiving so I give. It takes making a conscious effort to feel that way. A conscious choice. However, that soul tug within me that wants to do my part to make this world a better place keeps me straight and that’s another thing I thank God for. That He reawakened that part of me that I’d shut down somewhere along the way.

If you get anything from this mishmash of thoughts and feelings, please be grateful for the seemingly insignificant things we take for granted.

We have so much to be grateful for in America even when we can’t see it. Cherish your friends and family. Hold them close and let them know you love them. Remember the loved ones who are no longer here with joy for the time you did have with them. Even though holidays are bittersweet, I remember my mother (not my ex-mother-in-law I call “Mom” now) who died in 1996 with a full heart and I wish she was here to hold me. That feeling never goes away. Spend quality time together without cell phones and technology. Hug your pets. Forget the Black Friday sales in favor of family. For the most part, the best prices have already come and gone with those Pre-Black Friday Black Friday sales! I worked retail until recently, so I know that’s true.

Anyways, it’s time to go. Thanks for reading. I won’t apologize for being all over the place. That’s me. I will say, “Happy Thanksgiving!” if you celebrate and I wish you were here if you don’t.

Until next time,

Calla

Novels · writing · Writing & Creativity

I haven’t disappeared…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

I’m just living in that no-man’s-land between creativity and despair.

Not really. It’s nothing so dramatic. I’m torn between finishing the novel I need to finish and working on the book that’s calling my name. That’s why I haven’t written anything here. I’ve been trying to get my focus where it needs to be and it’s been difficult for a week or two. Between some minor health issues and navigating some major revisions I need to make in this novel, it’s been a fight to get the words to flow. However, that’s how it rolls sometimes. The good news is I’m finally over the first hump and the novel is flowing again.

However, I’ve started to feel like a smarter course of action is to do that one last read-through on the finished contemporary that’s ready to go and submit it. Even if it gets turned down, at least I have something with potential in a publisher’s hands while I’m editing and re-editing the novel I believe will get me somewhere. Yes, I’m an overthinker. While self-publishing and self-promotion are my go-to moves if this fails, the child within me still wants that publishing house contract in hand. It’s not an ego thing. It’s seeking the fulfillment of a life-long dream.

As I sit here on a rainy, cool Florida day watching the squirrels, painted buntings, and cardinals wreaking havoc on my back patio, I know pursuing my desire to write for a living is within reach. While I’m not the best writer out there, nor do I aspire to be, I have come to realize I have a niche. At least for my contemporaries and romantic suspense. I enjoy writing easy beach reads that are more sensual than explicit or erotic in nature. In a world where most romance writers are more MA than M, my stories have more to do with emotions and second chances than they do with crazy physical passion and perfect love.

My historical/historical romances are a different matter. While some of them are in a lighter vein like my contemporaries, the series closest to my heart is raw. Having spent my life studying ancient and medieval history, I try to suspend my 21st century values to recognize what made a good man or woman back then was vastly different that what makes a “good” person now.

My stories aren’t about judging or whitewashing characters to make them fit the sensibilities of modern readers. They’re about portraying life and relationships as they were or as close to it as my research and my imagination can get. While Thor would just as soon kill you as look at you under certain circumstances, he has an honor code that is very real. While Alexandria can wield a sword as good as any man out of necessity, she’s not just a warrior maiden. She’s a strong, maternal, protective woman who does what she has to do to save her people. While desperation drives both of them to do things they wouldn’t normally do, there are still things they won’t do. Lines they won’t cross and so on.

Anyways, I’m trying to get all the fluff-in-stuff I enjoy writing out of the way so I can throw on some Journey or Foreigner and focus on my Golden Wolf. My passionate love affair with crafting historical novels/historical romances with enough romance to appeal to woman and enough action to suck a man in is just too much fun to let fall by the wayside for too long.

As usual, I’ve ended up somewhere I didn’t mean to go. That’s okay. I mainly wanted to say I’m still out here and I will be writing again. Since this post has taken me several days to write, things have changed a little from the beginning. I did submit that book I was talking about to a publisher and I also submitted the pitch for a second contemporary romance at the same time. Say a prayer for me. No matter what happens, it was the right thing to do. I’m eagerly awaiting the response knowing I’ll be okay either way.

As I bring this post to close, I’ll be back soon. Hopefully writing about writing; but you know me by now. I tend to go all over the place. There’s just something so alluring about all those mental butterflies flitting about in my head that I get lured into pursuing them. That’s not a bad thing. It keeps me younger than my chronological age which is definitely a good thing. I’m so lucky I have the best of both worlds. I’m still vibrant enough to pursue my youthful flights of fancy and grounded enough to stay focused on getting novels written in a timely manner. It takes a certain maturity I didn’t necessarily have in my youth to tune all the temptations out and do what has to be done which is why you haven’t heard from me in much too long. I’ve been tuning out those distractions and this blog is a tempting one.

Anyways, I’ll write soon and thank you for reading. It’s an honor to share my insanity.

Until next time,

Calla

Been There, Done That · General

Some adults still wonder why the sky is blue…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Even when we know the answer, and I’m one of them!

Right now, I’m sitting here contemplating my recent decision to self-publish my book, Been There, Done That…Had the Smashed Up Face to Prove It. Not because I think I’ve made a bad decision. I don’t. After thoroughly researching what’s required to get an agent to even consider looking at my query package, I realized I’d be doing most of the work to promote my book upfront before anyone ever sees my query. If that wasn’t enough to sway me in the other direction, discovering the percentage of new authors who never make a dime from their work after getting published by a major publishing house finished the job . So, if I’m happy with my decision to put my memoir on Amazon, you might wonder what’s left to contemplate.

Only the death of a life-long dream.

I’ve dreamed of being published by a major publishing house for most of my life. I came close a couple of times; but, it wasn’t right either time. My first whiff-of-success came when an editor at one of the two major publishing houses requested the manuscript for my first historical romance. The first whiff of defeat came when I received my first official rejection letter. Unfortunately, my manuscript got caught in a shift in writing styles that wasn’t apparent until the next years’ crop of books came out. While that door wasn’t totally shut in my face, I was told to rewrite the whole 150,000 word manuscript, resubmit it, and I might make it back to an editors desk. In my youthful arrogance, I wouldn’t do it. I wasn’t compromising my writing style. Right. Dumb decision. I should have compromised away. Once I got my foot solidly in the door, I could have probably done my own thing to a certain degree.

The second time I had a shot at making it with the same manuscript was a couple of years later when I sent the book out to three well-known agents looking for new clients. I didn’t expect anything to come from it or I probably wouldn’t have sent my book out when I did. I was mainly looking for a diversion from the fact my Mom had just passed away from Cancer at the age of fifty-one. Waiting to hear from agents seemed as good a distraction as any so I took the leap. I was thirty-two at the time and I’d spent the past five years editing that book off and on. The manuscript had lost about 30,000 words along the way and I was proud of it.

When the responses came back, I received some fantastic compliments I wasn’t expecting. However, I didn’t get the representation I was seeking. Or I thought I didn’t. I was disappointed enough at the time to shelf the book and my writing for a while. Actually, real life more or less sapped my desire to write for a few years. It didn’t kill it. Just delayed the creativity. About the time my life settled and my interest in writing returned, I found the letter one of those agents sent me after my Mom died. To both my pleasure and my horror, I read a couple of sentences I’d missed the first time around and shook my head over the foolish girl I’d been. Not just once; but, twice.

While the beginning of that letter was undeniably a rejection, this well-known agent had ended her letter telling me if I’d fix a significant word-processing error in my manuscript she’d gladly represent me. Not only that, she was sure she could get me a contract. As much as I cringe thinking about that today, I wasn’t in any frame of mind to honor any contract she might have gotten me, so missing her offer was probably for the best.

Sadly, the world of publishing has changed greatly from the one I knew a couple of decades ago. I’ve spent the past couple of years trying to understand this strange new animal and I’ve reached the conclusion the best way to learn is to just do it. Put the book out there. Learn to blog. Learn the whole social media thing I’ve tried to ignore. Write my second non-fic. Throw a romance or two in the mix, slowly get my name out there, and build my following. In the end, all that really matters is I’m doing what I enjoy.

So, my final conclusion is, if I can do that…the dream hasn’t really died.

Calla MacKenna

Been There, Done That

In the beginning….

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

I wrote a book. It wasn’t a pretty little book wrapped in a pretty little package with the happy-ever-after ending we all want. That isn’t my story. Not yet; but, the end isn’t written yet. I expect good things so on with my blog. It was an ugly book filled with self-doubt, physical abuse, and degradation. A lot of it. But, it’s a book I hope will help you. I know it helped me. Writing my story forced me to take a long, hard look at myself and take responsibility for my life. For the poor choices I made that put me in the line of fire. It also forced me to let go of the situations I didn’t cause. To release myself from the shame and blame that wasn’t mine. To acknowledge I’m not responsible for someone else’s actions. Being there didn’t give them license to hurt me. That was their choice and they did it. It wasn’t mine.

What I allowed other people’s action to do to me; however, was my choice and I take responsibility for that. That’s one of the first steps to healing those deep wounds that alter the course of our lives and put us in dark places we were never meant to go. Honestly, that’s the most important messages to take away from my book. The one that says we’re responsible for our feelings. I can tell you from experience, whether you own your feelings or your feelings own you is up to you. The moment I went from being owned by my emotions to choosing to own them is moment my life took a turn for the better.

On an aside note, I’m working on Been There, Done That 2. That isn’t the real title. That hasn’t been decided yet. I have decided the book will be about all the years I spent immersed in the Occult trying to control my future and find purpose in my life. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten with the writing. That’s also part of why I’m starting this blog. I want to keep you updated on my progress with both books if you’re interested. I have a message I hope will help heal the wounded hearts and I hope to find that following where I can do the most good.

I’ll also be sharing incidents that didn’t make it into Been There, Done That…Had The Smashed Up Face To Prove It. Some will be helpful and some will be amusing in that twisted I-Know-This-Will-Be-Funny-Some Day way. I’d intended to free hand this blog and make it about anything that caught my fancy. Suddenly that doesn’t feel right. Not in this moment. Instead, the blog will center on my book, life lessons learned, and my journey to find an agent and publisher. That feels like the way to go. Anyways, we’ll see what happens.

Calla