Israel Day 2

I am beyond excited to share the Wilderness of Zin with my friends and fellow writers. Joe says he has never been where we are going either, which really surprises me. This has been the big mystery: how anyone could possibly come to Israel and skip the desert. After all, this is a metaphorical event of leaving behind the desert and coming into the promise. This is also where Jesus began his ministry, near where he was baptized. Where John called out for repentance and where Elijah and Elisha crossed the Jordan one way and Joshua crossed it the other.

But so many Christians want to begin their pilgrimage in Galilee where Jesus spent the majority of his ministry, they totally forget where it all began. Miriam introduced me to this concept years ago, I introduced it to Joe (IMOT) and now we are going to introduce it to these five journalists traveling with us.

Nahal Zin/Ein Avdat is also the place where David ben Gurion is buried. We stop at his grave first. Several groups of IDF (Israel Defense Forces) grads are about to have their ceremony. Family members gather near ben Gurion's grave. Flags fly. Young people decked in green mill about. Young men stand in attention with the mountains of the desert as their backdrop. Before them is a table with M-16s and Bibles. A gun and a sword. How can they go wrong?

Our group feels privileged to witness this. We are also surprised to know that male soldiers have female soldiers for superiors. "If they can deal with this," Miriam quips, "they can get through anything."

Our group places stones on ben Gurion's grave -- the Jewish equivalent to flowers -- then walks over to a stone wall where we take photos of the land before us ... the land we are about to venture in to. I hear declarations of how impressive it is.

They have no idea.

(photo at bottom shows David ben Gurion's grave in foreground with graduating soldiers between it and the Desert of Zin.)

Reporting from Israel

Internet reception at some of the kibbutz's being what it was, we were unable to post the words of our journey as we wished. Jerusalem was better, but by the time we got there, I was too tired to post. But I kept regular notes so that once I was settled in at home again, I could share with you the magnificence that is The Land of the Bible.

Day One



It was the result of years of praying -- Miriam and me. Months of planning -- Miriam, Joe Diaz, and me. Now the time had come. The Florida team -- Larry Leech, Cheri Cowell, Robi Lipscomb and I -- boarded Delta's 12:17 flight for JFK. Robi and Larry were seated together and Cheri and I sat directly behind them. Cheri spoke to our other seatmate. While she got the scoop on the fact that he and his wife were on their honeymoon and that she was seated near the back and the others on that aisle would not change with them, I was zeroing in on his accent. "Where are you from?" I asked.

"Israel," he answered.

It was like a gift we were given. Already God was telling us this would be a special trip. Cheri agreed to change seats with the wife so that they would be together and for the rest of the trip I was treated to photos of their wedding and the first leg of their honeymoon.

Mazel Tov!

We arrived at JFK on time. As the four of us left the jetway, I saw a man standing near the gate holding up a piece of paper with our names on it.

Wow.

He gave his name -- Shim W. Lew -- and told us he was Chief of Protocol for Delta at JFK. By him we were escorted to the Sky Club near our departing gate for Tel Aviv. We settled in then left for some lunch at a nearby restaurant. As we nibbled on food and talked about our hopes for the trip, Sharon Decker from North Carolina joined us. After lunch, we returned to the Sky Club where each of us did our own thing until our flight was called.

At Gate 14, Ellie Kay met us, making our group nearly complete. Upon arriving in Tel Aviv, we would be met by Joe Diaz (Israel Ministry of Tourism, Atlanta office), my coauthor Miriam Feinberg Vamosh (who would serve as our guide) and Tzvika, our driver. I could hardly wait.

But wait we would. The flight from JFK to Tel Aviv is a long one. We were fed an okay dinner (for airline food) then catnapped the rest of the flight. At some point I stood up to walk around. From the shadows of sleeping figures I saw a hand wave at me. It was Larry, about six rows back. Next to him, Cheri slept. Across the aisle, Robi did too. I walked to Larry and received the news that we were landing a good deal ahead of time, thanks to a tail wind.

The Ben Gurion International Airport is absolutely spectacular to behold. Ellie and I seemed to walk faster than the others but still took in the sense of being "home." At the end of a long hallway called the connector I spotted a pretty woman holding a sign that read: Eva Marie Everson's Party.

That was us!

I greeted the woman with a smile and a handshake. We gathered everyone together. She escorted us through border patrol, then to get our luggage, then through customs. Because we were early, there was no one to meet us in the Arrivals Hall, a disappointment for sure. But it gave us a while to turn our dollars into shekels and grab a much-needed cup of coffee.

Of course all I could think was "Where is Joe" and "Where is Miriam?" A few minutes later, Joe arrived. We hugged, said, "We did it! We made it!" then waited a while longer.

Someone from IMOT reported that our driver and Miriam were waiting outside for us. My heart flipped. MIRIAM! I grabbed my luggage, slung my camera bag and purse over my shoulder, and headed for the outside doors.

I spotted Miriam across the way. She was on the phone. Next to her was the man I assumed was Tzvika. We made our way across. Miriam ended her call and looked up. Our eyes met -- having not seen each other for nearly three years -- and we both smiled. I ran the remainder of the gap between us. We hugged -- it had been TOO long -- and Miriam said, "It feels like just yesterday ..."

Crazy. She was right.

Tel Aviv greeted us with gray skies and rain. Miriam declared that this was supposed to be the last day of such weather -- although they were grateful for it -- and we all lifted a verbal prayer that the weather would be kind to us.

Our first night was spent in Ma'ale Hachamisha Hotel outside of Jerusalem. We were led to our rooms where a plate of fruit and a large bottle of water waited for us. I pulled back the heavy drapes and flung open the window.

The rain had stopped. The sun broke through the clouds. God was speaking. We were about to spend seven unprecedented days.

At dinner we were treated to a visit with Miriam's husband Arik. Arik and Miriam are Israel. Arik's father and mother were Holocaust survivors -- while other family members were not. Arik fought in the Yom Kippur War in which he was hit with shrapnel, which left him paralyzed from the waist down -- not that it has stopped him from living a full life. Miriam grew up in New Jersey but came to Israel at age 17 to see her brother, a Rabbi in Jerusalem. She fell in love with the country and decided to call it home. Shortly thereafter, she made aliyah.

This couple is like family to me. I love them, their family members, and their children as though I were born into their fold. I know they love me in this way, too.

She's Writing Again

Can you believe I sat on my novel for nearly a month? According to the writing log I keep, the last time I wrote was September 5th.

In wondering why, I went back and re-read the entire 11,000 words I'd written up until this point. In doing so, I realized that the final scene penned had nearly done me in and I had needed time to recoup.

The final scene written is a courtroom scene. A courtroom scene in which the destiny of two children is decided. In my personal life, and in the course of a decade, I spent nearly five years in a courtroom, fighting for the right of one child, a child my husband and I now raise as our own. To write the courtroom scene in my novel, I pulled out a DVD I'd purchased of one of the old hearings. I watched it over and over, looking for tiny movements, listening for legal terms and the legally proper moments of the hearing. I was swept back into the angst, the fear, the relief. I relived every brutal moment.

Now, as the author of a fictitious work, I had to place my protag in the same skin I once wore. But in her case (pardon the pun), she lost.

My worst fears became Kimberly's reality.

But, you see, I know something Kimberly doesn't know. I am her creator ... the story's creator ... and I know I have to get her from Plot Point A to Plot Point B where she will be blessed beyond what she has even begun to imagine. To gain something she doesn't even realize she wants, she must be forced to loosen her control on something she thinks she cannot live without.

It took me a month to realize this. Writers often use the events of their lives as inspiration for scenes or stories. But we mix them up, change them around (lest we end up in court ourselves!). Still, we have to revisit old wounds and sometimes wonder what may have happened had things not turned out as they did.

And that takes the wind out of our sails. So, for a month, this writer -- with a reopened wound -- had to sit in a corner and lick it. Now, having a better understanding of God's grace and His plan, she can continue to write.

And so she shall. And so she has. Return to Cedar Key is now at 16k words.

Until next time ... write on...

Guest Blogger Gail Pallotta

In the Wilderness by Guest Blogger Gail Pallotta,
Author of LOVE TURNS THE TIDE

In my new inspirational romance, LOVE TURNS THE TIDE, twenty-six-year-old Cammie O’Shea takes a job in Destin, Florida, and simultaneously suffers a heartbreaking split-up with her fiancé. Moving one week early to keep an appointment with an important client, Vic Deleona, she goes to his office to interview him before she even meets her new boss at The Sun Dial newspaper. When she enters, Vic has his back to her, so she pushes the door shut to make a noise. He turns and glares at her with angry green eyes. Then, he takes a call, excuses himself and leaves Cammie standing alone in the middle of the floor.
I thought of Cammie a few weeks ago, when I heard a sermon about the hungry Israelites wandering in the wilderness grumbling that at least they had had food, when they were slaves in Egypt. As soon as the minister pointed out that we too can find ourselves in a wilderness with no one but God to turn to Cammie came to mind. She leaves her family and friends she’s known for years and ends up in a place where she knows no one. Not long after she settles into her apartment in Destin she visits the shore.
When she sees the beauty of the water and miles of white sand dotted with sea oats blowing in the breeze, she stops in her tracks and thinks, “What a sight it must have been for the disciples when they saw Jesus upright on the lake. The Bible said they were frightened and thought it might be a spirit instead of Christ until he told them “…Take courage. It is I. Don’t be afraid.” Then Peter walked on the water. As long as he stayed focused on Jesus he never faltered, but when he became skeptical and turned his attention to the wind, he sank. In Matthew 14: 31, when Jesus caught him he said, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’” While still staring at the sea Cammie ponders why she doubts.
Now when she needs God most with her life spinning out of control, for some reason she doesn’t understand she feels more estranged from him than she ever has. “If only he would take the weight of the failed romance, the new job, and a new home off her shoulders. She was saying her prayers and reading her Bible every day. What more could she do?” she asks herself.
Being in the wilderness is like being in a jungle with a forest too dense to let in a ray of sunshine and underbrush so thick one couldn’t walk through it even if there was a visible way out. One can stroll into it so easily, so unexpectedly. One day life’s humming along; the next, the dark curtain falls. A number of events can create a wilderness, joblessness, controversy, disagreements, illnesses, separation from loved ones, loss of loved ones. When I’m in my next one I’ll try to think of the part of the minister’s sermon when he reminded the congregation that God sent the Israelites manna in the wilderness.
The minister also claimed that the time spent in a desolate, lonely place would strengthen one’s faith. Even though I know such words can dissipate into jumbled letters that make no sense when gray clouds hover over a person day after day, I’ll cling to the thought and know that God is with me. If I keep believing and follow his lead I will find my way out.

Matthew 17:20: “…I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

ABOUT LOVE TURNS THE TIDE
To find out what happens to Cammie look for LOVE TURNS THE TIDE on the Awe-Struck E-Books Web site. To locate the site Google Awe-Struck E-Books; then look for Genres on the Home Page and click on the Inspirational Bar. For a while Awe-Struck will offer a discount on the New Releases page. Available in a variety of formats for PDA readers, laptops and computers, the book costs $4.99. Read more about LOVE TURNS THE TIDE on Gail’s Web site, www.gailpallotta.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
The granddaughter of a minister and niece of several English teachers, Gail inherited their interest in storytelling and her mother’s love of people. Her first writing appeared in a grammar school newspaper she and a friend put out about their classmates. Many years later she worked in Atlanta, Georgia, as an editor and copywriter. After she married while helping her husband with his business she published poems and freelance articles. While some of her articles were selected for anthologies two historical pieces ended up in museums. Gail published her first book, NOW IS THE TIME, a Christian novel in 2004. That year the American Christian Writers Association named her a regional writer of the year.

ABOUT DESTIN:
The Beginning: Once dubbed the “World’s Luckiest Fishing Village” Destin dates back to seventh century A. D., when American Indians lived there. It’s named for Leonard Destin, who moved from New London, Connecticut, about 1845. For years he and his descendants fished and navigated the only channel passage to the Gulf of Mexico between Panama City and Pensacola, known as Destin’s East Pass.

The White Sand: Destin’s sand originated 20,000 years ago during the Ice Age, when temperatures warmed and ice caps started melting. Quartz particles from the Appalachian Mountains were swept into the water and carried by the Apalachicola River to the Gulf of Mexico, one-hundred twenty-five miles east of the area that became Destin. As the sea level rose, the quartz sands formed a new shoreline. The process continues today.

Destin Currently: A tourist area, Destin’s activities include fishing, golfing, boating, snorkeling, kite boarding, and scuba diving. For more information visit www.destinfl.com; www.destin-ation.com; www.destinchamber.com.

A Very Brave Thing

It was with much trepidation that I picked up the phone to call my friend, Larry Leech. Earlier that day I'd been at a Word Weavers meeting. I heard a couple of writers talking about their "novel group." It was then I remembered that Larry also has such a group, a place where writers in the throes of a novel can bring portions of their work for critique.

It takes a lot of nerve. Especially for me.

First of all, because I am published I fear putting other non-published writers ill at ease. Secondly, as a published writer, I am putting my work out there and saying, "See??? NEEDS WORK!" That's humbling. Not that I think I don't have work to do ... but my fear is that others will not feel as if they can honestly critique me.

Well, Larry didn't answer so I left a message. Later that afternoon he called back. As we were chatting -- exchanging pleasantries -- I wondered if I should just say, "Well, I called just to say hello."

But I didn't. I came clean. I told him I wanted to join his novel critique group, if there was room. He assured me there was.

He sent the email addresses of about the eight to ten writers in his group along with the general rules. I sent the first 2500 words of "Cedar Key" to them and then waited three days until the evening of the meeting.

I'd struggled with the opening of this book. Was it good enough? Compelling enough? Did it hook the reader? Did it raise the Major Dramatic Question that would be answered in the climax of the book?

Larry put me in the hot seat first. Of course. I listened as each one of the group's members gave me their honest opinions. One thing in particular had jumped out at each of them (so I immediately came home and took out the artistically offensive lines). For the most part, the group's members "got it." They loved it. They gave wonderful suggestions and pointers.

It's a very brave thing to do but I'm glad I did it. Next month I return with 2500 more words having been placed before them. Scary but I'm ready.

WORD COUNT: So far I have 11,415 words of the 95,000 contracted. I'm on Chapter Four and I'm still in the "first day."

(Photo is of --right to left -- Larry Leech, Cecil Murphey, and myself. Photo taken by Loyd Boldman)

The Bump in This Writer's Road

I hit a bump in the road.

It happens, okay ...

I was typing away on my next great masterpiece. In this particular part of the story, Kimberly -- the protagonist -- is taking her ex-husband to court over his summer visitation with their children. It's not that she doesn't want him to see the kids ... or vice-versa ... it's just that he's been reportedly hanging out in too many bars, with too many leggy women who may (or may not) be spending the night in his hot new bachelor's pad. Kimberly is concerned, as any mother should be, about the welfare of her children.

So she goes to court.

I know the family court system well. (See my post about our adoption of our little one...) and I know how the legal system can work against you as easily as it can work for you. I also know how the system works here in Florida. Some issues go before the judge -- the grand master who sits behind the big high desk donned in flowing black robes (the grand master, not the desk) -- and some go before the General Magistrate.

They don't wear robes but they do sit behind big high desks and sometimes they are more frightening than the judges they are there to represent.

The feel of being in the courthouse ... the smells ... the sounds ... the sight of it. This is know.

So, Kimberly is taking her request for a more controlled summer visitation to the G M. She is not bringing legal counsel with her (also sometimes the way it goes).

As I am typing away -- impressing even myself on how well the words are flowing from my fingertips --I have a sudden thought. Would she, I questioned, have an attorney for this or no? Should she? Could she represent herself (often the case with a G M hearing...)?

This, I don't know.

So I called a friend of mine who works within the family court system. She didn't answer, so I left a message. I waited for a return call. I didn't get it. I called again. Still, nothing.

Could she be out on vacation, I wondered ...

My main character is sitting in the courthouse waiting area with her sister Heather by her side. Her ex-husband is across the way, standing with his attorney. The sister remarks, "I thought you didn't need an attorney for this hearing ..."

"I don't," Kimberly replies.

And that is when it hit me ... I don't know for SURE!

Thus the call and the waiting and the not getting any writing done for days. This, as any writer will tell you, presents a dangerous problem. Getting out of the heads of the characters, out of the flow of the story, out of the mood entirely! Dangerous!

Finally, I had another thought. Hey! I'm a FICTION WRITER! HELLO! I can make this up until I know for sure. For absolute certain.

"So then," Heather now says as my fingertips return to the keyboard of my computer, "why is Charlie with his?"

And then story begins to flow again. And I'm liking it!

Here's hoping they don't need an attorney for this ... 'cause that's the way I wrote it.

Writing on ...

Research, Research, Research/Location, Location, Location

There is an old saying in the world of real estate. It goes like this:

Location, location, location.

But what does it mean? Primarily, that the LOCATION of a property is vitally important to the buyer, therefore to the seller. It is repeated three times so as to be remembered.

We, those of us who call ourselves writers, use that same line. "Location, location, location."

Without location we know little about our characters. A girl growing up in the 1950s rural South will have a different characterization than one growing up in the new millenium, New York City. Or, New York State for that matter.

Location also becomes a character. People who have read Things Left Unspoken
and who have emailed me about the book's setting (Cottonwood, GA), have declared Cottonwood a character unto itself. This is because I worked hard as a writer to make it come to life through word pictures and through the characters who live there.

The same sentiment goes for Summit View, Colorado, which is where the Potluck Club books are set.

I am currently working on a new series, which has a working title of "Return to Cedar Key." Unlike most of my "locations," this one is real. The others are
based on real places, but are, in fact, fictious.

Cedar Key is located on the west coast of Florida, near the panhandle. I found it a few years ago, more or less by accident. A friend of mine, Janice Elsheimer, and I were looking for a place to "get away" and write. I lamented my problem to my hairdresser, who told me about Cedar Key. When I shared the idea with my friend, she said, "Let's load up!"

And so we did.

I fell in love with Cedar Key almost instantly. For one thing, in those days, once my car drove off the mainland and onto the island, cell service was nonexistent. If an emergency occurred, my family would have to call the hotel and ask for my room number. Otherwise, I was O U T. Don't call me, I'll call you. Maybe.

But there was more than just the being able to get away from it all. There were the sunrises on the east side of the island and the sunsets on the west. There was the incredible cuisine. The people -- easy going, laid back, good folk. There was the history. The boat rides through the Gulf and the marshlands, dolphins dancing behind us in the wake of water. There were the birds -- scores and scores of varieties of birds -- and the local artists with their crafts for sale. There was sitting out on the baloncy with Janice in the cool of the evening, watching the moon's reflection as it dipped and swayed on the ripples of the inky water. Two friends sharing the night, conversation, secrets kept forever. That's what friends do.



And so we returned. Time and again, we returned. It was during one of these trips that I was flipping through a magazine. I stopped, drawn by an ad that featured five young women sitting together in a beach house, all wearing white. Four of them looked alike. One was markedly different.

I ripped the page from the magazine and showed it to Janice. "There's a story here," I said. And I went on to explain what I saw as a novelist.

In June 2009, Janice and I returned so that I could begin the research and development of my next novel series, currently called Return to Cedar Key.

It's about five women ... four who look alike and one who is markedly different.

I am going to ask you to join me on an exciting adventure. I am going to take you through the next six months of my journey as I write Book One of the Return to Cedar Key series. Join me, won't you? Invite your friends, too. I look forward to sharing this most marvelous gift with you ... of creating a world within a world and people who live within our imaginations.