Writing Writing Everywhere

...Just not always here.

Yes, I signed up for Nanowrimo. And I'm doing well, right on track. I had my writing all "done" for the day (meaning I wrote enough words, and came to a reasonable stopping place, so I stopped writing and started doing other things) but I'm about to start up again this evening because of a sudden revelation...

I want to know what happens next!

At any given time I have at least two books that I'm reading - a book on ink and an e-book that I can read in bed in the dark. And this evening, when I have the time to pick up a book and read, I found myself wondering what was going to happen next to my character! That I'm writing! For Nanowrimo! And I was sitting here hoping that she'd do this one thing that I just realized she needs to do.

So I guess I'd better write that scene.

Anyway, that's where my time is going. But I was talking to another writer the other day and realized how much I miss writing flash fiction, so Flash Fiction Fridays will be coming back. Later.

One Year Death Free

...And that year was 2022.

I didn't want to jinx it, so I didn't say anything as 2022 ended, and then it was 2023, and out of my mind. Actually, that's not entirely true, but whatever.

As of now, I am uncle-less. 

As a kid, I had four biological uncles (brothers of my parents) plus three in-law uncles (married to sisters of my parents). Yesterday - Friday, Nov. 3, US time - my mother's younger brother died. I don't know any details at this point, but he'd suffered from Parkinson's Disease and probably other heart/cholesterol issues due to weight. 

Grief is different each time. Of course, an uncle is not as close as a sibling or parent, so I haven't been teary yet. (It almost happened just before writing this.) I just ran away to the beach for a break in the morning.

It's about a 10 minute bike ride, and I usually swim for 7-10 minutes. Today I lay in the sand for a bit after that. It was later than I usually go, so the sun was super-warm and the waves were a soothing background. While I was there, I realized that's become my post-death go-to. After I got back from my nephew's traumatic funeral in 2019, I went to the beach for a bit. After my sister's funeral, took almost a whole morning just sitting and reading. Dad, too. It really helps to clear my head.

ANYWAY! Uncle ... let's call him Devin. I was thinking that we weren't that close, and we weren't. We didn't stay in touch or anything, and that whole family is scarce on social media. But suddenly I realized that, growing up, he was probably the uncle I saw the most. Uncle Devin lived in the neighboring town to my mom's mom. So every Christmas, every summer vacation, we would spend time at Uncle Devin's house. Especially as Grandma got older, he and his wife did more of the hosting. They had a cool, split-level house, and the town's water tower was right outside. It was very tempting to climb, although we couldn't get very high up before the ladder was locked down. 

Uncle Devin has two sons, so the whole family was very into scouting. It was a boy-haven house, even with a zip-line from one upstairs window to the tree-house... DECADES before zip-lining was mainstream. They had an extra garage where he taught his sons how to fix cars. With a sunken pit so they could just walk down some steps under the car to be worked on.

He was fun, and funny. When Brett and I were road-tripping across Iowa, we stayed with them for a night, and boy, they got along well. Brett and Uncle Devin had first met at my cousin's wedding a year before, and after talking together, Uncle D gave me the thumbs up. It felt like getting approval from the cool uncle. Because that's what it was. 

Uncle Devin's approval meant something. I remember, at Grandma's funeral - she died at 101, so had everything planned out - my sisters and I sang Beautiful Savior. Afterwards, Uncle Devin, an impressive tenor himself, told me "You've got some pipes!" It meant the world. I don't sing much outside of church choirs, and only to myself these days. Not that he was stingy with praise, just that he gave it when you weren't expecting it.

This is life. Death happens. He was a good man, who left a good legacy. He will be missed.

And life will go on.

One calendar year without a death.

p.s. Blogger is doing its thing where I can't reply to comments right now, and I can't remember how I fixed it. I'm reading them! I want to comment! I'll get around to it eventually!

Story Ideas

I'm considering whether to do Nanowrimo again this year. It's like an addiction, though. I feel like I *have to* do it. 

BUT... I have no ideas of what to write. There's no burning story that is bursting to come out of me. 

So I've been generating ideas for what to write, if I decide to do Nano. Here are a few ideas:

1. Sci-fi. Manager of a coffee shop on the Moon, in a time when the trendy thing is to move on to Mars. But this person doesn't make the cut for Mars, and feels stuck. A couple story options. A)S/he learns of something that could be a danger to all Moon-lings and has to escape or save the Moon. B)S/he meets someone, relationship starts, the SO makes the cut for Mars and either they go together or it ends in heartbreak.

2. Dystopian. BFFs were broken apart by a cataclysmic event in their youth. They reunite as adults, but their ideals and paths have diverged so much they have to overcome their new differences (because they share this deep connection to a brutal past). In the end, by coming together they find their new talents/skills/education are complementary to a degree that they can help their community/society/nation avert a coming catastrophe.

3. Parallel/Future world. A young woman's life is spared for a rare, prized physical trait. She wants a normal life, but is used for DNA harvesting. She begins/joins a rebellion of others trying to overthrow the DNA harvesters.

4. Modern world, possible Women's Lit. Woman breaks free from financial hardship through an online business. As things are looking good, she suffers death and loss from multiple angles and sinks into depression leading to loss of business and isolation. Back on her heels, she learns new skills to help herself, and in the process helps others. Story ends with her finally leaving her house for the first time in years.

5. Environmental Collapse. Climate change is wreaking havoc on the world's populations, agriculture, business. Storms, droughts, wildfires all take their toll. In the middle of the growing crisis, scientists find a way to weaponize weather and target opposing governments.

Now that I lay these all out here, they're each pretty heavy. Maybe I need to simplify and write REAL things about realistic people. Hmm... Thoughts?

American Road-trip, Part 4: Abundance

Recently I found myself musing on moments I had in the States last June, feeling lost among options. It happened often.

For example, I like keeping some snacks with me in the car when I'm on a road-trip. So I wanted to get something suitable. We were in a big box store, and I went to the grocery section. Snacks. Or wait. Nuts and Popcorn. Or wait. Cookies and Crackers. Or wait. Chips. 

These are all AISLE headings. Whole aisles full of so many choices my mind boggled. 

Convenience stores. Drug stores. Gas stations! Even on the highway, When there's an exit coming, you will see a bunch of signs telling you exactly what your choices are for food or fuel.

And the abundance went on. It's expected. I've lived with it. I understand it. I've just been away for so long it struck me differently. Not just "stuff" but convenience and availability. And assumed availability.

While we were on the east coast, a section of a major highway (I-95) collapsed in Philadelphia. We were in Delaware at the time, planning to drive up to New York in the coming days. Now this main path would be closed. I considered taking the ferry over to New Jersey instead and driving from there, but when we looked at ferry times, realized we needed a reservation. They were booked. Apparently everyone else visiting the Delaware shore had the same idea.

So, to avoid I-95 we hit the Jersey Turnpike instead. If you don't know, a turnpike is a toll road. On long toll roads in the States, service areas are spaced out every 50-90 miles, where you can pull off for gas or food without paying an exit toll. It's expected. 

The first service area had a sign up saying it was closed for maintenance. 60 miles to next service area. Which was closed, too. There was a ton of traffic. My guess is that a lot of people were diverted to the turnpike because of work on I-95. Finally, at the third service area we gassed up, then waited in long lines for fast food options. There were no tables so we ate outside by the car before continuing. 

We had assumed an American level of availability, and found ourselves with no options. One service center. It seemed almost un-American! This is why New Jersey has a bad reputation. 

Note: I've been to NJ before several times, and enjoyed my visits. I may have even taken the turnpike before; I don't recall. But it does have a murky reputation in the rest of the US.

American Road-Trip, Part 3: Hobbies

So, my brother-in-law has a new hobby: Making perfect ice.

I have not seen the results of this hobby, because we didn't visit their house, just met up at my mom's. I guess it is ice that is perfectly clear, with no streaks inside from bubbles rising to the surface? There's a specific way to do this. Apparently.

He's an engineer. I don't know if that has anything to do with it, but I do think it speaks to a mindset that appreciates technical challenges. So... perfect ice.

When he takes on A Hobby, it is one hobby for a duration. For a while, he brewed beer. Then he was making mead. I know he also enjoys researching the best ways to cook certain things. Like I say, technical, detail-based, precision tasks.

Someone else we visited works in the gun industry. I believe he tests new models of guns coming to market. He loves his work, and enjoys talking about it. I didn't understand a lot of what he said. He showed Brett some of his personal guns. So it's a job and a hobby!

One fun aspect of this trip was finding out about hobbies that developed during the pandemic. Good friends have developed their gardening in ways specific to their abilities. A self-proclaimed NON green thumb, she created a cactus garden. He grows strawberries. They planted a grape vine to grow over the arbor they built (it's not grown that high yet) and they added a decorative sculpture garden in one corner of their property.

Another friend has also been working on his garden, but in his case the big draw is a fire ring that will have raked, flag stone seating around it when complete. 

A good friend of mine who found herself gaining weight during lockdown has jumped on the fitness bandwagon, walking with friends, and throwing down an exercise mat at home to get exercise in inclement weather.

These are not the things we talk about during the occasional long-distance phone calls. Or if so, the topics don't bear the weight of the hobby. "What did you do today?" "Oh, I took a walk / worked in the garden / made ice." Then the conversation rolls on. That's why it was so great to actually visit with all these people. We can talk all the time, but seeing a person's life is a different level of communication.

It's the little things that make a person whole.

American Road-Trip, Part 2: Edibles

I'm not a drug person. Never was. Once, at a college party, the guy I was talking to invited me to join him in lighting up with some friends. I excused myself from the room until they were done. Now of course, marijuana is legal in some form in most US states, and easy to get everywhere. But I live in Vietnam. It's around, but illegal.

A few years ago, we were in Canada and shared a joint in a legal lounge. I didn't get much out of it. Not being a smoker, I probably did it wrong.

Now, in the latest book I'm working on, a character is given edibles from a friend. I don't explore this character's history with pot - she allows that she's not a "regular" user, but seems familiar with it.

During our trip to the States, I decided to do a little research.

First, I asked a grower about it and got some solid information about the different effects coming from the different strains. Cool. Helpful.

Near the end of our trip, I decided to try gummies for myself. A friend was buying some brownie bites from the dispensary at the same time. Not too long after I ate a gummy, back at their house, they offered me a brownie bite. Of course I wanted to try it! See, I had already forgotten this was A Drug. And that it was For Research. In my head, gummy candies and brownies are snacks. That's a hard idea to alter!

Two edibles in quick(ish) succession was a mistake. I'm just not used to trying to get high!

Sure, at first came a pleasant, light, buzzy sensation, but then it became unpleasantly like being way too drunk. Plus. I felt like lead. If I got up to move, I knew (did I?) that there was every possibility that I'd fall down, or vomit, or both. Brett - who had elected to stay sober while I experimented, brought me a slice of the leftover pizza, and after I finished my one beer I switched to drinking water. We were having a movie night, and I safely fell asleep there on the sofa during the movie.

Midway through the movie, Brett woke me and convinced me I might as well go to bed. I managed to get myself ready for bed and slept very soundly, never wishing to do that again!

The next morning, I was kicking myself for wasted research. I needed to know how to write about this! What if the brownie was the more potent edible? What if the late hour had conspired against me? And what about that beer I had early in the evening - the combination of alcohol and drugs is not in my book! We had some open time that morning, so after breakfast, as I was repacking our bags, I tried Just One Gummy. This time I could focus. It was morning, my head was clear, and I was without the audience of those sharing in our previous movie night. Plus, I was doing a task that I've done numerous times and knew how it should go.

While packing, I took notes:

• 45 minutes in, it was getting hard to focus. Visually and mentally.
• 1.5 hours in, that floating sensation kicked in. It was accompanied by a tingling in my lips.
• At 1 hour 50 minutes, my mouth was dry. SO dry! I drained my water bottle.

That's where the notes stop. I recall that, mid-packing, I stretched out on the bed and relaxed for a while. Did I sleep? If so, not for long. My nature is task-driven and I had a task. After finishing packing, I picked up the book I was reading and sat in a corner, in a haze, reading, until it was time to go. I was fine, but operating at low energy.

Overall, even a tiny little pot-gummy is too potent for me. Although I was able to move (no leaden sensation as of the prior night) and I didn't feel ill, it was no fun. I am in NO danger of becoming an addict!

And the research was worth it. They say "write what you know." I will be removing the drug parts from the book. It was all unnecessary to the plot, anyway. 

Have you ever done anything "for research"? Gone somewhere you wouldn't normally or tasted a food just to see? How did it turn out for you?

American Road-Trip, Part 1: No Home is Safe!

Last week we returned from our month long trip to the US. Rather than write a play-by-play, I thought it would be more interesting to write individual stories or perspectives. This is about being a house-guest.

If I've ever visited your house, just know that I've redecorated it in my mind. The habit started during my baby-sitting days in college and pops up from time to time. Our recent trip was prime for it!

Take the residence of certain friends, for instance. Old friends we've stayed with twice during our extended trips abroad. The guest room is clean and simple, while the house is chock full of collectibles - Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, movie memorabilia, games... It's a big enough house that all I've really re-done in my head is the room where we've slept. Each time, it turns into a yoga room. I'd strip away the carpet, remove the closet door (to store yoga clothes and gear) and probably set up a meditation corner by the tall window.

Given the space I'd always want a yoga room. Another house we stayed in had a screened-in back porch... which would be (and was, for those few days) a good yoga space. It was big enough that in my mental refurbishment I could even keep some of the communal seating and just add storage and re-organize part of it for yoga. 

At that house, I also had ideas to "fix" the front porch.

They have a porch that runs the full length of the house, but do nothing with it! There's one lonely bench near the door, presumably for deliveries, and that's it. To be fair, I noticed the majority of houses in that region kept sparse front porches, with more activities focused out back. Now me, I like a front porch. I like to watch the world. A couple chairs, a table, maybe a potted plant or some flowering shrubs to accent the front edge. A wreath? Something to show personality. 

When I lived in that area, I didn't have a front porch, but hung wind chimes on my small side porch, and lined it with conchs and driftwood. It wasn't much but gave it a little personality.

Not that my house is perfect. I've been in this house four years and still can't settle on my favorite garden furnishings! 

Am I crazy? Do you ever do anything like that - think about how you would design a place differently?

What Day is it?

*looks at corner of laptop screen* June 1st. Okay, so that's...

*digs planner out of suitcase* ...Thursday. Fine.

We are traveling in the US for a few weeks. We arrived [*checks notes*] one week ago. It's 6:40 a.m. Central time, and I've been up for 3 hours because although we are traveling, we are keeping up with our online teaching as much as we can, so I had a class at 5:00. I'm always tired, and there's no telling if it's because of jet lag, or emotional fatigue from being Social. All. The. Time. - or if it's just the constantly rotating sleep schedule due to class times.

Tomorrow we leave Brett's hometown and head off to see my family. Or whatever portion of my family decides to show up. My family overthinks everything, and people are trying to set things in stone instead of just accepting my "I'll be there from this date until that one so come whenever you can." No. Someone must organize something. Which sounds great in theory, and worked quite well here in Brett's hometown, but my family likes to have every detail ironed out before committing to anything.

Apparently.

I'd never noticed this pattern before. Maybe it's because my oldest sister is no longer around to set things up in a simple way.

It'll be fine. 

It'll be whatever it is. 

We'll drive to my mom's town tomorrow. Maybe a brother will show up that night. The next day my sister will come down for the afternoon. Probably we'll go picnic at a winery. Probably my niece will come down that evening - maybe she'll even stay overnight! 

We have things to do in the city on Monday or Tuesday, and I've let it be known that we plan to leave on Tuesday or Wednesday. We've got people to see on the East Coast who actually want to make plans to get together. People who actually want to see me and are excited I'm back in the country!

I can't blame my family. I just saw them 3 years ago, and that was for my sister's funeral, so we really don't have a ton of positive recent memories. If I was my sibling, I'd probably prefer to stay home, too. That might be best: if everyone just decides to stay home. I really hope that everyone does what's on their heart, and doesn't push themselves to visit out of a sense of obligation.

So far, this first leg of the trip has been cool. I'm really looking forward to the final leg, out on the coast. The middle part will be fine. I'll be happy to see whoever I see.

Family can be weird.

Reflections on #AtoZChallenge

I did it!

I didn't do as well as I'd intended, but I succeeded in getting through the alphabet, mostly on theme. I had half of them set up in advance, and thought that would help ensure I had time to do more blog visiting this year, which is always where I fell short.

Due to life, the fact that I'd planned in advance merely allowed me time to deal with the new chaos generating around me, so I still didn't visit many blogs until nearly the middle of the month. Rather than run down the list of blogs, I generally visit ones with a them that I like, or blogs I've visited previously. 

This year, I was able to tick off a few blogs as "yes, visit again later" during the first few days when I was visiting one or two as I could. But by the time I was ready to sit down and knock out a good chunk of blog-visits... several of the ones I visited had abandoned A-to-Z - either dropping off blogging, or random blogging without adhering to the letters. I'm all for blogging how anyone chooses, but it seems to me that if someone registers to follow a particular set of rules for a challenge, they should stick to them. I don't know why, but it bugs me. I'm a rule follower. (One or two of the blogs that had simply cut off at an early letter still made it to my "check them out later" list, but none of the "using AtoZ to gain followers while not really participating" blogs did.)

This year was more stressful. I LOVED the stories I wrote. I had fun with them. Of course, being flash fiction, there are things I would change on an edit, or if I lengthened them and added more depth, but overall, I'm happy with my part in this.

Will I do it next year? I will take into consideration what is happening in my life at that time. I may do as one of my favorite bloggers, Liz A. of Laws of Gravity, does: Simply follow the alphabet as I do my regular blogging in April. I might not even register. Just to relieve the stress. If stress is what my life is offering me next year. We'll see.

Zombies? - #AtoZChallenge

Mila crouched in the rocks and watched for movement. The valley below was well-sheltered, and she'd stay there all night if it looked safe. But safety could change in a moment. The floor of the valley was littered with old bones, which could mean it was abandoned, or could mean it was an active dumping ground. So she watched for movement. Animals, people, anything coming out of hidden crags or caves in the shadowy rocks.

"Show yourselves," she whispered as she made herself comfortable and pulled a dried cake of fruit and nuts from her pack. 

Soon enough an old man came out of a pathway beneath her vantage point. He was walking with a staff, and appeared to be talking to himself. She smiled. One crazy old man was not a major worry. The old man was undeterred by the scattered bones, and walked straight into the middle of the valley, looking around at the bones and scrub brush around his feet as he went. He'd probably cross straight through and be gone in a minute.

He stopped and stood still, apparently listening. Mila listened, too, but heard nothing. Not a whisper of wind. What a strange old man!

With a jerk he raised his arms up to shoulder height, the staff in one hand, the other splayed, palm facing down. He called out loudly in a language Mila did not know. After calling out a few sentences, he lowered his arms and waited.

Mila was so intent on watching the curious old man that at first she did not see the movement on the ground. It started as a stirring of dust, as of mice or moles digging their way out of holes in the ground. Then she noticed it. No mice. No moles. The bones themselves were sliding around. More bones were coming up out of the dirt. The movement increased, sped up, and intensified as bone connected to bone. Her eyes widened in shock. She wanted to move but found herself glued to the spot. Dozens - no, hundreds - of skeletons were coming together and standing around the man. More and more emerged every moment.

She squinted down at the skeletons she could see best. Was that - tendons? Mila felt a convulsion in her gut and controlled her sudden urge to vomit. Tendons were growing out of the bones, connecting them together as they stood there, as even more dry bones came together into bare skeletons. There were surely over a thousand skeletons growing in the valley now. Her jaw dropped open and her throat dried up. When muscles knit themselves together around the shoulder of one tall skeleton, Mila's own muscles found their strength and she scooted back from her hidden perch.

The old man was shouting to the valley full of bones again. It was more like a valley full of disgusting, skinless people, now. Whatever he said, those bones started moving, and so did she. 

As quietly as Mila could manage, she got her feet beneath her and rose into a low crouch. She wanted to keep eyes on what amounted to an army of the dead, but she'd have to turn around to run. 

She rose slowly and stepped backwards with care. One of the muscle-covered skulls turned it's eyeless sockets in her direction. Could it see? Without eyes? Mila froze, petrified by the red, fibrous, muscles moving the face into a gruesome, eyeless, sneer. The skulls atop the skeletons around that first one were now turning in her direction, too. She needed no more proof of danger. She turned and ran as fast as she could back the way she came.

The sound of bones clattering against the rocks as they clambered up the side of the valley followed her. Or was that merely the echoes of the terror in her mind?

Reference: The story of the Valley of Dry Bones is a famous passage from the book of  Ezekiel, chapter 37, verses 1-14. I've been reading too much Stephen King lately, and wanted to consider this from a horror perspective. The only characters in the Biblical story are the prophet Ezekiel, God - who was telling him what to say, and the bones themselves.

YUCK! - #AtoZChallenge

YUCK!

Again, as with my "W" post, this is not Biblical flash fiction.

I was trying to write my Y story - on the "Y" day, because I fell behind in my pre-planning, and found myself in the middle of a panic attack over it. Literally.

Yuck. Not worth it.

Now, I am not prone to panic attacks, so curling up on the floor in the corner of the living room on a hot Vietnamese spring day is not something I'm familiar with. I don't wish to do it again. I forfeit.

Then again, it's the "A-to-Z" challenge, not "A-to-Z-and-you-must-not-deviate-from-your-plan" challenge, so writing about the yuckiness of feeling a failure, the yuckiness of my creativity not rising to the spontaneous task I placed in front of it, the yuckiness of not doing what I'd intended, still fits the bill.

Probably, I should just not have signed up this year. I thought, with half of my posts pre-planned, I'd have a lot more time to visit other blogs. But life had other plans. In the first half of the month I was swamped with prepping for a long trip and all the work of CYA for that. Then, in the last half of this April, I've become entangled in a brand new project for my boss, who does not organize herself and her files and her work in a way conducive to easy partnering.

So today is just YUCK!

I'm done. 

Tomorrow's Z post is pre-scheduled. So I'm literally done with this challenge.

Xuan-Xuan of Xi'an - #AtoZChallenge

The star gleamed in the window of Xuan-Xuan's room. She removed her student's robes and the binding she wore around her chest to disguise her gender. "Aaah..." She swung her torso side-to-side luxuriating in the freedom of her privacy. One day, maybe women wouldn't have to disguise their sex just to study.

She exposed her naked body to that pesky star. It out-shone the moon these days. Was it possible it was growing even brighter? Her hand ran over her shaved head, as if ruffling phantom hair. Pulling on her shift for sleeping, Xuan-Xuan plopped down onto her mat and crossed her legs under her to meditate. 

It was no use. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the light of the star staring at her. Her mind was too full tonight. She got up and pulled out the scroll she'd hidden in a secret pocket of her robe. It was a promising text for illuminating the clue of the star, but she needed help. No one here in the revered towers of Xi'an Xue were curious enough to help. Looking out at the star, she thought of its trek across the night sky over the past weeks. Maybe she should follow it. The landscape below was not easy. How far away was the next scholar who might understand? The next day she packed up a dromedary and left.

Thousands of leagues away, high in the snowy mountains that divided the continent, she met another scholar who'd observed the same astronomical phenomenon. "I'm amazed you came so far alone, young..." 

"Xu-Yuan," she offered the male version of her name. The world was a dangerous place for a woman traveling alone. At Faisal's monastery, they consulted together for three nights, discovering among hidden texts the first hint that this was a portent of a new and powerful king. 

Finally, with the blessing from his superiors, they determined to travel on together, still following the star. "You must not go empty-handed," the Lama of the monastery advised. "Take gifts suitable for a ruler of such wisdom and far-reaching impact." Xuan-Xuan had brought with her a supply of gold but the monastery added more gold and a quantity of frankincense, a gift from pilgrims who had climbed the mountains to seek wisdom here. 

Faisal and Xuan-Xuan carried on, bringing with them a young novice to manage their supplies along the silk road. 

It was only a couple of days before they came upon a large caravanserai heading for the rich ports on the sea to the west. They joined forces for added safety. Soon a pair of young men from the caravan came forward, having noticed the same star. They were not scholarly, but young, clever, and curious. "A king! We knew it must bode something great. Tell us more." Xuan-Xuan and Faisal spent their evenings educating the two men.

Beyond the Euphrates, Xuan-Xuan and Faisal prepared to leave the large group. "Would you take us with you?" one of the two young men asked. They couldn't pronounce his name, so they'd taken to calling him "Chin" and his friend "Fen". Xuan-Xuan asked, "What will you bring as a gift for such an important new king?"

The pair consulted, and then Chin responded. "Fen picked up some Myrrh at the last traveling bazaar we met with. Will that be suitable?"

Xuan-Xuan hadn't heard of this thing, but Faisal appraised the two younger men. Did they understand the properties of myrrh? After consulting with Xuan-Xuan, he smiled at their new proteges. "We may have misjudged you because of your youth. Any king will value such a noble gift."

The journey had taken Xuan-Xuan the better part of a year, but with her new traveling companions, she, and Faisal, Chin, and Fen finally found the small town of Bethlehem. When they finally found the young family, she fell on her knees in tears of joy and relief. The four wise "men" presented their gifts to a grateful father and bemused new mother. 

A few days later, they said farewell to the infant king, and left for the coast. Xuan-Xuan would decide later whether to return to Xi'an or find a new quest. Her eyes had been opened.

Reference: The wise men (magi) are included in the Christmas story in the book of  Matthew, chapter 2, verses 1-12. The Bible does not say there were "three wise men", but names the three gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh so most people assume three people. It also says they came from "the east". Why not start the trip in what is now Xi'an, China? And if Joan of Arc could disguise herself as a man to fight, why not a young female student disquised as a wise man?

What if -? - #AtoZChallenge

Disclaimer: This isn't exactly flash fiction. We're nearing the end of this challenge, and there are a lot of story ideas that I've had, or that have been recommended that I didn't get to. So here are a few very short concepts, not brought to full "flash fiction" level. Feel free to write your own story about any of these if you choose. (If you do use one of these ideas, I hope you'll come back here and let me know!)

With no further ado, and in no particular order:

What if... the Queen of Sheba was a nerd? All the Bible tells us is that she was rich and talked long hours with Solomon, very interested in his wisdom. When he showed her all his wealth, she added to it more gold, spices, fabrics, etc. But the main thing was talking and listening to his wisdom. (I Kings 10:1-13) I think the general impression is of a rich, beautiful queen. But why? Nothing is ever said of her beauty. Or her family. Maybe she never married. She traveled with a huge retinue, not a king or consort. A queen, solo, off to find out if this guy was as smart and rich as everyone said he was. What if it was more like a real life D&D quest?

What if...dragons really did exist? In the book of Job, "leviathan" is described as a fierce creature, and even goes so far as to talk of his breathing fire. Granted, it's in a poetic passage, so probably metaphorical, but there's a whole chapter about leviathan. What if? (Job 41)

King Solomon had 700 wives and 300 concubines. (I Kings 11:3) What must it have been like to live in that harem? What if... the place they lived was like the brothel in the musical Best Little Whorehouse in Texas?

Nothing, nowhere states or gives the impression that Mary of Magdalene was a prostitute or Jesus' lover. That is purely pop culture (possibly stemming from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar). What is told is that he removed 7 demons from her, and that she was a devout follower, as were several other women. (Luke 8: 1-3) I wanted to write some kind of story to set this straight, but couldn't think of a good angle.  What if... she missed the demons that had possessed her?

The Bible contains numerous visions and prophecies. I've written about some prophecies, generally with an understanding that they must have seemed incredibly confusing at the time. But what about the times someone interprets a dream? Joseph interpreted his dreams and Pharaoh's. Daniel interpreted for the king of Babylon. How did they know they got it right? Was there a tingling in the brain? Did they hear God's voice and simply repeat? What if... they got it wrong? (Of course, any misinterpretations wouldn't have been included in the Bible.)

I was trying to find an angle to tell the story of Samson and Delilah, but I couldn't think of anything unusual. How beautiful and charming must she have been to have him so snowed that he gave up the secret of his strength to her? (Judges 16:1-22) What if... he wised up sooner, left her, and never was taken captive?

Vendetta - #AtoZChallenge

"C'mon, Dad. We've said we will lead these people through the desert. We can't just show them where to go and hope they'll follow. You think this mob will just go as a big ol' crowd together? There's already been infighting and it's only been weeks since they left Egypt." Jesus looked at his father, knowing the answer was there, just waiting for inspiration.

Jehovah sighed. "Son, they are just so rebellious. We parted the sea for them, and it's like they forgot already. I'm beginning to regret the covenant." Nevertheless, a covenant was a covenant. He had to do something.

"Yeah, true. We'll have to sharpen that up a bit. Show consequences. Let them see that we're on their side. Meanwhile, we have to find a way to get them moving without sniping at each other. And without driving Moses distracted with petty squabbles. If he's going to lead, how can we help?"

Sanctu sat off to the side. "Sat" might be an exaggeration. The white vapor floated above the discussion, looking down at the tribes of Israel settled in disarray far below the Holy Trinity, trying to survive, always on the edge, tensions running high. Even in a random clump, Sanctu felt the chaos within the camp. She descended to hover between the Father and Son. "A little organization goes a long way."

Jehovah and his son looked on, inspired by the short statement. That was Sanctu's role, after all - inspiration. "Yes," said Jehovah, and he leaned back, bracing his head between interlaced fingers. In a minute he added, "Tribe by tribe. Call Moses. We'll talk."

"Are you sure?" Sanctu asked. "Tribe by tribe is great, but which tribe by which tribe? In what order?" She had another good point. These were not just going to be marching orders, but camping orders. It was a good idea that needed fine-tuning.

Jesus placed a plexiglass grid over their view of the mess of tents and herds and people that sufficed for the Israelite camp. "Shall we do the camp first?" He looked at his partners. "If we decide how the camp should be arranged, that will inform the order they travel." The others agreed.

It took hours. 

"No-no! We cannot put the tribe of Simeon next to Benjamin! Simeon was forced to stay in Egypt while Joseph waited for his mother-brother Benjamin. Do you think it's forgotten?" Jehovah knew their hearts and minds.

"Oh, good point. A vendetta's brewing there, for sure. Let's give them space." Jesus moved things around for a minute.

Sanctu watched, then offered a gentle suggestion. "I really think Rachel's descendants are best kept together." Jacob had two wives, Rachel and her sister Leah. The rivalry between them  might reignite in their descendants at any time. Sanctu was, as always, on point.

"What about the handmaids?" Jesus took Sanctu's idea to the next level. The two wives had two servants, who had also borne children for him.

In the end, the Holy Trinity - Father, Son, and Spirit - looked at the grid. The tribes descended from the two sisters would be on opposite sides of the tabernacle. The tribes of the handmaids provided a buffer. "I think that's the best we can do." Jesus looked around for confirmation.

Jehovah smiled. "Wait a few centuries. We'll be watching them going through this 'who can be next to who' issue for personal events like weddings." They all laughed. "Now. Let's get Moses up here on the mountain. We have some explaining to do."

Reference: The marching orders for the Israelites are given in the book of  Numbers, chapter 2. It was during my recent rereading of this passage that I looked up - Genesis 29:31 - 30:24 - and realized which tribes came from which mother. Seeing that the layout of the camp separated sister from sister and handmaid from handmaid was too amusing not  to write about it. (I wrote about the Simeon issue here, for letter B.)

United Front - #AtoZChallenge

I kicked Bartholomew's foot as he lay, blinking his eyes open. "Hey," I whispered, "Here comes Judas."  No one had seen him since the middle of our Passover meal. We'd left for the garden later, but it seemed he'd found us now. Now Jesus was trying to get us all to wake up from our snoozing, but Bartholomew was always a heavy sleeper.

Just as Bartholomew sat up, and asked, "Who's that coming with him?" Jesus turned and I could swear I heard him say, "Here comes my betrayer." Peter, who was standing next to Jesus, must have heard the same thing because he turned to look at Him in horror. 

As Judas and those with him passed under the shadows of the trees, I saw their clubs and swords. We were all on our feet now, alert but confused. Judas? Our friend, surrounded by this mob? 

But at a motion from Judas, the mob stopped and he stepped closer. He looked around at us with a tight-lipped smile, then crossed to Jesus and gave him a kiss. "Greetings, Rabbi!" he said. It would all have been perfectly normal, but for the crowd around him. One of the men in front - a temple guard, to guess the uniform - seized Jesus. 

It was chaos. I stumbled over Bartholomew as he got to his feet. The guard led Jesus away while the mob held us back. I saw a determined look in Judas' eye as he turned to follow the guard. Then he was gone. We were all shouting, cursing Judas for bringing this about. Didn't he realize the danger? 

Then I remembered a conversation I'd had with Judas one day about the coming "second kingdom". The Messiah was to usher it in, and didn't we all believe Jesus to be the Messiah? Judas and I were both anxious for this new kingdom but he seemed... overly passionate, maybe volatile. He was frustrated that Jesus wasn't doing enough. 

Lost in thought, I looked up when I heard James confronting one of the other disciples. "No, we can't all go. How would that look?" All? I counted heads - only nine of us were here. Judas was gone, of course, and it looked like John and Peter had followed the crowd back into Jerusalem. James looked to Andrew for support.

"James is right," Andrew said, ever the voice of reason. "We can't help him if we get arrested, too. We should go back to the upper room. John or Peter will be able to get word to us there."

On our way back through town, Thomas walked next me. "Simon - you were closer to Judas than I was. What was he up to? What's his plan?"

"I have no idea," I confessed. "I wish I did." He'd been our friend! And Thomas was right. I had been close with him. I'd trusted him! We all had. I had to hope he had a plan.

It was late. We'd all been drinking wine with the Passover meal. We were all tired, but apart from our recent light dozing in the garden, none of us would get any sleep this night. Back in the upper room, some reclined at the tables abandoned after supper, but more of us were agitated - pacing, arguing, wondering. It was pointless. The night drew on, with no word from John or Peter. We were in a panic, while trying not to panic. We knew Judas. Jesus knew Judas. Surely it would all be okay. But why hadn't Peter or John sent any kind of message? Or had they been taken prisoner, too? Were we next? James began saying something about "a united front". We weren't fighters, but we all had to be strong and stand together, whatever happened.

The stars were fading and the sky was lightening to grey when there came a pounding on the door. We all froze. "Let me in!" came the cry. It was Judas' voice. I was about to lunge for the door, but James was standing there and raised a hand. Andrew nodded and mouthed to the rest of us, "United."

James answered him through the door, "What's happened?"

"Let me in! I'll tell you everything!" James anchored his hand over the latch on the door, covering it. What if that mob from the garden was standing behind him in the hall?

"Where is Jesus?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way!" Judas sounded worried and apologetic.

"What way?" Thomas called out to him.

I heard a weight against the door and guessed that Judas had leaned his head against it. We all heard a shuddering inhale and exchanged looks. Was he crying? But Andrew reminded us to stay united. We needed more information.

Now Judas' voice came through the door, full of sorrow, muffled, as if reasoning to himself. "He's supposed to usher in the new kingdom. This should've worked. He wasn't doing anything! He wasn't -" Then his voice came through loud and clear. "I did this for us. He could have overcome them, but he didn't!"

I groaned. I knew he was passionate about the new kingdom, but this? A tight knot formed in my stomach. I could feel bile rising as I guessed what the next bombshell would be. We were all clustered around the door now. "Judas," I said. We were friends. He trusted me. "What. Have you. Done."

A shaky sob came through and I heard a weight hit the door - his hand? His head? "I didn't - I can't - They want to crucify him," the pronouncement came out weakly. Judas was just as exhausted as the rest of us, I realized. I wanted to let him in to join us, but we had to stay united until we knew everything.

Inside the room, silence reigned. I saw Bartholomew crouch down and breathe deeply, steadying himself; Philip and the other James collapsed onto seats. Crucifixion was a Roman punishment. How could this be? I bolstered myself with the hope that this could never happen. The priests and pharisees who were against Jesus - and us - didn't have enough power to make that happen.

Judas was still making excuses through the door in a small voice. "I don't know how. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You have to believe me." He jiggled the door, but James held the lock fast. Andrew looked around at all of us, not speaking. We had to stay united.

In silence, he went around the room, checking each man's thoughts - should we let the traitor in, or was he out? We were split. Some wanted to let him in - hadn't Jesus taught us to forgive? Some would never trust him again. Thomas and Bartholomew shrugged their ambivalence. Bartholomew looked like he might be sick all over the floor from the pressure. 

It took another 20 minutes of whispered debate before we decided. James opened the door, but Judas was gone. We checked the hall and the lower floor. We looked out the windows into the early dawn, but there was no sign. James locked the door again. Until we had some word from Peter or John, we all agreed this was the safest place to stay.

It wasn't until four days later, after the miracle at the tomb, that we relaxed enough to go out and search for Judas. His body was found hanging in a tree, being feasted on by carrion birds.

Reference: Judas' infamous betrayal of Jesus is told in the book of  Matthew, chapter 26, verses 45-50, and his death is listed in Matthew, chapter 27, verses 3-5. He was a friend and one of the tight-knit group of disciples. That's why I wanted to tell this from the perspective of one of the disciples who'd known him so well. Betrayal only hurts when it comes from someone we trust. If an enemy betrays us, is it even betrayal?

Temple Trauma - #AtoZChallenge

Tim nodded to Simeon, seeing the aged prophet enter the temple courtyard. He couldn't greet him properly, as a customer had just approached Tim's money-changing table. The customer saw his nod and looked at the old man. "Friend of yours?" he asked. Every visitor felt a need to make small-talk.

"That's Simeon," Tim made the change for the man. "I see him around. He's waiting on the 'consolation of Israel'." The customer raised his eyebrows and moved on. Tim welcomed the next person in line. "Shalom!"

Simeon meandered the courtyard as if looking for something or someone, before settling near the stairs. Tim observed this new searching behavior with curiosity. Between customers he kept an eye on the comings and goings around Simeon - families, devout men, children distracting the animal sellers. One sweet young family had caught the eyes of everyone they passed. The baby in the woman's arms couldn't be more than two months. They were probably here to dedicate him, Tim thought. 

Between his customers, he noticed people kept stopping them on their way through the temple courtyard. Several times people wanted to coo over the baby or offer blessings to the parents. It happened often enough that Tim learned the parents' names were Mary and Joseph. As they approached the temple steps, Tim saw Simeon rise from his seat and lift his hands toward the baby. Ah! Maybe this was the family he'd been looking for earlier. Simeon began speaking to the parents.

Tim was turning back to his work when he and his customer both noticed Simeon's head jerk upward as his hand touched the top of the baby's head. His body went stiff as a board and Tim's instinct was to race over to check on him, but.. He glanced at his stunned customer and stayed put. They watched in open-mouthed horror, their transaction paused.

One hand on the baby's head, the other gripping Mary's arm, Simeon's eyes rolled back and a loud and dark voice boomed from him. "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many..." As loud as he was, the reverberation muffled some of the words. "...A sign... spoken against..." The words resounded as everyone stopped to watch. "...many hearts will be revealed." The otherworldly voice rose to a shrill pitch. "And a sword shall pierce your own soul!"

A beat later, Simeon unfroze. With a jerky movement his face turned down toward the child again. He blinked at the wide-eyed mother as if in a daze. Smiling benignly, he removed his hands from mother and child and resumed his seat on the steps. The father stared down at Simeon and ushered his family up the steps to the temple, through a path that now cleared around them.

Tim turned back to his customer, who glanced over to where Simeon sat back down unaware of what he'd done. The customer looked at Tim warily, gathered back the money he'd been about to change, turned, and left the temple courtyard.

Reference: The presentation of the baby Jesus at the temple is told in the book of  Luke, chapter 2, verses 21-38. Simeon comes into it in verses 25-35. Not much is said about who he is, and although the words he says are given, nothing explains the manner in which he spoke, or Mary's reaction. What do you think of my take on it? How would you react? Belief? Skepticism? Annoyance?

Skin - #AtoZChallenge

Eve slurped the juice off from around her mouth. This was a delicious kind of fruit! "Hey Adam! Come try this!" She could feel a tingling in her head. Not from the taste. She took another bite, to be sure. There was a surge inside her brain, she could feel it in her eyes. Something was changing.

As Adam approached, Eve turned her head curiously. He was the same Adam she knew, but somehow looked... different to her. What was it? Her mind seemed to have opened. Sparks were igniting inside. Dumbfounded at the sensations, she held out to Adam the fruit in her open red palm, still trying to make sense of what was happening. Every muscle, red. Veins in blue and red. Red. This was wrong. He was wrong.

He ate, and while he chewed, she watched the raw muscles of his face and jaw working. Muscles. He nodded in agreement that this was, indeed, delicious. Then his eyeballs brightened. Eyeballs. She watched the red, fibrous muscles of his neck move, repulsed. That one blue vein pulsed as he looked up into the trees. Veins. In the tree the serpent was twining his way among branches and vines. Adam was fascinated at the movement.

As Adam turned around on the garden with new eyes, seeing things afresh, Eve watched in horror. Why could she see their inner workings? She reached out as if to touch the stretchy, red, fibers of his torso, but he saw the movement and flinched back, as if seeing the naked bones, muscles and tendons of her hand for the first time.

"What have you done?" he asked. 

She pulled back her hand, feeling a strange, stinging moisture leaking from around her eyeballs onto the bones and muscles of her cheek. "I don't know. The serpent said..."

"You're naked!" he exclaimed. Looking at his own gesturing arm he added, "We're naked." He turned his hand over in front of his eyes. "This isn't right."

All she could do was nod. It was a mistake. 

He was quicker to action. "We shouldn't see this ugly, red, blood, fiber, muscle... quick, we need to cover it. Protect ourselves!"

They began pulling leaves off a nearby fig tree, and tied and stitched some of them together using grassy reeds from the riverside. They sat, back-to-back, working as fast as they could. Eve kept glancing back at Adam, embarrassed. He felt her shoulder twitch each time she moved, and refused to meet her eye. It was too grotesque!

A strong breeze moved through the trees behind them. The gentle voice of the maker came on the breeze. "Where are you?" 

They cringed behind the tree, for all the good it would do them. Adam's arm pressed against Eve's and she pushed him out from behind the tree. Suddenly, today, now, after all this time - the feel of his pulsing muscles in contact with her own revolted her. Caught off guard, Adam stammered, "Oh - I - uh, that is, we uh, hid. We're a bit - embarrassed. At being naked."

"Naked? Who told you that?" In no time, Adam had spilled the beans about Eve and the serpent. How she had eaten the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Their maker sighed in disappointment. It was his one rule: Don't eat from that tree. 

For a moment, Adam turned back to Eve, still hiding behind the tree. She saw something like hope in his eyes. The maker had been nothing but good and kind. Surely this would all work out. But when he spoke again, it was not in his usual gentle tones. He bellowed curses at the serpent, who promptly fell out of the tree and slithered away on his belly in accordance with the maker's words.

Eve sighed in relief. They were okay. It was really the serpent who erred. Then the maker turned to her and doled out curses on both her and Adam. She took comfort in the fact that they did not sound immediate. Certainly, she wouldn't feel the pains of child birth as quickly as that serpent was relegated to the ground. As soon as the curses were completed, all went black.

When Adam and Eve awoke, their muscles, veins, bones, everything, was covered with a thin membrane of some earthy, light brown color. When Eve turned her arm in amazement, examining this new garment of skin, she could see through it in some places to the blue veins within. She reached out to touch Adam, who didn't flinch. There were new sensations to explore through this strange skin garment. Maybe they would be okay.

Reference: The fall into sin is told in the book of   Genesis, chapter 3. In verse 21 we are told that God made "garments of skin" them. One time I read that and just wondered "what if they weren't actual garments made of animal skins?" What if the "garment of skin" was just... skin? What do you think? Fascinating? Gross? Too sacrilegious to think of?

Resentment - #AtoZChallenge

I wasn't too sad when my little brother left home. It was typical, you know? Just another "whatever" moment. Theoretically, I should have been pissed. He asked Dad for his inheritance - can you imagine? Our living, thriving father? - and just took off with his share. But honestly, I always did most of the work anyway. It made little difference to my life that he was gone.

It was just the nerve, you know?

Did it bug me that our father went ahead and gave him his part of our inheritance? Sure, a bit. What was that about? But then again, now if I work hard and the income builds for the family, that's more for me in the end, right? Baby bro' skedaddled - he's out! So, fine. I can work with that.

And I did. I worked hard. "Yes, father," "Of course, father," "Not a problem at all" when it was really a huge annoyance, but I could manage it anyway. We're doing great. Dad, me, the staff. He's getting older, slower, and leaves a lot of the decisions up to me. It's good. As it should be.

Now, years after running off and living god-knows-where doing god-knows-what horrible things, he - again with the nerve! - he's coming back? I heard rumors in town yesterday that he'd been seen on the road heading this way. He wouldn't dare.

...

Next day, I'm walking back in from the fields and even from a distance I can see excessive activity near the house. "What's going on?" I wonder aloud to the field hand with me. He shrugs. We'd both been out in the fields since dawn. He knew as much as I did.

A little closer we can see clear evidence that one of the fattened calves has been slaughtered. A feast? But why? And as we emerge around to the front of the house, I can see neighbors arriving. There stands Dad and... no. Couldn't be. He's back? He really did it? And Dad stands there with his arm around my kid brother - this virtual stranger, a man I can barely recognize, greeting our friends and neighbors as if we should all celebrate him for squandering Dad's money?

No. Just... no. I turn on my heel and head off to the wood-working shed. I won't be a part of this. I am not going to celebrate. 

In the years since he left, I've taken whatever spare minutes I can find to practice wood carving and building. The woodworking shed is my haven. It's become my favorite hobby, and I'm good at it - furniture, artistic work, whatever anyone needs. Being in here, with the smell of sawdust and wood shavings, I can lose myself in my work. That is all I need right now. Maybe the scene outside will fade and disappear.

Dad must have seen me turn in here. It doesn't take long for him to arrive. "Son? Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Your brother's back."

Focused on the chair I was sanding, I answered, "My brother is dead." But it wasn't enough. I stood, looked my father in the eye and said, "He left me behind to do everything for you! You never once gave me so much as a goat to have a party. And now? You celebrate him with a whole calf?!" I was fuming.

My father nodded, then picked up a doll I'd been working on for a friend. Rolling it in his hands, he said, "You could have anything you want. All you had to do was ask." He put the doll back and looked at me. "Don't you see? Your brother - who, yes, was dead to us - is alive! He's back with us. I must celebrate. I hope you will, too." He turned and left.

Naturally. Of course Dad would celebrate. I picked up my plane and smoothed it over some planks held together on my workbench. Hunger after a long day's work was growing in my belly, but I could at least finish this piece. Eventually, though, my baser instincts took over. "No point in starving," I muttered as I closed the woodshed and headed up to the house.

I tried to slip into the feast unobtrusively, just to grab a bite, but my brother saw me and tore across the hall, weaving through people to get to me. Here it was. My chance to tell him off.

Before I could speak he was on me. "Brother! I'm so, so, sorry!" were his first words as he wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. I was dumbfounded. My arms hung limp at my sides. A hug? Was this all an act? What was he playing at? But then I could feel him shaking and hear a sob gasp from him. "I've been a fool," he moaned into my shoulder, now wet with his tears. I put my hands on his back, returning the hug in a fashion. He leaned back from me and looked me in the eyes. There was no mistaking the contrition on his face. "Can you ever forgive me?" Still unable to speak, I felt my head involuntarily give a tiny nod, and he slid to my side. "Come, sit by me and tell me everything. I'm here to pull my weight."

Makes one wonder what happened to him in those intervening years. Only time will tell if the change will last, but for now, I guess I should get used to having my brother back.

Reference: The parable of the prodigal son is told in the book of  Luke, chapter 15, verses 11-32. I always wonder about the older brother  - it could go so many ways. The story is written focused on the younger brother and the father, with the older brother's negative reaction told at the end in verses 25-32. How would you feel in this situation? What if you were the younger brother?

Queen Jezebel - #AtoZChallenge

The servant bowed to the queen and left to fetch more wine. Queen Jezebel watched him leave with a smile of satisfaction. All was going well. She was entertaining the prophets of Baal - a key step in maintaining her power. One must keep the devout satisfied with food and wine.

When the servant reappeared with the wine, her husband the king was mere steps behind. He pushed through the curtained doorway, a deep scowl on his down-turned face. She watched him cross the room to the side table where the servant poured him a goblet of wine. Something was wrong.

Her prophets discreetly gave him space, but it wasn't enough. Jezebel clapped her hands to get their attention. "Gentlemen, please leave us!" They did as they were bid, leaving half-drunk cups and not-yet-empty plates on nearby tables, window ledges, or any surface available. The servant remained near the table to pour wine. She caught his eye and made a quick movement of her head toward the door. He scurried out.

Ordinarily, she'd greet King Ahab by moving closer and putting a hand on his arm, or some other gentle touch. His face told her this was not the moment. She watched him drain his goblet and pour another, not touching any of the delicate dishes and edible delights spread around the serving table. "What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just - Naboth won't sell me his vineyard!" He was used to getting his way. He was the king, after all. Jezebel scowled. He was king, but she was much at utilizing their position.

"So?" she asked, crossing the room toward him. He turned to her in surprise. Only his queen could speak to him like that. "Aren't you the King of Israel?" She took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. With a smile she said, "Cheer up. Eat something. I'll get you that vineyard." It was gratifying to see a relaxed smile on his face at her words. 

She left the room and sent the servant in to attend to him.

After a brief campaign of letters and messengers, all was in place. The city elders of Naboth's town proclaimed a major event for all the people to attend - such a thing had never been seen! Naboth attended as expected. Jezebel's lackeys were there, too. They spread rumors and lies. "Naboth! He doesn't deserve to be here!" "Don't you know he has cursed the king?" The crowd was easily riled up. Soon Naboth found himself being forced out of the city. Stones rained down on him.

That evening, Queen Jezebel accepted a private messenger into the chamber where she and King Ahab were dining. "My liege," the messenger bowed deeply to the king, then turned to Jezebel. "Naboth has been stoned and is dead." She gave an elegant nod, and he backed away the way he had entered.

A wicked smile crept across her face. "There you are, my king. Go. Take that vineyard you like. There is nothing in your way now."

Reference: The full story of Naboth's vineyard is told in the book of  I Kings, chapter 21. This particular portion of the story is based on verses 4-15. I feel as though people use "Jezebel" in relation to loose morals. We are not told anything about that. She was, IMHO, more like a power-hungry, evil, murderous woman.The Bible mentions Jezebel a few more times, but I like this story for its perfect "someone is in my way so I must murder them" vibe. Do you have any associations with the name "Jezebel"?