Her cooking pot boiled over and the hot flames brought her back to the night’s duties. Her gaze was etched in my memory and came to me often as I continued writing the book. The time and place of that dream and conversation with Nitzevet will remain with me for a long time. Netflix would have to wait! I redoubled my efforts in writing about David. Not pointing back-ward toward a past time, but taking the reader back to that time, back when that time was now and looking forward to the uncertainty of the next few hours. That’s how the historical novelist does it. The entire book is highlighted and each page looks as if my dog has had its way with it. I have two copies and use one as my personal study guide. I was lucky enough to find James Alexander Thoms’ “ The Art and Craft of Writing Historical Fiction”. Maybe I would find a guide of my own and so I went looking! I see all and will not let spirits or demons harm thee.” She whispered, “ I am the mystical rose, the light of the burning bush and the light of the Rose will guide thee and the path of the Rose will lead you from east to west. Nitzevets’ spell confused me and inspired me at the same time. I could easily wait for the newest Netflix series! I did not wish to venture into some ancient world. Oh, the joys of doing little or nothing of importance! My daughter would often remind me, without a word, of how old I was getting without actually getting anywhere. I was happily leading a life of modern mediocracy, dating a few women, and having long walks with my dog. It would take discipline, skill, and detailed information from a time long ago, all of which were not overflowing in any cup I possessed. Writing about her David was no easy task. Whatever the spell Nitzevet cast on me I knew not and wished she would have looked the other way! The heat took her back to her visions that as a young girl drove her from her fathers’ tent. Inside her home, the pot bubbled over and she gently inhaled the steam that rose and fell on her face.
The sliver of light disappeared as the sun went down over the rolling hills and highlands that rose over the village of Bethlehem. Nitzevet threw back her long black hair and put it behind her ear. I had made a few attempts at putting a few words on paper, however, it was not flowing. I was sleeping and she came to me in a dream looking worried and unhappy. I remember the night she cast her spell on me and I wished she would have just left me alone. Nitzevet tricked me into writing about her son David!
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