My Name is Hadesh Part 3 by P.M. Gilmer

If you missed part 2, here’s the link: https://pmgilmer.com/2017/11/11/my-name-is-hadesh-part-2-by-p-m-gilmer/

From Part 2: I continued to hug my Seled so close that he began to squirm. I made myself relax my grip before he began crying. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the midwife’s offer, but it scared me somehow. I knew people would think we had no business raising children–but this was my baby, and no one could take him from me.

 

Life went on fine for several weeks. Jemima and I both nursed our boys and began to regain our strength. The other women were accommodating, but we would soon need to be taking customers again. My Seled was sleeping well in his little basket, but Jemima continued to keep her Adar in bed with her as they fell asleep. We tried to tell her that wasn’t good for her or the babe, but she refused to listen. She wanted to cuddle her son as much as she could before going back to work, and I couldn’t really blame her.

The little world we had built soon came crashing in on us, though I probably should have known things couldn’t stay sweet for long. I woke one morning, while it was still dark, startled to find my babe in my arms. I realized I must have fallen asleep while nursing him and had failed to put him back in his basket. I needed to get up and stir up the embers in our fire pit, start some water boiling, and all those things that needed to be done to start one’s day. Feeling a bit cramped, I wanted to just get up and put Seled in his basket, but I felt sure if I did that without feeding him first, he would not sleep long, if at all. So, I nudged him a bit, so I could nurse him again before putting him in his basket.

He didn’t even stir, and my first thought was on how well he was sleeping and what a shame to wake him. Maybe I could carefully put him in his basket after all.

I tried to ease myself quietly up off my pallet, so I didn’t wake either him or Jemima and her baby. I knew both Zebidah and Hoglah had gone out for the night and were unlikely to be back yet. Holding my baby against my chest, I suddenly felt something was wrong. My babe felt cold, and I couldn’t hear his soft breathing as I usually did. My heart pounded as I sat back down, carefully laid him on my bed, and gently put my hand on his face. It was stone cold.

My heart seemed to stop, and I felt dizzy. No! My beautiful, healthy baby could not be gone. Just like that! He had been fine last night. I tried to remember nursing him and wondered again how I could have fallen asleep. But, then I remembered putting him in his basket. I did! I did put him in his basket! Did he awaken again, and had I sleepily gotten up and brought him back to bed with me? Sometimes the nights and the feedings did seem to run together.

I placed my hand on his face again, the tears running down my own. I sat, stroking his face, still in disbelief as light slowly began to illuminate our small room. Zebidah and Hoglah came into the house just as dawn was breaking.

“What is it, Hadesh?” Zebidah asked upon seeing my tears. “Is the babe sick?”

I threw back my head and let out a long, low wail. The sorrow poured out of me as if my grief could be unleashed and set free. Zebidah and Hoglah, as well as a few of our neighbors quickly gathered around me.

“Hadesh! What is it?” Then I heard gasps and more crying (besides my own).

“He was fine last night,” I moaned, finally opening my eyes to look at him, now that daylight was here. I started to stroke his face again, then jerked my hand back as if I had seen a snake.

“This isn’t my baby!” I cried out. I looked over at Jemimah who was huddled on her pallet, holding her baby close to her chest and crooning to him. Except . . . that couldn’t be her baby because her baby was lying here on my bed. Dead. And if this was her baby . . .

“Jemimah!” She finally looked over at me, but her eyes were hard and her mouth was set. “This is your baby! You must have mine. Give me back my son!”

Jemima held the baby to her chest, and he began to cry. “You are crazy! Grief has maddened you. Of course, this is my baby. I’m sorry your babe is gone, but that is no cause to try and claim mine. You must have rolled over in the night and suffocated the poor babe.”

I stared at her in horror. Rolled over on my baby? But, no, this wasn’t my baby, and I always put him in his basket. I never went to sleep with him. Did I?

The other women stood watching us closely, but making no comments. Unusual for these women not to have any opinions. I looked to them for help. “Look at this baby. Can’t you see he is Jemima’s and not mine? Would I not recognize my own child?”

Part 4 coming Thursday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My Name is Hadesh Part 2 by P.M. Gilmer

If you missed part 1, here’s the link: https://pmgilmer.com/2017/11/09/my-name-is-hadesh-part-1-by-p-m-gilmer/

From Part 1: At almost fourteen, I found myself pregnant and soon Jemimah was as well. It may sound foolish, but it excited us both to think of having our own child. I promised myself, and the LORD God, that I would take care of this baby, and he would always know his mother’s love. No matter what.

The months went by both quickly and achingly slow. I couldn’t wait to see my baby’s face, to touch him, to hold him. But, there is much to prepare when bringing a baby into the world, especially with no real family to help, so the days flew by with always more to do.

Finally, the day came when my pains began, and I knew my baby was preparing to enter this world. Zebidah ran to get the midwife, and Hoglah helped me to walk around until time to sit on the birthing stool. Jemimah hoovered in the background, her babe almost ready to burst forth as well. As she was as inexperienced as I (and twice as scared), she gladly stood back and let the others tell me what to do.

Well, if you’re a woman, you know what follows, and if you’re a man, you know enough to know you don’t want to hear any more details. My baby entered the world with no complications, his voice as loud and demanding as any man’s. Yes, he was a fine boy, and I loved him at first sight.

Everyone cooed over him–except Jemima. She looked rather ill at all the mess this young one had made. I’m sure she was thinking of her own trial to come, so I tried to smile reassuringly at her, but she looked away, then left our house altogether. To get some air, she said.

“Don’t go too far!” the midwife called after her. “You look to be ready to have your own at any minute.”

This only served to increase her look of distress as she scurried away. The other women laughed knowingly. I paid them no attention, having eyes only for my newborn son who slept exhausted at my breast.

Sure enough, three days later, Jemima cried out in pain and dropped the laundry she had been carrying in. “It’s time! Oh, LORD God of the heavens, help me!”

I had been dozing with my little one who had just finished nursing, but I quickly settled him in his small basket and went to try to comfort and encourage Jemima. She wanted nothing but sympathy, however, and that not from me. Since I could well understand how she felt, I left her alone and went back to my baby who was fussing a bit at all the noise.

Jemima raised such a clamor as the other women tried to get her settled that the midwife soon appeared without anyone going to fetch her. News travels fast in our little neighborhood, and Jemima had been complaining for days, so I’m sure the midwife had been anticipating our call. Though she snubbed us in the streets, we paid her well enough, so she had no problem helping us when we might need her. Truthfully though, we hardly needed her at all.

Jemima’s labor was no easier or worse than normal–though that’s not the story she tells. They say you forget all about the pain once you see your little one’s face, but Jemima swore she would never forget one moment of the pain her little boy put her through. Still, she was just as enamored with her new son as I was with mine. It was just her way to complain and let her voice be heard.

“Another boy,” commented the midwife as she cleaned herself and made ready to leave. “You know, I’m sure I could find a home for either or both of these two lads if you decide they’re too much for you.”

Jemima and I both stared in horror at the old woman, clutching our babes to our chests. Though I wanted to screech at the nosy biddy, I said, (as politely as I could), “Though we appreciate your help with our births, you can go now.”

Jemima felt no reason to be polite. “Just get on out of here with your idea of help! You think just because we’re not rich or respectable women that we can’t raise our sons to be fine men.”

The midwife shrugged, unperturbed by our reactions. “Raising children is not cheap or easy. And there’s plenty who would be eager to raise a healthy son. If you change your minds, you know where to find me.”

I continued to hug my Seled so close that he began to squirm. I made myself relax my grip before he began crying. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the midwife’s offer, but it scared me somehow. I knew people would think we had no business raising children, but this was my baby, and no one could take him from me.

Part 3 coming on Tuesday.

“My Name is Hadesh” part 1 by P.M. Gilmer

This is the story of Hadesh, to be told in eight parts. 

I grew up in the city of Jerusalem during the days of King Solomon. I know some people only think of King Solomon as the man who built the temple and had so many wives, but I will always remember him for the wisdom and kindness he showed to me when others would have thrown me out or ignored me or even laughed at me.

I hope you won’t stop reading when I tell you what I did for a living or think any less of King Solomon for helping me. It might help if I tell you a bit of my own story first.

My father threw me out of our home when I was only six. My mother had just given birth to another daughter, and when my father learned he now had eight daughters, he picked me up and told me it was time I learned to care for myself. He was a very superstitious man, my father, and thought if having daughters could be lucky at all, he could have no more than seven. Why he didn’t just kill my baby sister, I don’t know, except he never seemed to like me. I felt I reminded him of something bad, but I never knew what. Two of my older sisters brought me food for a few days, but soon enough, they got caught, and then I was truly on my own.

I won’t go into the days and years I spent just trying to survive as that is not the point of my story. Suffice it to say, I survived the best way I could, and it wasn’t long before I was selling my body for something to eat. I made friends on the street, and by the time I was twelve, I was living in a house with three other women: Zebidah, Hoglah, and Jemimah. Jemimah and I were of a similar age, but Zebidah and Hoglah were several years older. They mothered us a bit (bossed us more like), but it felt good to have others in my life. Our life was hard, but we worked together, and usually, we could count on each other. But not always.

At almost fourteen, I found myself pregnant. Jemimah, too, discovered she was with child. It may sound foolish, but it excited us both to think of having our own baby. I promised myself, and the LORD God, that I would take care of this little one, and he would always know his mother’s love. No matter what.

_________

Part Two coming Saturday.

Characters & Spoilers

As a writing exercise for myself, I have been writing a section of my manuscript through the eyes of the antagonist, Absalom, rather than the protagonist, Solomon.

This exercise has been beneficial for helping me better understand that character. But, another reason has come to me and that is to share this story on my blog. Why? Well, I hope to make my blog more interesting and also to find readers who also enjoy reading historical fiction.

One danger in this type of sharing is the presence of spoilers for a future book. However, in writing historical fiction, one has an advantage in that spoilers already exist if a reader has any knowledge at all of the time and events being written about. For example, if a reader picks up a book about Anne Boleyn, that reader will probably not be surprised to learn that she marries King Henry VIII or that she eventually loses her head. However, a good writer will be able to draw the reader into the story so well that even when reaching a foregone conclusion, the reader will gasp in horror at Anne’s fate. I have read many books when this was the case. Even though I knew a certain character was going to die and even how that would happen, the empathy I had developed for the character caused me distress and sorrow for that character.

So, in reading this short story about Absalom, there may be spoilers for any future book, but if you have already read 2 Samuel, there will be no big surprises. Rather than spoilers, this story should put the character of Absalom in a clearer light that readers might see him more as a real person rather than just a “Bible character.”

Starting tomorrow I will begin posting the story, “My Name is Absalom.”  This will be the first of seven parts, and I will continue posting for the next six Fridays. I hope you enjoy it.

Research: An Ongoing Process

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Writing a book of historical fiction obviously requires quite a bit of research which I enjoy, but can also find challenging. I know some writers feel they should do all their research before they put pen to paper or finger to keyboard. Of course, you need to do some research to make sure you have your timeline in decent order, but because I have characters that tend to show up unannounced or do things I wasn’t expecting, research is an ongoing process for me. To give you more of an idea of what I have been writing about, I decided to share a few of those areas of research.

archery-847876__340In one case, the brothers (sons of David) are practicing their archery, and all I know about archery is that it requires a bow, some arrows, and, hopefully, some targets. I know these young men didn’t run down to their local sporting goods stores for their equipment, so where did they get it? How did they make it? And how far advanced would they have been at this time? Was archery even a thing for the sons of David? (I know they must have learned to use a sling at some point. Surely, their father taught them that!)

In another scene, I picture Bathsheba coming into the palace garden, a small dog trotting at her side. Wait a minute! Did the Israelites have dogs as pets? Did they even have dogs at all? (They didn’t, but I cleverly worked around that).

Much of my book revolves around horses and chariots. This was not in my original game plan, and not knowing much about either, I’ve had to work at learning more about these two subjects. Having the internet is a wonderful thing for both finding the exact information you need or pointing you to books and articles that can deepen your understanding.

After writing most of my manuscript, I found a book, The Horsemen of Israel: Horses and Chariotry 20170210_105239in Monarchic Israel (Ninth-Eighth Centuries B.C.E.).  At first, I read most of this book online, but was eventually able to find it at a reasonable “used” price (looks brand-new). After reading through several chapters, I needed to go back and change quite a bit of what I had written and was also able to add interesting details about the way horses were trained and first introduced to Israel. I have found this book helpful on several levels and plan to give you a more comprehensive review in the future.

Then there is that trip to Egypt Solomon takes with two of his brothers. Not in my original outline, but it has been interesting to do some studying in that area.

Knowing more about the people and the way they lived helps me to better understand Bible characters who are familiar, yet can seem so distant. Of course, not every detail I uncover will end up in the finished manuscript (or it would be a few thousand pages), but every one that does enhances the story and makes the characters come alive, both for myself and my future readers.

You don’t need to be writing a book to do research. Every time you “google” something, you’re doing some type of research. What about you? What are the kinds of information you enjoy finding? Does it help you on your job? Your personal Bible study? Or are there certain areas (science, history, etc.) that you just enjoy learning about?

The End! Or, at least, the Beginning of the End

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I just came to the end of my book. Not one I am reading–the one I am writing. And like so much of this book, it was kind of unexpected.

Ok, I have some rough spots and a couple of places I know I want to rewrite, but I actually came to the end. I was planning on another chapter. Actually, have it started and sort of have an outline for that final chapter. (In my mind, that is, which is where most of my outlines actually live).  So, I was working on finishing up this chapter, started adding a bit, then realized as I completed the chapter that I really could end the book here. I’ve long since conceded that it is going to take another book to tell the story I want to tell. Since I have (gasp) 113, 308 words, perhaps it is time to wrap this up. But, I have so much more to say! You think because you’re the author that you’re in control, but, no, not really.

I want to tell the story of Solomon–growing up in the court of King David. What was it like to know you were the chosen prince? When exactly did he know that? What did his brothers (and others) think of that?

So, I started telling the story. And, along the way: Solomon’s brothers are fighting; Solomon wants his father to raise horses to drive chariots; Solomon’s mother seems to be the only one who really thinks he is special; and Solomon and two of his brothers take a trip to Egypt.

So, over 100,00 words and Solomon isn’t even king yet. But, he will be soon. I can’t wait to begin writing that story, but first–I need to work on my platform. Do any of you follow your favorite writers on facebook? Twitter? Why? What do you look for? Or what do you enjoy about what they do? I hope you will all stay with me as I begin to share more of what I’ve written and begin my search for an agent.

 

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