Mia Sivan's Blog, page 4

Black History Month Book Recommendation

Lately, I can’t help but watch, read, and hear everything through a Jewish prism. It's one of the many ramifications that the October 7th events have on me.

So when I started reading "We're Going to Need More Wine" by Gabrielle Union, I asked myself the following question:

Is it easier for a black girl to assimilate into a white Christian community than for a Jewish one?

At the beginning we meet young Nickie Union who yearned to assimilate so deeply, that she mistreated or ignored anyone who wasn't white or Christian—whether Black, 'brown', or openly Jewish. She tells us that she managed to do it so perfectly that her friends, ‘forgetting’ she was black, spoke in racial terms next to her.

So at first I thought, okay then, as long as you’re Christian, you’re okay. Religion transcends skin color.

But it was the wrong conclusion to jump to, the wrong question to ask, and far too early in the book.

As I immersed myself in Union’s confident voice, she drew me in, and I stopped reading her as a Jew. Here was a woman—a kindred spirit, a fellow minority, a fellow career professional—struggling to succeed.

She talks about her mother and father, both of whom are still alive, with openness and honest brutality that makes for compelling reading. It’s amazingly non-judgmental. I couldn't help but admire Gabriel’s courage in writing about her upbringing, shedding light on the good parts, but also on the many mistakes her parents made.

I felt that this non-judgmentalism while serving her in most of the book, falls short when she talks of the black community’s unique shortcomings. Gangs and their violent culture arrived in Omaha while she spent her summers there with her grandmother. The way she writes it, you'd think the arrival of gangs was inevitable. A force majeure, like the tornadoes, there's nothing you can do about it.

She writes with bravery and honesty about how she was brutally raped. She talks openly about her post-trauma and also on the ways in which she is lucky - and other rape victims aren’t. The book is worth reading if only for this astounding chapter.

She did get around Hollywood, and the name droppings (while still in high school she dated Jason Kidd), are very entertaining (Heath Ledger, anyone?), but not too frequent. This is not a gossipy book. Reading about Prince’s parties is fun, but also eye-opening in the sense of what mingling and connections, so essential always, are taken for granted for some, yet are totally out of reach for others.

“I always want there to be a point to what I am saying, and I don’t want to bring up the issue of …” she says. But every chapter in this amazing book, which is a group of essays framed into a memoir, carries a point and intent - and I loved it.

She talks about ‘colorism’, a term I wasn’t familiar with and denotes the color scale black people use to measure their worth within their own community: when light is good and dark is bad. She writes openly about making more money, or less money than your partner - and how that affects the relationship.

She speaks about dropping “black bombs”: saying loudly home truths about what it is to be a black person in America. How you need to be constantly aware of it, careful with your actions and demeanor - especially if you’re a young black man.

She is completely open about her sexuality. She has slept with many guys and it is totally fine. She writes about cheating on her first husband (who cheated on her almost from the get-go).

Favorite quotes:

“I, like many women, know what the hell is wrong with me. Whether we choose to do something about it remains to be seen.”

“I think I can deal effectively with the world precisely because I am a black woman who is so comfortable in my black-womanness. I know what I can accomplish. And anything I have accomplished, I did so not in spite of being a black woman, but because I am a black woman.”

Do you have a book by a black female author that you loved? Let me know!

Yours,

Mia

Do Hebrew names have meaning?

When I sit down to write my romances, selecting names for my heroines and heroes is a crucial task. Names carry connotations, and in the case of Hebrew names, they often bear literal meanings.

In biblical times Itzhak (Isaac) earned his name "he will laugh" because his mother laughed at the Angel who told her she would get pregnant (she was a hundred years old at the time). Yaacov (Jacob) caught his brother's heel and followed him out (Yaacov=he will follow). Later, God changed his name to Israel, signifying disobedience to God, as he had fought with an angel and emerged victorious.

In modern Hebrew, unless you come from a conservative or religious background (I am neither), we tend to use different names, but they often still carry meaning.

It's very common in English to use flower names to name girls. We have that here as well, but we also use tree names. It's interesting to note which trees become names and which ones don't. Oren, the Hebrew name for pine, is very common, while cypress, brosh, isn't. Alon, meaning oak, is used a lot, as is Shaked, which refers to the almond tree. However, Te’ena, meaning fig, isn't a common name. Shikma Bressler the remarkable woman leading the protests against Bibi Netanyahu's corrupt reign carries the name of the sycamore tree.

The animal kingdom provides quite a few names. Ze’ev is wolf, Dov is bear, Zvi is stag, and Ayala is doe. While these names may seem peculiar in English, they make perfect sense in Hebrew.

As I began writing my latest book, I had already decided on the name Dafna (the Hebrew name for the laurel tree) for the female protagonist. However, I found myself without a fitting first name for the male lead, despite having his last name, Ben Ami, which means 'the son of my people', from the get go.

I shared my dilemma with my group of author colleagues, and Blaine, my Dutch friend, ran it by Chat GPT, I think she asked for Hebrew names for strong male characters. The first name suggested was Erez. Yes! I immediately knew this was the right name. All the Erez men I know are real studs.

Erez is the Hebrew name for the cedar tree, and Solomon imported cedars from Lebanon to build the first temple. The tree and the name carry connotations of strength and solidity. Erez in my book has a younger brother, whom I named Eitan (the English equivalent being Ethan). Eitan literally means firm and long-lived, conveying a similar vibe.

Erez meets Dafna in a pub while filling in for his brother, who has a penchant for taking older women on one-night joy rides. Dafna, having heard of the brother, mistakenly assumes Erez to be Eitan, and hits on him. He plays along, but still tells her his real name.

This is what she tells her best friend, the next day at work:

“I met a guy yesterday. His name is Erez. He has beautiful green eyes, and black hair, and tattoos. He used to surf in Australia, and he makes great mojitos.”

Nurit smiled hugely, dropped the fan, and clapped her hands.

“Bravo, Dafna! Bravo!” She went as far as leaving her chair and coming around her desk to hug Dafna. “That’s the first time I heard you talk about anyone other than your ex. Erez is a nice name.”

“Yep. It is a nice name.”

“When you say ‘met’, is it like met-met or just met?”

Dafna laughed. A belly moving, joyful laugh.

“Met-met,” she confirmed.

Pulling Her Resources is out March 15, You can pre-order the eBook, or buy the print book, right here:

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Here is the "How hot do you like it" survey results, when one pepper stands for 'clean' romance while five is 'as filthy as they come'.  All glory and blame belong to my newsletter subscribers:

Further reading:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/02/world/middleeast/shikma-bressler-israel-judicial-protests.html

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How Hot Do You Like It?

You read romance — or you wouldn't be here. But what kind of romance reader are you? Do you want to throw the book at the wall when it fades to black? Or maybe you prefer your books smut-free?

Readers often find themselves uncertain about the heat level they're signing up for when purchasing or borrowing a book on KU. As authors, we aim to hint about our book through the cover (a bare-chested dude usually implies spicier content) and our subtitle, using words like 'steamy' or 'clean.' Harlequin uses a thermometer scaling how much heat each Harlequin category carries.

I'll use The Scoville Scale, employed to measure chili peppers spiciness, to explain about the different heat levels. One pepper means squeaky clean (Jane Austen style), while level five is meant to set you on fire (E.L James comes to mind), steam pouring out of your ears.

Let's break down exactly what each level entails:

️ MILD Also called sweet, closed door, fade to black​.

Think Hallmark movies. No bodice is ripped, the hero goes down to his knees only to propose. Zippers remain firmly zipped, buttons remain in the buttonholes. If you're a fan of Debbie Macomber, you'll find her right here.

️️ Medium, also referred to as sizzle or sensual.​

Sexual tension and love scenes might be included in the story, but most descriptions of physical intimacy still happen behind closed doors. Think PG13-rated movie. There's lots of kissing and more touching than you'd have in a sweet romance, as well as the words that go along with it. Nora Roberts is a notable example of this level.

️️️ HOT or steamy, sexy, spicy.​ Equivalent to an R-rated movie. Most romance novels fall here.

The scenes are explicit. What is happening is described with specific language, using words like cock and clit. The reader follows the participants and climbs into the bed/public conference hall/office corner booth, along with them. My second book Analysing Her Assets is in this category (with a lively scene in a conference hall), as well as my third book Pulling Her Resources (yep they're at it in the office)​.

️️️️ Nuclear. ​ NC-17 in the American movie world.

At this heat level, there’s more graphic sex, indelicate language during sex, and detailed depictions of a sexual nature. Nuclear might include sex toys, mild BDSM, light bondage, mild spanking, orgasm control, and other light forms of kink. My first book Crunching Her numbers is Nuclear. 

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​️️️️️ Erotic.​ These are stories that cannot be told if you take sex out of the equation.

Erotic romance, not to be confused with Erotica, pushes boundaries. It has hard BDSM, multiple partners, and plenty of explicit scenes. The romance moves forward only via the sexual journey. But since this is romance there's always a Happily Ever After. Elisabeth Amber and Sylvia Day write erotic romance.

Which heat level are you? ​

First chapter of Pulling Her Resources

I just got done sending my third book to my line editor for its second passing!

Working on this project hasn’t been simple, especially in light of the October 7 events. The act of writing a romance, while comfortably seated in my den, felt selfish and privileged, given the ongoing plight of hostages, girls, and women in the dark Gaza tunnels. But life isn’t just about surviving - it’s about living. Tel Aviv has embraced refugees from both the south and north, providing them with an opportunity to strive for normalcy. The business of being an author serves as my own form of normalcy, and so I persevered.

First Chapter: A Dream Job For a Small Favor

Erez clenched his fist in frustration, the movement drawing his client’s eyes to his forearm’s tattoo of two manta rays swimming towards each other.

“It doesn’t look good, Rammy.” He raised his voice. Even as high up as the thirty-second floor, the distant car horns from the Ayalon freeway could be heard. “Nepotism is always problematic in publicly traded companies, but people endure it when it’s done the right way. Your son is a great kid. But he isn’t qualified to be your VP of Sales, he studies ballet! And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve a salary of fifty thousand shekels per month.”

Rammy wriggled his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows. “I’m telling you he’s worth every shekel. Sells a penthouse every time he pirouettes.”

He fought the urge to smile, then just gave in and grinned. The real estate mogul was one client he actually liked. Though Rammy came from a very conservative Mizrahi background, he had supported his son in his untraditional dancing aspirations.

“Come on, Erez, Bro, you’re a father yourself.”

“That I am.” He had shared custody of his daughter, who he didn’t see as much as he should.

“Good, good, you’re agreeing with me.”

Erez rubbed his palms on his face, trying to shake his fatigue and annoyance. For the last six years, he’d been stuck in the Real Estate division. An internal position opened at G&L Tractus, the accounting firm’s prestigious consultancy, and he had applied. He was due in his boss’ office in ten minutes to hear the verdict, and if he didn’t finish this meeting soon, he would be late.

“Everyone does it,” Rammy added. “You should stop trying to be holier than the pope, even if your last name is Ben Ami.”

The allusion to his last name, to his errant father, was like a punch in the gut. He straightened in his chair, pulling his shoulders back.

“I don’t care what everyone does! At G&L we have standards. I have standards. If you want to give your son money every month, pay it out of pocket. Don’t use the public company’s purse.”

In a world of chaos and deceit, he, at least, would run his domain properly. A small part of it had to do with his father, but the larger part was wholly his.

He stood up, signaling the meeting was over.

“Fix this!” he ordered Rammy. The implied threat was obvious—or Erez wouldn’t approve Rammy’s financial reports.

The older man got out of his chair. Rammy stretched his hand, which Erez took, and pulled him close for an unexpected hug, his large belly squashing into Erez’s ribs.

“You’re a good boy and a good accountant. I like working with you.”

He was moved more than he cared to admit.

He walked fast to his boss’s corner office. It had the best view, which his personal assistant Dorit enjoyed as well. The setting sun cast its reddish glow on the thousands of windows of Tel Aviv's Azrieli Center, with its three distinctly shaped skyscrapers—triangular, square, and circular. He smiled at Dorit, whose hair color changed with her mood. Today it was pink, and it enhanced her sharp blue eyes.

“Hi, Dorit, you’re looking fine today. Love your hair.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” her heavily mascaraed eyelids lowered flirtatiously, “but those green eyes of yours will.” She was sixty-two years old, a tough lady who had eight grandchildren whose names he took pains to memorize. “Now, pull down your sleeves. Your tattoo is showing, and Yogev doesn’t like it,” she ordered him, and he obeyed. His not-to-be-tolerated-in-a-CPA-tattoos were the only reason he wore a long-sleeved shirt in July.

As he prepared to step into his boss's office, he took a deep breath, but his heartbeat refused to slow down.

“Hello Erez.” Yogev’s blacker than night hair came from a bottle, but he was less honest about it than his PA, “Please sit down.”

He remained standing.

“Well?” he asked.

Yogev’s jaw locked. “Erez, I’m sorry. I couldn’t approve your application. You’re needed in Real Estate.”

Something in him snapped. “I quit.”

This was complete lunacy. He had a daughter to support, a mortgage to pay, a younger brother who needed a helping hand. This craziness must have sprung out of the meeting with Rammy, which highlighted everything that was wrong with his current job in G&L, or perhaps the bitter sense of disillusionment that he would never get what he wanted if he stayed.

“Do you have something else lined up?”

He’d been looking around, but the other firms only wanted him for his real estate prowess. He should lie, but it went against the grain. The whole reason for leaving G&L and real estate was about not cutting corners.

“No,” he answered.

Yogev nodded and tapped his index finger on the glass that coated his desk.

Erez waited, pushing down the wave of doubt and uncertainty. Several months ago, his young brother took over managing a pub in suburbia. Earlier today he asked Erez to take his shift tonight—he was going to a final audition for a role in a TV series. If all else failed, Erez would bartend. He winced at this but held onto his guns. His boss took a deep breath, and Erez readied himself. He was strangely calm as he waited to be dismissed. Deep in his gut, in a place he hadn’t visited for a long time, this felt right.

“Okay, Erez, no need to quit. If you’re so determined to leave real estate, I’ll help you get the Tractus position.”

He blinked, unsure he had heard correctly.

“You’ll help me?”

“Yes, I’ll have to grease a lot of palms and turn in many favors to even get you considered for this, and I’ll do it. But I need you to do me a tiny favor first. There’s an old army buddy of mine. We served together, and he saved my life in Lebanon. This guy heads a group of early investors in startups. They can raise upwards of two to three million dollars for a startup.”

“Impressive,” Erez chimed in, hardly listening, still processing this stunning turn of events.

“Now, a new investor joined, but he wants due diligence on this new investment my buddy found, and he wants it from a certified accountant. That is where you come in. Look into the company. It’s a very promising startup called Kisharti. Check the books, and that the numbers add up. It’s an early-stage startup. I doubt they have any concrete numbers other than salaries and overseas flights.”

“No problem,” he answered, wondering how he would fit this extra gig into his overloaded schedule.

“Be sure to write a favorable report.” His boss winked at him.

“I’ll write what I find,” he barked, immediately regretting it when his boss’s mouth thinned.

“You’ll find nothing, Erez. Do this right and I’ll start moving mountains for you here, I promise.”

He’d write what he found, but his boss was probably right, and he would find nothing. Yogev’s black eyes held his, and he finally nodded his assent.

Thank you for reading all the way through, I'll see you next week for my heroine's chapter.

Tattoos and Romance: A Sneak Peek into My New Novel

“Tattoos are the ultimate form of self-expression, presenting a person's personality and loves like an open book.”

(Spictatoos on Instagram)

,Do you find tattooed men attractive?

If you do, you're not alone - it has its own romance category. It was high time that tattoos would feature in one of my books, hence, Erez, the very appealing hero of my next book, has two of them.

My heroine, Dafna, doesn’t have any tattoos and was once married to a guy who would never get one (Dafna’s ex is a PI who goes undercover, so inking himself might have taught strangers intimate details about him). Discovering she likes tattoos and eventually deciding to get one would be part of Dafna's Journey in the book.

I don’t have any ink, nor does my husband (who is very attractive nonetheless). To write about it, I needed to do some research. It proved to be both fascinating and lots of fun.

I searched the web for beautiful, original tattoos to include in my book. I wanted it to be sea-themed because Erez is a surfer.

I found Spictatoos on Instagram and connected with her. She not only draws mesmerizing tattoos but also writes beautifully about it, and the cherry on top: she’s Israeli, and I could meet her in person. Spictatoos's real name is Hilah, and you should definitely ,follow her on Insta, even if you don’t speak Hebrew.

Hilah immediately agreed to help me, and I drove to Rehovot where she lives and works. The street she lives in, her building, her studio, and Hilah herself are depicted in my book, with her permission, of course.

Hilah taught me how one would go about getting a tattoo, the best place on the body to get one, and what she likes to do best - which is to cover scars with a beautiful drawing.

“Ink is an incredible way to conceal scars.” Hilah explained, “This is evident among cancer survivors who, as part of the healing process, turn scars into new masterpieces. Even birthmarks, stretch marks, and non-disease-related scars are often covered with ink. Perhaps that's the magic of tattooing – its ability to close one chapter and start a new one, to let go and move forward.”

We discussed the scene that happens in her studio. She had great suggestions for how Dafna behaves when getting her first tattoo and the process she goes through when picking the drawing, deciding where it would be on her body, and how large it should be. This all-important ink is one Hilah made for a real-life client. You'll need to read the book in order to find out what Dafna decides to have and where.

My book depicts another real-life tattoo by Hilah, the original tattoo that made me stop my scrolling:

I asked and received permission to have this on the book cover. The cover is still in the drafting phase, but Enni, my book cover artist, has already sent me the drawing of the tattoo.

Here it is:

How cool is that?

The book is out on March 15, 2024, you can ,pre-order it now.

Despite everything: Happy Hanukkah

Yesterday night was the first candle of Hanukkah.

The first Jewish holiday since October 7.

Exactly two months, 61 days, since the lives of every Israeli, and every Jewish person around the world have been turned upside down. For some more than others. There are casualties every day.

There are still 138 hostages held by the terrorists.

Ever since October 7, a black drape of darkness descended. It's a daily mission as well as a struggle to find light and purpose.

There is a famous Israeli song for Hanukkah that says:

Each of us is a tiny light,

And together we create a fierce light

(Kol ehad hu or katan, vekulanu or eitan).

And so, to transition from the collective to the personal, I both create and find light.

I joined the amazing women's organization of BonotAlternativa (women building an alternative) months ago, as they led the protest movement against the government’s unlawful legislation. Through them, I found a way to contribute: Twice a week, I cook for the wounded soldiers and their families in Shiba hospital. It's tiny, but it's still a light.

I also take care of my author business. Not with the same energy as before, but I zoom every day and work alongside my author friends. And that, for me, is another tiny light.

I get to light this candle with my husband and my children.

That's something that I took for granted and now I celebrate it. Every day.

Despite it all : Happy Hanukkah.

Love the Book? Leave a Review!

Life here goes on as I and the people around me strive to find islands of normalcy—a struggle to regain a semblance of 'life as it was before.' And so my inbox is flooded with deals for Israel’s Shopping.IL, which roughly coincides with China’s Singles’ Day. This year, Shopping.IL is all about buying only blue and white: i.e, Israeli products.

Amid the November and Black Friday inbox frenzy, I won't be adding to the crowd. No emails from me trying to sneak into your already bustling inbox. However, I do have a small favor to ask.

A couple of months ago, I participated in a massive romance book promotion called 'Stuff Your Kindle.' This event, organized by bestselling author Zoe York was featured on the website 'Romancebookworm.com.' The submitted books had to meet two prerequisites: 1) The participating book had never been offered before, and 2) The participating book was free on all platforms.

I offered, for the first and last time, my new(ish) book (released in mid-May):

Analysing Her Assets.

The response was overwhelming : More than 3,000 (!) copies of my book were downloaded. I was truly happy, and hoped that it would result in numerous new reviews.

Yet, to date, I have less than forty reviews on the Amazon store.

If you picked up my book (I dropped the link twice in this newsletter when it was free), would you mind taking a moment — let's say, anytime between now and Monday — to toss a review on Amazon? Just a few words would be fantastic.

You could always follow in Eric's footsteps, who rated the book five stars and said:

"This is a romantic romance that depicts Tel Aviv in a very cool light. Fun read, highly recommended!"

Thank you, Eric, it is a romantic romance, and Tel Aviv really is super cool!

Here's another excerpt from a review by Renee H:

"It’s a lovely romance, with the right amount of steam, and plenty of adorable puppies. You can never have too many puppies. The backdrop of the Tel Aviv financial district was very cool. I’m looking forward to reading more of Mia's books."

​Here’s the link to post your review.

Thank you so much!

Yours,

Mia

The Frauds that Calm Me

I've had trouble falling asleep or staying asleep these past few weeks. Nothing against getting a little chemical help, but I'm afraid that if I take sleeping pills, I'll grow increasingly numb. Life right now has very sharp edges, but as long as I feel I can take it, I will.

So, I fall asleep listening to podcasts. I then wake up, realize I'm in the next episode, press pause, take my earphones out, and go back to sleep. It can take three nights to go through a one-hour episode, so I guess it lights out after 20 minutes or so.

The one podcast that never fails to calm me, while it educates me at the same time

is: Oh, my Fraud.

It’s hosted by two CPAs, one of whom is also a stand-up comedian. It is meticulously researched, and the guys know their stuff. But you don't have to be in the finance business to listen and enjoy.

Hearing about scams and frauds that take place (mostly) in America just works for me. Maybe because it is so far removed from my current reality. Plus, the crimes, though painful to many people who get swindled, are bloodless. And the bad guys are always caught and dealt with.

I loved listening to the case of Rita, a loyal \local public servant in Dixon, Illinois, who, for twenty years, managed to steal nearly 54 million dollars. This is still the largest municipal fraud in US history. Or the case of Fat Leonard, who bribed navy admirals into signing off on his inflated invoices. I incorporate financial scams in the books I write, usually the classic “pump and dump” scheme (buy a security, jack up the price, then sell it onward). But these guys touch on art frauds, fake expensive wines, and nuns that steal scholarships from kids. It’s entertaining stuff.

In a recent episode, the Oh My Fraud guys spoke in length about an Israeli guy I met in real life, Professor Dan Arieli. He was once one of their heroes, and their disappointment made them dedicate not one, but two whole episodes to his academic research fraud, which involved data manipulation.

Arieli is a magnificent speaker and a striking-looking man: half his face got burned, and he grows a beard on the other half. He was the undisputed star of behavioral economics, a field that studies why people make the financial decisions that they do. In the talk I attended, he told us of the study he'd done on how to incentivize people to save money in Kenya. The results weren't intuitive - people saved more when they got a real golden coin to show for it than when they got a text message reminder from their child or when their savings were matched. I really hope the data here is accurate. It was a brilliant experiment.

But he lost my respect long before the scandal of false data broke.

He tried to sell me a mutual fund in which he invests according to behavioral economics. He claimed to have algorithms that point with precision to companies that will succeed.

I mean, come on. There is no such thing.

There is no replacing hard work and professionalism. If anyone tries to tell you they've cracked the future of stock prices with math -it's a scam. They might tell you they deserve their inflated management fees because they found the surest way to generate alpha (that means to beat the benchmark and perform better than the index, i.e., the S&P 500), but I would highly doubt them. There are investors who deserve our trust: Warren Buffet analyzes companies (micro) while taking into account macro conditions. He doesn't claim he found a shortcut or that he has a machine that tells him where to put his money.

Stay safe, and don’t fall for scammers,

Yours,

Mia

For further reading on behavioral economics and Dan Arieli:

The New Yorker : https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2023/10/09/they-studied-dishonesty-was-their-work-a-lie​

Saving money in the third world: https://www.nestegg.com.au/save-money/expenses/savings-experiment-kenya-can-teach-us-money​

Dan Arieli's mutual fund (an article in Hebrew): https://www.themarker.com/news/internal-info/2022-11-14/ty-article/00000184-75a3-de48-a79d-fdaf7b660000

A Message from Tel Aviv - carrying on in a time of War

The Friday before last my niece tied the knot.

The wedding took place in Caesarea, a 50-minute drive from Tel Aviv. Unlike many brides, who like to make a grand entrance, my niece proved to be a gracious bride, welcoming all her guests at the entrance with huge smiles and hugs.

The alcohol was upscale and there was lots of it. The food was delicious. I looked my best (there’s a photo of me at the bottom of this email, so you can judge for yourself), and had the best time with my family and friends.

Less than 24 hours later, Hamas launched its atrocious assault on Israel, targeting not only military bases but also civilians in more than 15 cities and villages across the southern border with Gaza. Within a few hours, news of casualties poured in, hitting fast and very close to home.

Tom, my best friend’s cousin, was killed in Kissufim as he held the shelter door just long enough for his wife and three daughters to escape. Adam, the son of Ronit, my scene reader (she gives enlightening comments on all my spicy scenes) fought alongside 22 female soldiers. He was critically wounded and is now in a coma.

Omri, my son's best friend, fell while trying to free hostages in Be'eri. My husband and I went with our son to the funeral, and just hours later, he received his “Tzav 8” - an emergency call for service. He's now stationed in the North, preparing for a possible second front with another terrorist organization, Hizballah.

This newsletter is written partially from my house’s shelter. I come down here several times a day.

The writer and Holocaust Survivor Elie Wiesel wrote:

'Never again' becomes more than a slogan: It's a prayer, a promise, a vow... never again the glorification of base, ugly, dark violence.

Yet here we are, and there’s no end in sight.

I’m filled with grief about the young girls abducted to Gaza. Knowing that just thinking about it will make me lose my mind, I get angry: at my stupid, chauvinistic, horrible, utterly corrupt, and useless government. It’s followed by frustration by my own helplessness.

Grief, anger, frustration, in a never-ending loop, which isn't very productive. So, I choose to function - taking care of my sick parents, putting on a brave face for my children who need solace, and collecting clothes and toys for the Israeli refugees.

Amidst all of this - should I keep on writing?

It was a question I asked myself from the very beginning.

Is it okay to put time and effort into this newsletter? Isn’t it incredibly insensitive of me to keep on working on my frivolous romances when so many are suffering around me?

For me, the answers are surprisingly simple. In this, I’m being completely selfish. I write for myself. For my sanity.

Writing to you, welcoming you to Tel Aviv. Even this version of my city - it keeps me going. Thank you for reading my words.

I try not to miss meeting my regular Zoom sessions with other authors. My friends know this is a safe space, so they don’t raise questions to which I have no answers. We talk of problems in plotting and shaping believable characters.

I’m currently at the editing stage of my third book - a steamy contemporary romance about a couple that falls in love on a peaceful Tel Aviv beach. My main guy is hot and tattooed and teaches my main lady to paddleboard. They overcome challenges to be together, plus catch the bad guy to boot. It’s all pretty lighthearted, and there’s a Happy Ever After.

It happens in my city, in an alternate reality, which to me is still very real.

As promised, here's a picture from the very recent past. This is me, all dressed up at my niece's wedding, standing under a vine laden with ripe grapes.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I still hope peace will come, in our days.

Yours,

Mia

P.S.

The groom enlisted the following day - he is an Iron Dome operator (i.e., most likely will be fine).

Yours,

Mia

Do I use my traumas in my books?

Do I use my traumas in my books?

Yes, I do.

Ever since I began writing, I’ve been incorporating real-life events that happened either around me or to me.

In this post I want to share a memory with you, one that left its mark, though I haven't used it yet in any of my books.

First, a little background:

I was born and raised in a kibbutz - the name derives from the Hebrew word kvutza, meaning “group”. Kibbutz is a unique Israeli type of settlement, and it started out as a utopian Zionist community heavily influenced by socialist ideals.

I grew up living in a communal children’s house (yep, it included shared, mixed-gender showers until I was about ten. Nope, it wasn't traumatic). From an early age, we participated in various tasks that contributed to the community such as gardening, housekeeping, and animal care. We all had access to the same resources. Personal possessions were a rarity, and concepts like buying or earning money were entirely foreign to us.

When I was 16, my parents decided to leave the kibbutz and move to Uruguay in South America, where I enrolled in an American high school.

"Fish out of water" perfectly describes my initial state, but fortunately, the school was very welcoming. It wasn't like the huge schools you see in the movies, but quite a tiny one - there were only ten of us in the eleventh grade.

After about a week, I was invited for the first time to join my classmates and others for an outing to a popular cafe. In such a small school, classes of different years mixed socially, and we were a large group, around 20 - sophomores, juniors, and seniors.

We all had coffee (forget France or Italy, South America has the best coffee) and cakes. When we got up to leave, the check was served and everyone was expected to chip in.

It was then that I realized I had no money.

No wallet, no pesos, no credit or debit card. Nada. My naive parents, recently out of the cocoon of the kibbutz themselves, never thought to make sure I carried any with me.

I remember it to this day: the hot wave of humiliation, the bone-deep shame at not contributing, the feeling of utter stupidity - that I should have known better.

My American friends were fine with it, except for one girl named Liz. Her face scrunched up when she was asked for more money to cover my portion.

Later, as we stood outside chatting, I remained silent, struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire English conversation. Then, one of the guys asked about Argentinian football, a topic I liked and followed, saying, “Mia, what do you think?”

Before I could respond, Liz chimed in: “She doesn't think.”

I couldn’t come up with an answer, because a treacherous, self-doubting part of me agreed with her. I was speechless and hurt, and I felt so inadequate.

I have felt stupid and inadequate since then, on several occasions, that's inevitable. But - I've never ever been caught without the means to pay for my meal. Ever. In this day and age of digital payments, I always carry cash with me.

I haven't used this story as I haven’t found the right heroine for it yet.

Do you have stories you carry with you since your youth?

Hit reply and let me know.