VIV Moments

Hometown

Huntington Beach, CA

Joie de VIVre

When in Rome or Paris or the Near East … writing, sketching, shopping, and visiting every museum and ancient ruin I can find.

VIV Moment

I love everything vintage. Hats, beaded purses, jewelry. And ruins. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be an archaeologist and go on digs. I also wanted to be a costume designer. Wearing my favorite faux fur coat, I shopped every flea market I could find across Europe looking for interesting clothes from bygone eras. My faux fur coat wasn’t what your hardworking archaeologist would wear on a dig, but I saw no reason why I couldn’t bring some glam to the profession. I combined both my interests when I had the opportunity to explore the ruins of the Roman Forum and later the catacombs outside Rome.

I also hung around Pompeii and Herculaneum, studying the mosaics, walking in the deep ruts the chariots made in the street, marveling at the round loaves of preserved bread and sketching the women in diaphanous gowns painted on the wall frescoes. I experienced a strong kinship with these sophisticated ladies who inhabited these houses nearly 2,000 years ago, but it wasn’t until I had the opportunity to join a group exploring the catacombs that I had my VIV Moment.

Descending into the crypt, I followed the rotund monk wearing a brown habit much too short for him, his big toes poking out over his sandals, his booming voice reminding us to stay together. It would soon be dark, he said, but I have a tendency to lag behind when I’m in a museum or touring a site, wanting to “feel the moment” and embark on a time-travel trip back to that era.

This time I lagged too long. I strayed behind the group and got lost. With only a small flashlight to guide my way, I wandered around in the underground caves marveling at the bones that lay scattered in the crypts. Instead of being frightened, I was fascinated. Only the silent chant of the dead filled my ears, no movement but the crunch of my feet striking the hard dirt. I saw tier after tier cut into the cavelike walls filled with bones, fragments of drinking vessels and odd-shaped stones. That was the first time I heard the bones “whisper” to me, giving up their secrets, telling me what it was like to huddle in fear, praying Roman soldiers wouldn’t discover their hiding place, or gather around the fire with other believers and plan their escape. Or make love in a forgotten corner with a handsome gladiator.

I never forgot that. It became part of my story when I wanted to write about an archeologist turned spy in the Near East. In Spies, Lies & Naked Thighs my heroine explores ancient ruins, discovers a priceless artifact and sports a sexy wardrobe. And gets the hero.

I don’t have that faux fur coat anymore. I wore it out. But I do have the memories of traipsing around ancient ruins wearing it, what I saw, smelled, felt, touched. It all helped me become the writer I am today and helped me tell my stories about heroines caught up in sexy adventures in exotic places. And my book has been translated into Italian. For me, it doesn’t get any better than that.

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