Lilas Taha is
a writer at heart, an electrical engineer by training, and an advocate for
domestic abuse victims by choice. She was born in Kuwait to a Syrian mother and
a Palestinian father, and immigrated to the U.S. as a result of the Gulf war in
1990. She earned a master’s degree in Human Factors Engineering from the
University of Wisconsin- Madison. There, Lilas met her beloved husband and true
friend, and moved with him to Sugar Land, Texas to establish a family. She is
the proud mother of a daughter and a son. Instead of working in an industrial
field, she applied herself to the field of social safety, working with victims
of domestic violence.
Pursuing her
true passion for creative writing, Lilas brings her professional interests, and
her Middle Eastern background together in her debut fictional novel, Shadows of
Damascus.
1. What is the first curse word that comes to mind? How often and why do you use it?
Shit. I try not to use it much, but I do when I get very frustrated.
2. How would you spend ten thousand bucks?
I would take my family on a trip to experience a completely different culture, visit the Far East, maybe: China, Japan, or Australia. There’s only so much you can learn from books or the Internet. I like to be immersed in a different society and see the world through its peoples’ eyes.
3. What are five things within touching distance?
An African violet plant, a pencil, a tissue box, a laptop and my son.
4. Do you have a crush on anyone?
Many good looking male actors. Currently, Jon Hamm and Hugh Jackman.
5. What is your least favorite word?
Loss.
Blurb:
Bullet wounds, torture and
oppression aren’t the only things that keep a man—or a woman—from being whole.
Debt.
Honor. Pain. Solitude. These are things wounded war veteran Adam Wegener knows
all about. Love—now, that he is not
good at. Not when love equals a closed fist, burns, and suicide attempts. But
Adam is one who keeps his word. He owes the man who saved his life in Iraq. And
he doesn’t question the measure of the debt, even when it is in the form of an
emotionally distant, beautiful woman.
Yasmeen
agreed to become the wife of an American veteran so she could flee persecution
in war-torn Syria. She counted on being in the United States for a short stay
until she could return home. There was one thing she did not count on: wanting more.
Is it
too late for Adam and Yasmeen?
Excerpt:
PROLOGUE
YASMEEN
Damascus, Syria
Summer 2006
The seductive fragrance of Damascus roses drifted through
the open window and flirted with fifteen-year-old Yasmeen’s olfactory senses.
The potent flowers in her neighbor’s yard delivered the best awakening. She
loved beginnings, especially early, mid-summer mornings like these. Stretching
across the bed, her imagination raced with possibilities for the promising day.
Thursday. The day her older brother’s friends visited and
stayed well into the evening. Yasmeen ticked off potential visitors in her
head, dashing young university students who loved to talk politics with Fadi.
Today, she would do her best to discover the name of the quietest member in the
group, the thin one with round-rimmed glasses. On her nightstand, the sketch
she worked on during the last visit waited for his name, and more details
around the eyes.
Peeling off the covers, she tip-toed to the window. Lively
noises matched her optimistic mood. Nightingales sang greetings. Clanging
dishes and pots resonated from surrounding houses beyond high walls. Mothers
called out for their daughters to get breakfast ready. Men’s deep voices
describing fresh fruits and vegetables with tempting traditional phrases
drifted above hidden alleys. One vendor claimed his cucumbers were small as
baby fingers, and likened his ripe apples to a virgin bride’s cheeks. Another
boasted his plum peaches shed their covers without enticement, and his shy
eggplants hid well in a moonless night.
Yasmeen succumbed to the enlivening chaos spilling in from
her bedroom window, her own special and personal opening to the world. Tilting
her head back, she exposed her face and neck to the sun, allowing its
invigorating rays to paint her cheeks.
Today, her mother told her she would be allowed to take a
coffee tray into Fadi’s room once all his friends arrived. What would she wear?
She should tell her best friend Zainab to stop by earlier than usual to go
through her wardrobe. She could help her decide. Perhaps one of Fadi’s friends
would notice her. More than one? Why not?
Draping her arms on the windowsill, she looked at the
neighbor’s yard, counting the blooming roses, a ritual she performed each
morning since the season started. In the north corner of the largest flowerbed,
two violet buds grabbed her attention, their delicate petals about to unfold.
Once they came to full bloom, their deep purple color would dominate the
landscape.
A knock sounded at her door.
“I am awake.”
Her father walked in. “Good. We have work to do.” He held a
hammer in one hand and a couple of boards in the other. “Move aside, Yasmeen.”
He approached the window.
She stepped away and pointed at the boards. “What do you
need those for?”
Her father closed the windowpanes, locked them, placed one
board across the frame, and hammered it in place.
“What are you doing?”
“This window is not to be opened again, child.”
She could not believe her ears. “Why?”
“Neighbors moved out last night.” Her father nailed the
second board in place. “Mukhabarat took over their house.”
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7 comments:
Thanks for hosting!
huge thanks for hosting me today on your blog.
I liked hearing about ypur book, looking forward to it.
Thank you Julie and Patrick.
Nice interview questions and answers
A fun interview thank you.
We share a common unfortunate affinity for a particular expletive! Thanks for the interesting interview!
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