I walked along a path above the olive grove this morning, just as the sun was shining across the wet grass.
I was actually trying to retrieve a chicken foot from Kepler, who’d either stolen it or been given it by the neighbour. Every time I got near, he picked it up and ran further.
After a while I thought it was more productive to look at the dew.
I went back, got my camera, and retraced my steps.
Every glittering leaf was more beautiful than the last. I found myself being enticed along as surely as I had been by Kepler, taking photo after photo.
Clive is on tour and therefore not involved in escapades with chicken feet. Luckily it’s a virtual tour, marketing the books he’s written, so he’s not actually gone anywhere. He warmly invites you to join him. Clicking on the tour link or the graphic below will take you direct to the list of blog sites and radio programmes that he’ll be appearing on.
Actually the end of a book.
Today I finally finished the novel I started writing 24 years ago.
Back then it was going to be my ‘magnum opus’, my semi-demi-autobiographical debut on the literary scene, which would launch me to fame.
Instead it underwent surgery several times over as its second half was altered, either more or less drastically, interspersed with long periods of convalescence in my bottom drawer.
Its various titles bear witness to its different guises:
- Kingfisher Fire until I discovered that Rumer Godden had beaten me to it with her ‘Kingfishers Catch Fire’ – a big blow that
- Black Gentian
- The Green Tree
- The Colours of the Sea
- The Warden
- The Jay’s Feather
- Wild Goose
Clive read through the final version. He found a phrase which he said sounded like ‘To the Batmobile!’
The photo is a possibility for the ‘cover’ of an electronic book version.
Italy has been our home for more than 12 years now, and the house in the photo for most of that time. This blog documents the joys and problems of our existence day by day.
We have our difficulties. My husband, Clive, is permanently disabled. In addition, he recently spent 9 months in French hospitals recovering first from a coma and then from an operation to remove a massive bowel tumour. He’s just finished a course of chemotherapy at home, and is learning to walk again.
Some of our difficulties derive from where we live, but I still love living here. Clive is more circumspect. By reading about our daily life, perhaps you will be able to tell whose view is the more accurate. Does the pleasure outweigh the pain? Or will my writing betray a less rose-tinted reality?
You can also see the books we’ve written and published by clicking on the image below: