Writing Progress and Venturing Further Afield

On Monday, I had the excitement of receiving the first fourteen chapters of my book back from the editor.  I always think that  I have some idea about punctuation, until I see the thousands of corrections to be reviewed.  

I dealt with the corrections, and then it was time for the comments. Martina’s comments show me where the reader might falter, might not understand what on earth I am trying to say or might not remember who a character from the last book was. Her comments are always pertinent but sometimes they do make me giggle.

I enjoy this part of the process as much as the original writing but find that it is much more tiring, I’m obviously using a different (less used) part of my brain.

The next fourteen chapters went off to be studied at the beginning of the week and I just have to check the final few chapters so that I can send them next Monday. 

If you haven't already read my first two books, perhaps now is the time to do it:

I have decided that I must have a reliable face or something because, even in France, people stop me to ask me the way. Little do they know that I don’t know my right from my left and am as likely to direct them to a fire station as a railway station 

Perhaps, it’s my purposeful stride, so that even if I don’t know where I am, it looks as though I know where I’m going.

This week, I drove to Cannes. I’d booked train tickets but they called a strike (yes, strikes happen here too, it’s just everyone isn’t as gloomy about it as they are in England). The drive was fine, until the exit for Cannes that takes you to such a confusing roundabout, that I had to go round it twice.  

   I found the hotel surprisingly easily. It was high on the hill above Le Suquet. Annoyingly the reception didn’t open until 3.30, so I parked and walked down into town for lunch. I had joined the madness that is Cannes in the middle of a Luxury Hotel summit— teams had come from all over the world to show what wonderful things they had to offer, one had even transported a carriage from the Orient Express! For the first 300m of arriving in the centre, I didn’t hear French spoken at all.

  The first few cafes and restaurants were full to bursting but as I got further from the Palais des Festivals et des Congrès, I found somewhere that could offer lunch, if I sat outside.  Lunch was good but huge. My calamari salad included a mountain of chips— catering for an international audience? I worked it off on the walk back to the hotel.

   My niece Rosie was involved with the summit, hence my visit to Cannes—on a Wednesday, during a train strike.  We met after she had finished for the day and enjoyed wine, dinner and lots and lots of lovely chat sitting outside Le Cirque. Cannes was buzzing, busy, bonkers.  But that's Cannes.

   The hotel and its owner were charming. My room was on the second floor which gave me a wonderful sea view,

but involved climbing a steep spiral staircase. The murals on the wall made the climb almost bearable.

During the night I discovered that the  soundproofing was so bad, that we might as well have all been in a dormitory. Somehow though, I had a pretty good night's sleep. 

I left Cannes after a brief walk down into town. Leaving the hotel was not nearly as easy as finding it and I got tangled up in the one way system of Cannes until it finally spat me out onto the dual carriageway—which somehow becomes 8 lanes—that cuts across Cannes. 

I followed the blue A8 signs and realised that I was driving through areas that Hugi and I had walked, when we were lucky enough to stay in Cannes for a month, six years ago  Happy reminiscences filled my mind, until I realised that I was in the wrong lane on the roundabout and had to upset the driver behind me. C’est la vie.

As a treat, I am reading The Enchanted April, by Elizabeth von Amin, this week.  Such a gentle book. The descriptions of interactions between the four women, who find themselves spending a month beautiful castle near Genoa, are perceptive, amusing and just lovely.

I have noted many quotes, here’s one:-

She wanted to be alone but not lonely that was quite different; that ached and hurt dreadfully.  It was what one dreaded most………………was it possible that loneliness had nothing to do with circumstances but only with the way one met them?

Sunday, Menton was unnaturally quiet.  I think that the celebrations for France’s win in the football, must have carried on well into the night.  I walked along the promenade to Roquebrune Cap Martin, marvelling at the number of people swimming in the sea—I had scarf, coat and gloves on.

On the way back I found myself in the Jardin du Palais de Carnolès a little haven planted with fruit trees interspersed with sculptures. Charmant.