Second Chances

This seems to be cropping up all the time at the moment. I'm writing about the possibility of second chances in Leaving Coty, watched a film, The Lake House, on television last night which is about the second chance of capturing a love. And an article in the Sunday Times magazine from a few weeks ago about an author, Stephen Benatar, who by rights, due to the review of his books (some published by a company he had to set up himself to do so) is, after decades of rejections taken up by a big American publisher. Mr. Benatar is English. He sells his books himself. His books haven't sold in vast numbers because he hasn't had a power house publisher behind him and he isn't well known like Jordan or, Dan Brown or JK Rowling, though his books are extremely well written and touch the reader emotionally. Now, he is getting a second chance of his books being widely read, and that is what he says he wants. He doesn't want his books forgotten, unread. It's what most authors want, I'd say.

And the second chance thing cropped up somewhere else too. Then there's Gordon Brown...and the spanish bullfighter, Jose Thomas who retired from bullfighting, found life wasn't worth living without it, so came back to fight a bull in Mexico and his leg was gored. A second chance. For the bull? He, Jose Thomas, has survived, but I suppose, when we think about it factually, apart from being painless, don't we all want to die doing the thing we love? Bullfighting painless? Mmm...
So, am I going to pop it in my chair, fingers frozen to the keys? Think I'd prefer a pen in my hand. Could drop when I'm dancing.
Where has this come from after second chances? I'm drifing. Seems to be one of those days. Dull and grey outside. Going to edit. Mustn't let LC be dull and grey.

Writing again.

I've been working on Leaving Coty again today after nearly three weeks of sewing costumes, rehearsing, Easter holiday visits, family stuff and sewing costumes for last Thursday's show at the RNCM.
Monday. Don't know how I feel. Restless. The writing has gone amazingly well considering the break. I started with typing up some changes, printing up what I had so I could read without a mess of crossings out and little stars and inserts etc. And I'm further on with the book than I thought. Hooray! Tomorrow I will be less distracted, less likely to check facebook and flickr and Youtube for photos and comments on the gig. Less likely to sit dreaming. Less likely to think if I have my life in order. I know I haven't.
But I do know I have to finish Leaving Coty soon. Very soon. I hope I've got the passion in there whilst reining it back, I hope I've said all I want to say. I hope. In fact, forget that. I'm not hoping, I'm working on it. Tessa is so far from getting things right. She's trying hard, wading in the mud, only realising near the end of the book that we think the world is full of what we want when in fact, it isn't full at all, it's only full if we say 'yes' to opportunities. If we let them go, the world is empty, but if we do take them, then yes, then it is full. Does that make sense? Or too cryptic?
It's simple in some ways for her. She is catholic, she follows certain rules and she believes in second chances. Not everyone does though. I'm trying to be honest in what happens. I like her very much. I feel for all of the characters. Environment can screw us all up and for that we can only look on at what people do.
I loved dancing last Thursday. I love dancing. But I'm so glad to have my writing.
Must find some pictures to show you...

Hasta luego, Espana

Sunday 14th of February. Seems so long ago to be writing about it now. Wet and turning light. Cold. Up at 5.30 am. Exciting. Dark. Showered and hair wash. Dress, finish packing. Large freshly squeezed orange and a weak cup of tea. Will be good to drink strong Yorkshire tea again. Left the flat at 6.30. Birds singing. Figures wandering home in fancy dress - revellers from the Cadiz festival.
Now here's something to be aware of: My ticket said the train left at 7.13 am (love how precise these times are) It was actually ready to pull away at 7.08. Moral: always be early.

I was in carriage 3, seat 3C. Massive seats, the biggest I've ever been in. Like mini-sofas. The only other people in the carriage were a father and daughter. He was spanish, worked as a pyschologist in Durham, his daughter (english mother) lives in Canterbury. Sarah was fifteen and had been staying with spanish relatives and attending the english school in Cordoba. He had been in England since he was twenty-nine years old. She hadn't been to Durham. What's the point? He loved Durham. We chatted the whole way, asking what I needed to know about Andalusians for my book, about the area.
We arrived in Malaga at 8.30am. Had a coffee at the bar in the shopping centre as I had when I arrived.
Has the trip been worthwhile? Yes. I've learnt so much. About Spain, the spanish, the Estevez family, about sherry, about Cordoba and Jerez. I like the people and the place very much indeed. I want to come back. I want to learn spanish, travel more. Travel is so breathtakingly good. I feel taller, more in me, more questions to ask, more experiences to embrace. The mind and spirit have grown a little bit more. X

The Last Supper

Up to the main shopping area, across the main square with our proud horseman, down towards the Roman Ruins and The Church of St. Peter's for a delicious, delicious, I think my favourite meal of plate after plate of fluffily fried prawns and glasses of light reflecting fino. Perfect mix. Prawns piping hot, fino icily cold. Prawns served with a dish of mayonnaise. I don't like fried food but this was perfectly cooked. The place was down a side street on the left after the main square, called La Garda? Guida? There's a tiny bar at the front, go through a doorway at the back on the right into a tiny two room restaurant, like a greasy spoon. All sorts of people, students, middle age, old age. All mixing and talking. Can't remember how may plates of prawns we ordered, but we had three finos each. Thirty euros. Fab. And brillinat waiters as is the norm here. Black trousers, white shirt, black jumper. Not young.
The tables had a little bell to press on the wall that rang at a box by the bar, so the waiters knew who needed attention. Service was swift and efficient. Piping and wires open to see on the ceiling and walls. Looks like it needs rewiring. Brilliantly run.
And stroll back through the old town in the dark.
Good night Cordoba. Thank you X

Final images of Jerez

Juxtaposition again of the police raiding a church.

Leaving Jerez

One of my 'building' ideas for the children's television series, "Bob the Builder" when I was writing for it, was to have to rebuild a chimney as a bush/large plant was growing out of the mortar between bricks. I was told that doesn't happen. Have a look at Jerez Cathedral.

I love European cities that are not 'hung up' as British cities seem to be that buildings have to be freshly painted, cracks filled, replastered, perfect to be habitable or even usuable. I love the mix, beautifully dressed people, all ages, coming out of decrepit looking buildings, doorways, staircases. Jerez is certainly not what we'd describe as well looked after, but it is so, so charming and people look happy. And the place is beautiful and worn and uncared for and draws you in. I'd go back, purply pink buses, who cares? Bleak as the sky was today, empty as the streets were, it showed it had life and charm that would erupt in the warmer weather.
Final look on the station.

Jerez residents.

Sherry

Through a rear door and into the vast open space, with grass and a fountain, trees and a bronze horse, old equipment and massive warehouses for crushing the grapes, ageing, "Soleras and Criaderas" and bottling. Here is the Bodega de Lola named in honour of the flamenco dancer and singer Lola Flores who was born in Jerez and is where Tio Mateo, the only practically histamine free fino wine is produced and aged.
The bottling plant is one of the most up to date in Jerez. The sherries and brandies are aged in thousands of 100 year old barrels in a cool, dim light with harmonious music playing for them to age calmly and peacefully...
These warehouses are huge and the barrels go on and on. You can't take photographs in here.
The air is cool and the air is pungent with sherry. There is the sound of birds. The light is dim. There is a crucifix with Christ over the door. It smells as though this place, or process has been going on for a long, long time. It makes you think of heat in the late afternoon, of alcohol soaked wood, of musk, sweetness without being sickly, rich, dark liquid catching the light. A table being laid for a meal that will be eaten much later on, whent he temperature dips and the sun is going down. Fruit. Bread. Glassware. The air is thick with the aroma of Jerez's finest.

And then the bottling conveyor belt, viewed from a balcony and more dark, dark warehouses with aged barrels aging the sherry and brandy.
Mr. Garcia knows his stuff and will answer any question. He takes his time, going into every detail, even though I hardly understand a word, it doesn't seem to matter. I'm here. I can smell it, almost taste it (which I will later.) Is this enough?

Chorlton Book Festival

Another great event in South Manchester is fast approaching. Chorlton Book Festival!!
As part of it, I'm talking about blending fact and fiction, relationships and a career and reading from my novel, "Meeting Coty." If you want to know more about Francois Coty, one of the great perfume makers of his generation, join the debate about how people manage all the different elements in their lives, or just sit back and listen, please join us at Chorlton Library Monday, 9th of November at 2pm. This is a free event.
Now, to crack on with some work.....

Writing from real life

I've written a novel, Meeting Coty, which is published by Kings Hart Books (an independent publisher which I'd like to discuss later) and is based on real people. Years ago, my father looked into the spanish side of our family tree and uncovered names, certain facts, events and even character traits for a couple of the characters. I based Meeting Coty on his findings.
What I am pleased about is that he didn't find out too much. If he had, I think it would have been difficult not to feel that I'd taken liberties and not been true to these ancestors who had gone through these events. I would feel as though I was robbing them of their lives and the importance of what they did if I had changed anything. And then it wouldn't have been fiction. And as we're frequently told, real life isn't always interesting.
So. I'm glad I only had the bare bones because then I could make up what I wanted within a true frame work that gave the story a strong base.
Of course, Francois Coty has been written about and researching him was fascinating. He doesn't appear in great detail in the book. This is something else to debate - research and how much to use. Meeting Coty is about the main character, Tessa and her desire to meet the great man of perfume! I have had comments from some people who have read the book that they would like to know more about Coty. So, the follow on book, Leaving Coty, explores his life in more detail while keeping the same characters from the first book.
I'd be interested to know how other people deal with the fact and fiction balance. If we know about a subject, it is annoying to see it changed. The damage that can be done to history. I'm thinking of the Enigma films, the American version and the British one and the bending of facts. I am against this. The Titanic film annoyingly had facts out of kilter, but by basing the story on two fictional characters in that real setting, gave them leeway. But Rose (Kate) spitting? And the middle finger thing? Grrrrr-aghhh!! You can lose an audience by one small discrepency. So, it's the balance. Any thoughts? And yes, I blur films and fiction when I talk because I love both. Now there's another debate...