Every month anyone who subscribes to my mailing list will get a free short story. This is not the story that you receive for joining, but another completely new story. This month’s story is called Jo’s Journey and it won first prize in last year’s Good life in Galicia writing competition.
It is the story of how a single middle-aged woman ended up living in a village in Galicia. More than that it is a story of how despair can turn into hope.
It starts with Jo heartbroken; her husband of many years has left her for another woman, an age-old story.
In my mind it started with a ‘what-if’.
What-ifs are at the core of storytelling. Begin with a normal situation, a situation that we all recognise then ask yourself. What if…? The answer to that question is your story.
This was also my chance to describe the place I now call home. In telling you what Jo loved, I am telling you what I love about being here.
The story is available in the Goodlife in Galicia 2019 anthology on Amazon.
The Newsletter with the link to the story will go out on Friday the 25th so there is still time to join my mailing list if you haven’t already. You can do so here. You will get a link to Eliva’s Ghost, a short thriller in the Camino de Santiago series just for joining.
Jo’s Journey will be replaced with a new story on the 25th of next month. I hope that you enjoy it.
Last weekend traditionally signifies the end of summer here in Sarria. In fact summer both starts and ends with a fiesta. We begin in June with San Juan and end in September with Remedios. For the children the time in between is holiday, for the residents the price of a coffee goes up and we have to compete with tourists for the limited number of parking spaces.
Remedios commemorates a miracle. Many towns have their own version. Here the Virgin Mary was seen in a field about 3 kilometres from the town many , many years ago. In normal years, the whole town and their many visitors put on high visibility jackets and walk out to that field. They have lunch on long trestle tables and drink quite a lot more wine than is healthy. The young people take tents and sleep out there to ensure that their family gets the best picnic place. It is, without doubt, the event that the townspeople most look forward to, and incomers, like us, and tourists are the most puzzled by. It’s a celebration of family and community and has changed very little in the last hundred years. Until now, that is. It has of course been cancelled by covid 19.
The council, and I have to commend our current mayor, have tried their best to have a children’s program of activities during the holidays. They have searched far and wide for activities that can be done in a mask and with everyone remaining two metres apart. They arranged a small parade with a performance afterwards in the park for the weekend. The town was full. All the people who come for Remedios normally, came anyway, and there was a a lot of milling around.
The lack of the fiesta, had the same effect on the town as a damp firework, everyone knows it’s there, but it doesn’t go off. People sat in bars saying what a good time they have had in the past. It was difficult not to be affected by the sense of gloom. The parade arranged for the children turned out to be three blow up animals and a man on stilts with a water pistol. To be absolutely honest they did try their best, but it’s hard to cheer up people who refuse to be cheered.
We ended up having a takeaway and eating it in Steve’s office, I enjoyed it in a strange way. We read, played games, and ate kebab. It did feel like a holiday. The kind when it pours with rain and you are determined to enjoy yourself anyway.
My writing news is that Mass Murder is now available in paperback, I know that some of you have already found it.
I have finished the first draft of The Wooden Box. I am always sorry to to write ‘the end’ on a story it’s like finishing a book that you are reading, you want to stay in that world. For me it is also the point that the magic ends and the work begins. At the moment, I am editing it into a draft that can be send to Andrea my editor (Andrea if you are reading this you can start to sharpen your red pen).
For those of you who are on my email list, starting from sometime next week you will be receiving a new short story every month, So be sure to check your junk folders in case you miss it. It will only be available for a month before it’s replaced with a new one. There will be more details nearer the time.
For those of you who have been following my giant vegetable saga I would love to tell you that the marrow season has ended but, alas no, they have been joined by giant pumpkins
“Have you got an idea for your next book” a friend asked,
“Yes five priests get murdered at different points along the Camino,” I answered absently.
“How and why” she asked looking horrified.
“Well, I haven’t worked out all the details yet but it’s a starting point.”
“I am so glad that I can’t see into your mind” she replied “I don’t know anyone who idly daydreams about murdered priests.”
The sad truth is that up until then, I thought that everyone did. Not priests in particular, but the consequences of crimes going unchecked, or the possible reasons for someone to kill another human being. Theft is less likely to have a backstory but a murder almost certainly has. I have always told stories to myself, worked through the possibilities and tried to find endings. It got me through school, through boring office jobs, mums and toddler groups and all those other parts of life which are necessary but not always interesting.
Writing it down is a recent thing, I never thought it was really possible before.
We are both writers my friend and I and she too gleans ideas from all over the place. The difference is that she doesn’t randomly kill people off. But then she is much nicer than I am. I already have my next victim in mind, together with the murder scene. Mind you for me it happens so often I need a queuing system.
So Mass Murder is published today, the plot was more complicated than I intended, but the subject is a serious one. In part it is about what happens when evil is allowed to remain hidden long past the time when all concerned know what needs to happen.
The subject I raise will be debated for a long time yet, but there are and were always, good people. I hope that I have shown both the good and the bad.
For those of you who read my last but one blog, my fears of being swamped with giant marrows has been realised, so who knows maybe my next victim will be killed with a wheelbarrow full of vegetables. Or that Steve, who grew them, is no longer safe now I know he shares this genetic giant marrow growing trait with his father.
On the other hand if you have a fondness for marrows feel free to come and collect one.
No, I’ve never met anyone who actually likes them either.
What a week! It started with our 40th wedding anniversary. It defies my imagination. Where has the time gone. And how did it happen?
That was us then.
Can you spot the difference.
We went, at the invitation of our good friends Jackie and John, to the Parador in Monforte. For anyone who doesn’t know Paradors are state owned hotels build in historic buildings they are normally amazing, not only historically through sympathetic restauration, but in terms of service. It was a lovely day I think that we all enjoyed it.
The day didn’t start in quite such a refined cultural way. At seven o- clock that morning all the clothes that I own were on the bed. Every single thing had been ruled out as a possible outfit to wear for such a special lunch. I dug out my make-up bag and found two lipsticks, one purple and one bright red, not previously thrown out only because the colours were so hideous that they hadn’t been used, The puzzling question was why were they ever bought? There was a tub of foundation which belongs in a museum it is so old, and one worn out blue and silver eyeshadow and that was it.
Why, I thought to myself is there so little, Then I remembered watching a you tube video on the dangers of wearing out of date make/up and throwing everything away because it was all ten years out of date at least. (I don’t go out often enough). So another moment of panic, until I remembered that I would be wearing a mask. What a relief, as long as I could find one that matches my outfit, I’d be fine.
Then I remembered the outfit problem. My only unpatched trousers were stretchy jeans, that left me with one skirt and one dress. Next problem was no shoes. I have shoes, trainers, gardening clogs and brown suede brogues that go with jeans. I looked at the jeans and shook my head, no, I couldn’t. I lay down on my wardrobe floor hoping for a pair of forgotten sandals, even though at the back of my mind there lurked a memory of me throwing them away because the strap had broken. For some moments I contemplated just staying where I was, on the floor and blaming Covid 19.
I did find a pair of green ballet pumps, covered in dust, and pulled them out and looked at them critically, as shoes they were promising, but green doesn’t match either lilac (dress) or black and white (skirt.) Then I had one of my brighter ideas, green shoes -purple lipstick and an hour later I had a pair of shoes that matched the dress.
All that I had left to do was to squeeze into the dress, I am, to quote Alexander McCall Smith, traditionally built and the lock-down had only emphasised the traditional aspect. The only solution was to lie back down on the wardrobe floor and breath in, we came close to being late and I thought that I might have to content myself with photographing the food and not eating it, in order to protect the flimsy zip on the silk dress.
It was appropriate that I had outfit problems, because on my wedding day, my dress and shoes had been bought by mum, neither fitted, neither looked good. My hair was done by the girl down the road because she knew about long hair and the bun she created had fallen out an hour before the wedding. I walked down the isle in tennis pumps with a pack of hairpins in my dress pocket, the dress’s one good feature was a pocket. No I know, not a normal feature in a wedding dress.
So you see, things don’t change that much. The rest of the day, much like that day forty years ago, turned out to be wonderfully memorable.
Does anyone else find it hard to write when it’s hot? I just don’t concentrate well. It doesn’t help when I go down to breakfast and find a huge basket of vegetables from the garden to deal with. The fridge and veg basket are already full from last nights harvest. So I sit looking at my work in progress, with courgettes floating in front of my eyes asking myself why did we plant so many.
Last year, my back problem (better than it was, thank you) prevented me from planting anything. Steve had never been involved. This year when Covid hit, and Steve was forced to stop his paid job, He said “if I help with the heavier jobs, do you think that we could grow some veg this year? If this lasts for more that a month we might need them anyway,” he thought he was joking.
Of course, we had no idea how true that statement would turn out to be. Steve had taken over the veg patch within a fortnight, and now it’s his domain. However, what we have grown does not translate well to actual meals. We are no long buying vegetables which is a good thing, but Steve’s enthusiasm does not yet run to dealing with surplus, he just loves the fact that there is a surplus.
I am just hoping that he doesn’t take after his father who was convinced that a six foot long marrow was a good thing. He would spend half an hour extolling it’s its virtues before donating it to you.
I would put it in the pantry with a sinking heart and look at it every day until I was almost crying with despair. The children would pack their little cases ready to leave home if I cooked it and Dennis would phone every other day to ask if we were enjoying it. This was something of an annual ritual, the worse part being that as soon as we came to the end of the first marrow another even bigger specimen would arrive.
On the whole our house is good in the heat, everywhere but my study (which has sky lights) remains cool until the outside temperature reaches thirty degrees. The house is probably around three hundred years old and has the thick walls and relatively small windows which go with that. The kitchen is best, but not when the oven and several pans are on the stove and I am trying to preserve vegetables. Unfortunately at the moment 30 degrees feels like a cool day, so I have have been moving from room to room trying to find a place to work.
Not great for the concentration, and my creativity is used up by trying to disguise courgettes, and sometimes marrows if they hide, as something else. Preserved ginger, yesterday, Lemon marmalade today, and Pineapple tomorrow. All of these work well enough to use in cakes so a few jars on the shelf is no bad thing. We already have enough courgette pasta sauce to last well into the next century, but I have a few jars dried just in case of emergencies.
So back to my work in progress, I’m wondering if I might have one of the victims choking on a courgette chip whist suffering from heat stroke, or drowning when hit by a giant marrow in the swimming pool….
The inspiration for this story came, like many things, by chance. I read part of a newspaper article, whilst researching for Mass Murder, stating that in some of the remoter parts of inland Galicia the Guardia Civil get more reports of crimes committed by ghosts or spirits than reports about crimes committed by people. That sparked a train of thought that led to the story. It’s a thriller in which Elvira has to find her ghost before he finds her.
I wrote it as a short story for two reasons: I wanted a reward system for people who join my mailing list. These days we are bombarded by emails, hundreds of emails, usually wanting something from us. I want to get away from that. Of course, from time to time, I will suggest that people buy my latest book, but more than that I wanted to make sure that mailing list members got something in return. The occasional free short story seemed appropriate.
The second reason was to focus on the character of Elvira, although she does appear in both Pilgrim and Mass Murder, I hope in the future she will have a more central role. She will play an important part in ‘Vanishing Point’ which will be book three in the series.
The story starts on the pass through Os Ancares somewhere close to O Cebreiro. If you have ever driven on that road in bad weather you will know how the mist and shadows can be a real problem, and how they move around. For long stretches there is a sheer drop to one side of you, despite it being a good road with little traffic, care is needed.
I enjoy writing short stories, they are quite different to full length novels, and it feels much more like telling a story to a friend.
Mass Murder is Book 2 of the Camino de Santiago Murders, will be published next month. By the time that you read this it will be available for pre-order on Amazon.
One thing about being in lock-down for two months, is that it gives you a bit of thinking time. I have decided that I need an author website. It’s something that I have been putting off for ages. For many people the technical aspects of publishing are not too difficult, certainly the generation after me have been brought up using the necessary terminology. I, so far, have found every step to be frustrating. I am in no way a technophobe. I love the possibilities that technology offers, what I don’t have is the background. I don’t speak the language, the culture is alien and so far my attempts have been dismal.
I should know how to do this though, I relocated to Spain ten years ago and had to learn a new culture and a new language. Even now my Spanish isn’t fluent and I can’t cope with dinner at 10pm followed by a concert or a party, or not too often anyway. I will never be mistaken for a native, but I do have coffee with my neighbour, chat with Spanish friends in town, eat in the restaurants, and use local shops all without much thought. In other words, I know enough to integrate and join in.
I am hoping that this venture into a career, which is rooted in technology, will work in the same way for me. That even if I am never an expert, I will learn enough to be part of a community of Indy authors, and to have books for sale which people don’t think twice about buying. Every day I learn a bit more, so if you do find something of mine, books, blog pages, website, which looks odd, please be patient. Don’t assume that I don’t care, I do. I just haven’t learned how to do it properly yet.
I hope that you will visit often, because once my skill level catches up with the scope of my imagination there are an infinite number of worlds for us to explore together.
Abigail Thorne 