I have started a new online writing course with Cynthia Morris. In it, we explore our Paris, write, and complete a short story in a moth’s time. There is a small online community, a host of images, and prompts. My Paris is very small, steeped in a memory of a trip taken in 1991 to visit my French publisher and meet the French translator of my first novel. That novel will have a brand new life as an e-book from my American publisher.
I spent three nights, four days in Paris, and I can recall nearly every hour, from the rough crossing on the hovercraft( where my seat-mate grimaced and efficiently handed me the bag provided for such occurrences when I mentioned I felt a little sick. The concierge or the hover hostess then quickly came by to take away the contents of my lunch, bagged and warm in my hands.
In Dover or Calais, I boarded a train bound for Paris, headed for Hotel du Dragon, on rue du Dragon. My new seat-mate, shocked on discovering I did not yet have my metro tickets, immediately opened her purse to give me some. My love-affair with France began.