Entry #37

Saturday, 9 September 2023

12.45pm

I’m sitting writing this on the patio in front of our house in Montemagno. The sun is peeping through gaps in the gnarly old vine that’s twisted around the pergola and is now bursting with so many bunches of almost-ripe grapes that it’s become a magnet for wasps. Last night, four of them got into the house and they were so aggressive – and so big, their torsos roughly the size of small mice – that Harry had to kill them.

It’s amazing to me how different everything looks, smells and sounds in the couple of months since we were last here. Not only are there lots more insects – presumably the result of rampant copulation over the summer – but there are fewer flowers, the foliage is thicker, there are more butterflies in various colours, and the light seems sharper in the morning and the oranges and pinks of the sunset more diffused and refracted. As we ate our evening meal on the patio, the resident bat came out from its home in the wine store for a little fly around and an owl could be heard making that tell-tale twit twoo sound from somewhere amongst the surrounding trees. Needless to say, all this has plunged my mind back into the world of A Castle in the Sky – the novel I’m going to write set in and around the house, castle and grounds.

I did, however, manage to switch off in Rome. We had a wonderful few days, visiting the sights, stuffing our faces on food and drinking spritzes as the sun went down. I hardly thought about work at all (although Harry did have to log online occasionally to see to some accountancy business). And my observations weren’t of the type I could channel into fiction but mainly social – I was struck by how many gay couples there were, for example, and how much more ethnically diverse Rome has become since the last time I was there, around fifteen years ago, when I was shocked by its whiteness.

Then, on the train to Pisa – where we went to pick up our hire car from the airport – I started reading a brilliant book that an author friend sent me all the way from Melbourne. It’s called Honeybee and is about a trans teenager brought up in poverty and violence who’s battling for the right to become their authentic self. It was published in Australia, where it was a big hit, but doesn’t seem to be widely available in the UK. I was hooked within pages – so much so that I finished reading it this morning. And I was in awe of the style, the characterisation, and its ability to make such an emotional impact on me. But the interesting thing is, it was written by an author called Craig Silvey, who – according to Google – is white, cis-gender and heterosexual. On the one hand, this only makes his achievement more impressive. On the other, it’s reminded me of the importance of authors writing about their own experiences. Because, on reflection, I’ve decided there are certain things a trans – or even queer – author would have done differently. I noticed, for example, that Silvey doesn’t really mention any kind of sexual desire on the part of his fourteen-year-old lead character. And there are several scenes – for example when Sam is watching some hot muscular men working out – where I’m sure this would have come into the mix, regardless of the character’s gender identity journey. So, rather than leaving me feeling intimidated, it’s left me feeling more confident about the book I’m about to write. I know about the lives of gay men, I know about their experiences and emotions. And if anyone can write about them in fiction, I can.

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So the cogs are whirring away and I’m dashing down observations in the Notes app of my phone. There are also a few research tasks I need to complete that I must make sure to schedule in. One of the gaps I need to plug is related to my knowledge about the castle. I remember one of Harry’s neighbours telling us there’s a display about the castle’s history in the local municipal museum. So, much as Harry doesn’t want to go and has groaned at my insistence, I’ve convinced him to come with me later today.

For the moment, though, I’m enjoying re-connecting with the inspiration for my fictional setting. I’m enjoying observing the sounds around me, the rustling of birds, lizards or animals in the bushes, the bus honking its horn as it approaches the sharp bends in the road in the valley below, and the tweeting of the birds in the trees – which, if I’m not mistaken, is much louder and more plentiful than it was in July.

I’m really glad I followed Rose Tremain’s advice and waited before I started writing. Because it really does feel like this book has taken shape and come alive in my head and is now ready to burst out and onto the page.

The Castle of Stories - check out the change in title! - is out now, published by Pansy.