I am writing this while on a balcony in Lisbon, Portugal. As you can see, the view is, well, pretty good. Today is sunny and quite windy. Tomorrow there is a ‘yellow’ wind warning. There are umbrella’s in our Airbnb, and as we are well up on a hillside, I fully anticipate duplicating Mary Poppins at the beginning of her babysitting adventure (and if you have to look that up, you are definitely not a Baby Boomer…).
I want to thank all of you who read my first blog on the website. And a special thanks to thosewho’ve already committed to purchasing a hard copy of The Perfect Circus - Redux. Because of you, I’m at least a third of the way towards my modest goal of 250 copies sold. Hopefully, I’ll be able to build momentum over the next few months.
As I’ve resumed my writing journey, and now having achieved the status of a septuagenarian,
I’m reflecting on what put me on the path of being a writer. It’s worth noting that as a refugee, English was/is my second language. I’m told I did not speak at all in my first language (Hungarian) until I was three, and despite being in Canada for a number of years, didn’t utter an English word until Grade One (my significant other will tell you I still have the habit of mispronouncing fairly common words).
Yet, from my youth, I loved stories. I was a constant visitor to our mobile library growing up in
North York. In doing so, I consumed every novel featuring Freddy the Pig, authored by Walter R. Brooks and illustrated by Kurt Wiese - 26 books in total. My taste matured (somewhat) but I believe the turning point in wanting to become a writer began when I learned to listen, more than speak. This was perhaps best crystallized when at the tender age of 18, I did a solo hitchhiking journey to Europe. I eventually and totally by chance, ended up In Arenys de Mar, a fishing village (at least it was then) 40 kilometres north of Barcelona. There, I encountered a cast of characters that would have done Ernest Hemingway proud. It was one of the last of the ‘hippy’ gathering places, and I literally met individuals from around the world.
I listened to stories, personal recollections, histories, descriptions of places and individuals that so far surpassed anything I could have literally imagined from my own experience. As an
example, it was only one generation since World War Two, and I heard stories of how, when
young, many of those present had to hide in shelters to avoid bombing raids. It’s worth noting I heard similar recollections from both ‘sides’ of the conflict. Yet, here they were as adults, breaking bread together.
That brings me full circle to Portugal. More stories. Our one host was running her own travel
agency in Vietnam. She was convinced her future lay in that country, to the point where she
opened a restaurant and bar. Then she met a traveller from France. One thing led to another,
and after a long stay in Asia, they left. After contemplating laying roots in France, they came to Lisbon and in their words ‘fell in love’ with it. In addition to their AirBnB, they have purchased a farm, which they hope to convert to a rental property as well. If not, the comment was ‘We will grow old there. Let the dogs run and be happy’.
Then there was our UBER driver. He told us he was originally from Bangladesh. We had a
pleasant trip, lots of conversation, but what struck me as we conversed was his comment, ‘I will never leave this country. Here, no matter what, night or day, I feel safe’.
Stories. So many stories. All rooted in realities so different than mine. Yet, I can, and hopefully do learn from them all.
I realize this does not in any apparent way feed into my writing: A fact underscored by my novel which takes place after an apocalyptic nuclear war. Yet, the more I listen (a wonderful skill I was fortunate to learn early on), the more I learn. The more I listen, the more I want to write and give voice to characters whose lives enrich and inform my own experience. Suffice to say, a lot of work ahead of me, especially for a septuagenarian. I’d better get at it.
But first, a bit more of Lisbon and its treasures waiting to be enjoyed.
Saudacao!
(I can’t end without noting the date 9/11. I was minor-league impacted. My thoughts to all those who lost a loved one or whose lives were severely and permanently affected)
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