Paris and Other Pleasures - A Pretty Good Year So Far

My trip to Paris was spectacular and, if I remember correctly, I promised to tell you all about it. If I didn’t, just brace yourself because I’ve hardly had any other subject of conversation since!

I flew into Frankfurt where The Husband came in to meet me, and we spent one night in Landsthul (where he is stationed) before taking the ICE train to Paris. It’s a high speed train, doing the trip from Saarbrucken in just barely over three hours, but there’s not much sense of ultra high speed.

Paris is everything you’d expect it to be – crowded and fancy and plain and modern and belle époque and… well, you get the idea. There’s no one word to describe Paris but magical. It’s hard to believe that people go to school and get jobs and work every day and cook dinner and shop for mundanities and walk their dogs in such a magical place, but they do. Although we tend to have an idealized view of it, Paris is a city, a living organism like any other city. It’s just prettier.

We stayed at the Cercle National des Armees – the French military officers’ club – and a treat it was. Beautiful, with lots of marble and gilt and red carpets and two floors of dining/party rooms… almost every night there was some sort of ‘do’ there, with men in fancy uniforms and women in long dresses – and lots of soldiers carrying great big guns! The elevators were tiny, about half the size of a card table – two adults and two rolling suitcases would not fit in one! Made for some fun ‘getting close’ moments, though.

We took the Metro everywhere, and although you can get almost everywhere using the Metro, it can involve changing trains several times. You can generally depend on using at least three staircases per train change. Parisians may be flatlanders, but they have the souls and legs of mountain goats!

We spent a day at the Louvre and only saw a part of it. We spent a long day at Versailles, and a few hours extra in the town itself when we got lost. We saw Napoleon’s tomb and the war museums at Les Invalides. The Husband opted for WWI and WWII – I chose Napoleonic, and was startled to find that they had Napoleon’s horse there! Apparently when he died the Emperor had him stuffed, and he’s been hanging around ever since. Now he’s a little shabby and moth-eaten, but for something almost 200 years old, he looks pretty good.

We spent a day at Notre Dame, going from the archaeological crypt beneath, where there are paving stones from pre-Roman Paris, to the top of the cathedral towers. At least, The Husband did. The tower tour involves over 1,000 steps up and down, and I don’t do steps well. I found a little sidewalk café, had a café au lait and a pain au chocolate and acted like I belonged there.

We did tour the cathedral itself together. Our plan had been to reaffirm our vows to each other in the church, but the building was so crowded you could hardly breathe. I do mean, elbow to elbow, and if you stopped walking, your heels were instantly trod upon. Finally we found a tiny space behind a huge pillar and squeezed in there, where we said what was important to us. Not at all the way we had planned it, but still a moment I will always treasure.

We walked in the Tuilleries Gardens and spent an evening on the Eiffel Tower, watching the sky turn red with the sunset, then blue with the dusk and then seeing the lights coming on all over the city and finally the ‘sparkle’ lights on the tower itself. We toured the Arc de Triomphe and, when we came down, were fortunate enough to watch some unfamiliar official lay a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. There were all kinds of military brass around, and politicians, and the Army band, and photographers… don’t know who the official was, or what was said, but it was wonderful pageantry!

We walked the Champs Elysees and photographed the Egyptian obelisk that is called Cleopatra’s Needle and, because it was cold, dashed into the closest place for coffee. The closest place was the fabled Hotel du Crillon – luxurious and simply smells of money. Their coffee shop is a tastefully appointed sitting room with marble and brocade and perfectly trained waiters. The coffee was delicious, too.

Also, in the spirit of public service I must say that in all my recent travels in Europe I have yet to find a king-sized bed. Their version is two twins shoved together. It’s fairly comfortable for sleeping, but be warned that if you find yourself and your beloved attempting some of the more exuberant joys of marriage, the beds can separate and give you a nasty surprise which instantly ruins the mood. Just a word of warning….

When our magical trip was over, we returned to Landsthul and I spent a few more days in Germany while we tried to see some of the things we missed at Christmas because of the record snows. That was enjoyable, too, but it wasn’t Paris. On the other hand, I was with The Husband, and that alone makes it magic.

So does this have anything to do with writing? I hope. First of all, remember my last post, where I postulated that EVERYTHING has to do with writing. I took pictures like a fiend – some 4,000, I think; thank goodness electrons are cheap! I made acres of notes and there were times my brain seemed flooded with ideas. For example, I saw a youngish (30ish?) couple arguing fiercely in the middle of a huge boulevard as the traffic whizzed around them. (Crossing the streets in Paris is a completely different discipline from here!) Why were they fighting so intensely, and in the middle of a busy street no less? I can think of several storylines right off the top of my head.

Versailles Palace – a veritable hotbed of potential stories, both ancient and modern. Same with Notre Dame, and the archaeological crypt beneath positively vibrated with ideas. Everywhere you look there is the potential for a story.

But – you want to know the real truth? Even though I heartily recommend the trip, you don’t have to go to Paris to find the potential for a story. That lurks all around you, wherever you are, whatever you are doing. Paris is probably more fun, though!

Now, I have babbled on much too long, but I have one more nugget of news. Just a couple of days ago my editor gave me the welcome news that Carina wants my new book – a traditional gothic now called DARK SUN, though that is subject to change. This is my third sale to Carina.

Yes, as my title said, it’s been a pretty good year so far.

Next time I promise to write more about writing and less about traveling. Maybe.

Janis Patterson

Writing, Real Life and Tax Deductions by Janis Patterson

            If you notice the ‘posted by’ at the top, you’ll see it was done by our own marvelous Toni Anderson and not by me. That’s because I’m not here – I’m in Paris (yes, that Paris!) celebrating a wonderful, romantic tenth wedding anniversary with The Husband. A Captain in the Navy Reserve, he was activated last year for the fourth time in eight years and posted to Germany. He was very upset that we would be spending our wedding anniversary apart. Again.

            Me: It’s okay, honey, it’s not the first anniversary you’ve missed.

            The Husband: But the tenth is special, so you’ll just have to come over and we’ll go to Paris.

            Me, gulping : Okay!

            So that’s wonderful for me, but how does that tie in with writing?

            Simple. EVERYTHING ties in with writing, from a romantic trip to Paris to getting your tires rotated.

            I used to have a sweatshirt that said “Nothing bad ever happens to writers –it’s all research.” Oh, so true! The sweatshirt finally dissolved from pure age, but the saying is still as meaningful as ever.

            Whatever is happening is grist for your mill. Even if you aren’t conscious of doing it, your brain is constantly absorbing little bits of information – smells, sights, sounds. Occasionally, simple curiosity will drive you ask a question, even if you don’t have an exact usage for it at the time. For example, I was having my tires rotated when I asked a somewhat bemused mechanic how to make sure a car would crash. Luckily he has known me for the many years we’ve patronized that station, so instead of calling the police he patiently explained several very nifty ways to ensure a spectacular smash-up. There’s one involving a block of wood and some glue that I can’t wait to use… in a story, just in a story…

            One of the benefits of being a writer is that there is so much you can claim as a business-related deduction. Books. Movies. Parts of some trips. A home office. Lunches with fellow writers. Conferences. Workshops. Classes. Postage. Mileage. Some writers even claim a portion of their home for an office and a portion of their internet fees. You need to check with the tax code or a good accountant well versed in writerly deductions to see if everything you’ve claimed is legal and justifiable. You also need to keep impeccable records and receipts. The minutiae of that, however, is fodder for a post by someone more gifted with numbers and laws than I.

            I am trying to make the point that everything in your life affects your writing. When you smell the first roses of spring, it doesn’t mean that you have to put them in your current work; it does mean that when you need a fresh, springlike odor or even a reference, there is the memory of those first, dewy roses just waiting in the back of your mind. Same thing with other, less pleasant events/ideas/odors/sights/emotions.

            Whatever affects you can also affect your readers. Good writing invokes nuance and texture. Instead of just telling your readers there is a coat on the chair, let them know what kind of coat it is. Lush fur? Ratty denim? Cashmere, freshly cleaned or down-at-the-heels grubby? Plaid or plain? Pristine or torn? Whatever that coat is gives us an insight into the owner. For example, “The jacket had originally been dark indigo, but time and wear had faded the denim to a pale blue with streaks of white around the edges. One of the pockets had been torn and carefully mended with thread that didn’t quite match, but it was clean and had been neatly pressed.” That not only describes the physical coat, but also says a lot about its owner.

            That does not mean you have to go into a detailed treatise on fabrics, coat manufacture or dry cleaning processes. A great indigestible lump of information is as bad as none at all, and sometimes worse. Readers have sparks, gems, archetypes in their minds, too. As writers it is our job to activate them.

            Too many of us wander around in the fog of the immediate (our minds concentrated on what to serve for supper tonight, who is going to take the kids to soccer practice, when the roast should come out of the oven) for us to acknowledge the real world around us. Life, the tiny little gems of life, are passing us by and we haven’t even noticed.

            One of the purposes of fiction is to take the reader to a different world; if we don’t notice these gems, how can we pass them on to our readers? How can we create a complete and believable world? Oh, it can be done, but without those gems of the senses the end product is usually flat and sterile and does nothing for the reader. It says nothing good about the writer, either.

            So, while I am in Paris I shall be looking at the magnificent buildings and listening to the accents and tasting the food, but when I come home I shall be just as assiduous in noting the play of light through the grapevines on the pergola roof and the strange whine coming from my car’s newly aligned tires and smelling the heat of a drowsy spring afternoon, all so I can use them accurately in my work. My readers deserve nothing less.

            Tout allors, ma cheres – c’est finit! My space – and my French – are just about finished, so I will close with the promise to tell you about April in Paris in my next entry. (May 23.) À bientôt!