Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow...

Have you ever stopped to think about how much in life you procrastinate? I LOVE this word. It's to me as difficult to type and to pronounce as it is to avoid doing it. No, really. Stop what you're doing right now (which is reading this great post hehe) and make a little (well, we can try to keep it little, right?) list of things you put off doing yesterday. Here's mine:

1) Calling my private student.
2) Going to the post office.
3) Updating my 365reasons blog, even though I've already got all the photos I need.
4) Calling my sisters.
5) Calling my dad.
6) Calling my mother-in-law.
7) Jogging.
8) Tidying my clothes.
9) Editing the last story from my novel to post it to my blog (hence this list...).

Uffff!!! I think it's enough, isn't it? I don't want you to think I'm lazy or anything. These are such small things to do and still... This brings me to the matter of what types of things do we usually put off doing? And why do we put off doing them?

I've always loved to read about psychology, time management and how-to-achieve-your-potential  type of stuff; so the other day I was looking for time management online and found this very interesting and complete article. It even has an "Are you a procrastinator" self test. If you can't be bother to read the article (ah, I see... you'll read it later, eh? Haha!), click here for the self test.

Yes, I've done it. No way, I'm telling you my results! Ah, ok. Let's do a deal then. I'll tell you my result if you tell me yours. Just leave a comment! :)

Just to finish this post, here are some "procrastination quotes":

This is for the creative people:
"You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood. 
What mood is that?
Last-minute panic." ~ Bill Watterson

"Never put off till tomorrow what may be done the day after tomorrow just as well." ~ Mark Twain

"Procrastinate now, don't put it off." ~ Ellen DeGeneres

"Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." ~ Marthe Troly-Curtin, Phrynette Married

"24 hours a day, ain't long anymore! But give some a century a day and procrastination would still be their undoing." ~ Nike Thaddeus.

"The scare thing is, the more I slack off, the more it piles up and the more it piles up, the more I slack off." ~ Amelia Mysko, Hold On

"The sooner I fall behind, the more time I have to catch up." ~ Unknown

"Tomorrow is often the busiest day of the week." ~ Spanish Proverb

"Procrastination is the bad habit of putting off until the day after tomorrow what should have been done the day before yesterday. ~ Napoleon Hill

"The worst form of procrastination is reading a procrastination quote, feeling the guilt and not doing anything about it." ~ Unknown.

Ok, that was the last one. Come on, now. I bet you have a blog post to write? :)

Dani.

                                                                          (Picture source here)

How I write....

                                                                   (comic by Grant Snider, from Incidental Comics)

How I write - a critical reflection (MA in English and Creative Writing)

“A thousand years ago we had about 30 000 [words], now English has 500 000 and the figure is rising daily. They belong to the nation, are listed in dictionaries and each one of us has a usable store or word-hord, as the Anglo-Saxons called vocabulary, of about 15 000. This is 3 per cent of the total in The Oxford English Dictionary and only half the number used by Shakespeare.” 

(Singleton, J and Sutton, G, 2000, p.41)

       Well, after this quote, I see myself ready to give up writing; writing in English, I mean. English is not my first language, therefore I believe it is impossible for me to actually have a ‘usable store of about 15 000’. However, it is odd to notice that I find it more comfortable to write in English that in my mother-tongue, Portuguese. Sometimes, I feel like I lack Portuguese vocabulary for certain types of writing more than English vocabulary. Luckily, I tend to like to keep it simple. 

     Besides being simple, I also tend to be “funny” in my writing. I don't know why but I usually have some humour in my stories somehow. I love reading girlie books (Sophie Kinsella, Mariam Keyes, Jane Costello, Cecelia Ahern, Lindsey Kelk Katie Fforde and others) and I love a good love story with hilarious bits in it. I also love crime books (Karin Slaughter being my absolute favourite, followed by Tess Gerritsen) and would love to write something similar, but I just don't think I could. Besides loving to read bloody stories and watch bloody movies, just the thought of writing something like that and having people think I'm a morbid, depressed person, puts me off it. (Well, it did. Until I came up with Twinings); or perhaps, it's just the fear of lacking vocabulary, as I mentioned in the second paragraph of this essay. 

      Short story writing has never been my favourite; actually, I was never very keen on reading short stories. During the short stories workshops I learned what short stories are about and even learned to appreciate some of them and some of the writers chosen for the course reader. More than that: I learned to have fun writing short stories, and as the workshops progressed, in some weeks I eagerly read the course reader and my classmates’ stories, while in some others I read stories that I just could not understand and asked myself ‘what’s the point in reading a story if you don’t know what happens in the end?’

      I really enjoy the way I am gradually discovering writing techniques I use to create my texts. I have always considered myself an 'intuitive, impulsive' writer. Obviously, I had no idea what happened 'backstage'. Based on the course reader I started to shape my stories, shyly at first, but trying to use some of the ‘techniques’ mentioned in the readings and present in the short stories I was reading. For example, for my first short story of this module’s blog, “Deaf, mute, blind”, I started writing it hoping it one day could become a novel. Apparently, I used one of the ideas mentioned in Burroway’s Writing Fiction (2011) about revenge: “An injustice has been done, and you are powerless to do anything about it. But you’re not really, because you’re a writer. ... Cast the outcome to suit yourself. Punish whomever you choose.” (p.12). Another author who mentions this is Jane Wenham-Jones (2007), who says: “This can be therapeutic too and great fun. ‘Don’t get mad – get your pen out’.” (.p.101) 

     Another characteristic present in my writing is experience. I usually write about things I know and things that happen to me and around me. Although Burroway says we have to be careful when using autobiography: “Probably all good fiction is ‘autobiographical’ in some way, but the awful or hilarious or tragic thing you went through may offer as many problems as possibilities when you start to turn it into fiction.” (p.8), I feel that it works for me most of the time. Also, Singleton (2000) in the chapter “The Short Story” says that 

 “Some writers think all prose, including autobiography, is fiction. Writing about self is really aliobiography they say – stories invented to explain (away?), rationalise, excuse, justify and disguise the truth. ... In writing about the self our unconscious censoring and the deficiencies of memory mean we have to fictionalise to some degree anyway, if only to make sense of a mass of confusing and fragmentary recollections. We invent dialogue for ourselves, rearrange chronology, try metaphor and assonance and rhythms to heighten emotion and dramatise, telescope events, eliminate extraneous detail, focus on key moments, images, ad infinitum. The whole tale is a careful crafting deploying a wide range of narrative tactics and effects.” (p. 100) 

      Writing “Twinings” was like watching a movie with me on it. Apart from the suicide note, I was the one scribbling in my notebook, sitting on the edge of my side of the bed, looking out of the window. I was having a bad day. Actually, I had had a very bad week.

      However, reading March-Russell's chapter on 'Minimalism/Dirty Realism/Hyperrealism', I can totally relate to Carver when he says that 'the best art has its reference point in real life.' (Carver 1990:17). “In tracing with the utmost fidelity ... characters' lives and feelings,” I usually write almost selfishly about my characters' lives and feelings, as if “to present ... reality as the only reality.” (p. 240). As I mentioned in my Researching Humanities essay, it feels like I write about what is bothering, annoying me, making me different to the 'rest of the world' in order to feel better. And in this I can relate once again with Carver's realism idea of 'literature of lowered expectations, in which transcendence is viewed as an impossible ideal' (p.240). I can write about it as much as I want to, but things will never change. Still, I have the feeling that I'm being heard and that it is more common than I can imagine feeling this way. 

      Writing 'Ex-Mrs Prince Charming' wasn't so different. I hear things, stories people tell, stories of people I know and this is an example of one of these situations. As Singleton says about recycling: “Reworking and recycling well-worn tales and narrative motifs is part of the writing process. Writing is a matter of rewriting. Try adapting a popular tale for our times...” (p. 125) ‘Ex-Mrs Prince Charming’ is a recycling of ‘Cinderella’. After writing this piece, and reading Burroway's chapter on 'Characterization' (Burroway 2011), I decided to refer back to the text and go through the punctuation marks, quotation marks, italics, etc. On her section on 'Format and Style' (p.87) I learned about the 'invisibility' of punctuation and dialogue tags such as said, replied, thought, etc and how it can make the dialogue/text 'cleaner' of unnecessary words and how to place them in the correct place to create the effect I want on the reader. 

      One particular thing I thought I hadn't managed so well was to do my dialogues. In 'Ex-Mrs Prince Charming' I struggled with whether to add more dialogue to it or not. Reading Burroway’s 'Economy in Dialogue' (p.75) I came across the 'tentative rule': “There is a tentative rule that pertains to all fiction dialogue. It must do more than one thing at a time or it is too inert for the purpose of fiction. This may sound harsh, but I consider it an essential discipline.” I'm not sure where my dialogues convey more than one thing at a time, so I tend to keep them short and not use many of them in my pieces. I guess, in the end, I'm more of a story teller. However, reading back my entries in the public blog of this module, my dialogues were quite good in “A little chat with God”, for example: 

 “He was embarrassed, 'Yes, I have, but I never thought I would join you so soon.' 

God giggled. 'Soon? Henry, you are a funny man. Always making people laugh.' 

'Well, so I want to keep on making people laugh. I don't want to go!' he pouted. 

'You don't want to go? Henry, don't be such a baby. You have no choice. This is it. You've done all you had to do. Now it's time. I'll give you 2 months.' 

Henry didn't know what to say. He was to mad at God. 

'Ah, and son, don't forget to pray as you always do. I will always be around.' 

And then, silence.” 

     Nevertheless, according to what a short story should be, and according to Carver’s minimalism, this story was far from being an “ideal short story”, with too much information “given” to the reader: 

 “He had brought up three successful children: Jen was a paediatrician, Luke was an architect and Alyson was the one who took care of his office now. He had lived with the same woman for wonderful fifty-nine years; Helen, his best friend, his lover, his constant partner in life. She'd been his first girlfriend and he couldn't be more proud of it.” 

 I must admit that no matter how hard I tried to change this aspect of this specific short story and “hide” the information or reveal it in another way, I could not think of a good way to do it and still keep the main characteristic I wanted Henry to have: successful and proud of his family and achievements. Reading the “Short Story” chapter in Harper (2008) about the plot in a short story, what he says made me think that my short story did not precisely follow the five-element plot. He says: “Short stories often begin in medias res, or in the middle of things. We begin with the rising action or with the conflict.” (p.10). The conflict in this story is that Henry has got cancer and only two months left to live. Harper also says that “Background information is usually kept to a minimum and, when necessary, it is delivered in flashbacks.” (p.10). Bearing in mind that Henry has three children and has been married to the same woman for fifty-nine years, I realised that perhaps, this piece of writing was not supposed to be a short story after all; thinking about all the background information, added to the “list” of things he had to do in his last two months, I thought it would be better to leave it as a start for another possible novel, so I will deal more with it next term, during the Novel writing module. 

      As for the last piece of my portfolio, based on the use of technology in the twenty-first century, I have decided to play a little with the “new awareness of the relationship between writer and reader” mentioned in Henderson & Hancock (2010: Introduction). Writing a ‘covering letter’ in the shape of a short story, I have embraced the idea of “Yet no matter how innovative in ideas, trends, styles, or subjects, stories are how we communicate, how we share who we are.” 

Bibliography

Burroway, J., Stuckey-French, E. & Stuckey-French, N., (2010) Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft. London: Pearson Education

Dent, C. Z. and  Zobal, S. D.  (2008) ‘Short Fiction’, in Harper, G., (ed.) Creative writing guidebook. London: Continuum International Publishing Group, pp 7 – 17.

Henderson, E. & Hancock, G. (2010) (eds.) Short Fiction & Critical Contexts. Oxford: Oxford University Press

March-Russell, P. (2009) The Short Story: An Introduction. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Pears, J. and Shields, G. (2008) Cite them right: the essential referencing guide. Newcastle upon Tyne: Pear Tree Books.

Singleton, John and Sutton, Geoff (2000) ‘Words Words Words’, in Singleton, J and Luckhurst, M. (ed.) The creative writing handbook. 2^nd edn. Hampshire: Palgrave, pp 41 – 76.

Singleton, John (2000) ‘The short story’, in Singleton, J and Luckhurst, M. (ed.) The creative writing handbook. 2^nd edn. Hampshire: Palgrave, pp 100 – 128..

Wehnam-Jones, J. (2007). Wannabe a writer? Bedlinog, Mid-Glamorgan: Accent Press.

Visiting our first “home, sweet home” in Napoli

         The next day we were at the school at 7.45. That espresso was to good not to be had. 

          ‘Ok. So are we ready to go? Signor Rocco will be waiting for us there and he can be a bit impatient,’ said Carl picking up the car keys. I hadn’t seen any cars in the courtyard, and wondered what car they would have. I giggled at the thought of a possible Napolitan-style car. 

         I wasn’t so wrong about the car. Although it was quite new, the black Renault Clio had so many scratches and dents that I couldn’t help staring and thinking how bad a driver Carl and Gwen must have been. I guess Gwen noticed my face, because she immediately said: 

           ‘Oh, can you imagine what this people in this city are like when they’re driving? We really don’t like leaving the car parked outside, but the palazzo owner only allows the motorini inside the courtyard. Napolitan people are not the best drivers, and our car has been so scratched that we don’t even bother having it fixed anymore.’ 

             ‘Oh, I see,’ Lisa said. ‘So, is this house far?’ 

            ‘Well, it’s not in the centre, but the Metro station is just 5 minutes from the house and it’s very secure to live there. Besides, Signor Rocco is already used to rent to our teachers, so there’s no bureaucracy. Trying to rent from an agency will take at least one week, and you need to move by tomorrow, right,’ Carl asked. 

           ‘Yeah, tonight is our last night at the B&B. I’m so glad you know this man,’ I said. ‘We wouldn’t know what to do otherwise. At least we can already go around to learn where our students live and start preparing for the lessons.’

             Gwen agreed. ‘Sure, and the sooner you settle in, the easier it is for you to find your way around. And you still have plenty of time to go sightseeing.’ 

            ‘I can’t wait for that part,’ I replied and squeezed Lisa’s hand when I looked around us and saw the ugly places we were driving past. Our hearts just sank. I hope this isn’t a horrible, far out from the centre place.

             We turned left into a side street, two blocks from the Chiaiano Metro station. There was a huge, heavy green iron gate at the front of the house. Carl phoned the landlord, who came to open the gate for us. 

              Signor Rocco. Vincenzo Rocco. A tall man, in his early 60s, he had a very stern, no nonsense face and only talked to Carl while showing us the house. I found that a bit strange, but made a mental note to ask Gwen about that later.

              Ok, the house. It was a massive plot of land, with three little terraced houses in it. Our house would be the middle one. There was a cute path towards our gate and we also had a little garden and a veranda. We went through the living room door. The living room was quite big and had a big bookcase in one corner, perfect for all our books and teaching stuff. There was a sofa bed and in the opposite corner there was a tiny kitchen space. It was lovely though. Compact, but cute, if you know what I mean. Then he showed us the bathroom. I couldn’t believe it! A bath! And a washing machine! The bathroom looked brand new, with light blue and white tiles throughout the walls and floor. Super easy to clean. Yeah, I hate cleaning. 

          Right next door was the only bedroom. Quite big, with twin beds and French doors to the veranda/garden. It was a beautiful morning and we could hear the birds chirping on top of the roof and in the trees in the garden. Ah, a little piece of paradise. 

         Signor Rocco explained – again, to Carl – all about the rent, maintenance of the place and other practical things. The rent was €600, which was not so bad divided by two, and it included all the bills. There wasn’t a TV and we’d need to sort out the Internet connection. Lisa and I excused ourselves while the three (well, two of them) talked. 

           ‘So, Carolina, what do you think?'

         ‘I really like it here. You?’ 

       ‘Me too. I know it’s far from the centre, but look at this place… Imagine living in the centre with all that noise and madness. It will be like holiday coming back home after work. Should we take it?'  

       ‘I guess we have to, Lisa. Otherwise, I don’t know what else we can do. Let’s just say yes, and see how it goes, shall we?’ 

        ‘Yeah, we can move in today, go shopping for food and other stuff, clean…’

       ‘If it’s really horrible, we can always look for another place, and we won’t need to rush to find one.’ 

       We went back inside and told Carl that we were ok to sign the contract. We’d come back with our stuff and all the money (a month’s rent plus a month’s deposit) the next morning before lunch. He lived just around the corner, so he’d be there waiting for us with the keys. 

        On the way back in the car, Gwen was more than chatty. 

      ‘Oh, isn’t it lovely, Carl, that they’re going to be living in such a beautiful place? I wish I could live in a house too.’ 

       ‘Gwen, Carl, before I forget… Why didn’t Signor Rocco look or talk to me, Lisa or Gwen once this morning,’ I asked. 

        Gwen was the first to answer. 

     ‘Oh, pet, don’t worry about that. Men, I suppose,’ and Carl gave her a sideways look. ‘Older Italian men, I mean’ she continued. ‘It’s either because they respect us too much or because they think we, girls, don’t know anything about anything. Haha.’ 

         We all laughed and soon they dropped us off at the B&B. 

        ‘Ok. Here we are, girls,’ said Carl. ‘So, what time should I come pick you up tomorrow?’ 

        ‘Why,’ I was confused. 

        ‘We’re taking you to your new home, of course,’ Gwen explained. 

        ‘No, you don’t have to,’ Lisa said. 

      ‘Hey now, it’s our pleasure,’ Carl said. ‘So, what time? Should we say 10am? And then we can go for lunch together, how about that?’ 

         Lisa and I were clearly embarrassed, but we just gave in. 

      ‘Ok, that would be lovely. Thank you so much, again. We’ll be ready at 10am.’ 

          ‘Okey dokey. See you tomorrow then. Ta-ta.’ 

          ‘Bye. See you tomorrow,’ we both said. And they left. 

          We went upstairs to our room. I took my shoes off, which is the very first thing I always do when I get home and sat on my bed. 

         ‘So, Lisa, what do you think?’ 

         She turned the air conditioner and I felt a fresh breeze on my face. She fell on her bed. 

          ‘Well, I guess you can ask me that again in a week or so, Carolina. So far, I’m super excited with the house and can’t wait to go around exploring. You?’ 

          ‘I guess I need some more time to have an opinion. I can’t wait to go around exploring either. Food first?’ 

             ‘Sure. What do you fancy?’ 

              ‘Lisa, Lisa… what do you think?’

Loveandpizza.it ~ Meeting the bosses

      

      

       We found the phone shop just around the corner, but it was closed. For lunch. Until 4pm. Another thing we learned about Napoli that day. Shops close for lunch, usually from 2 to 4pm. Basically all the shops. We were a bit frustrated, not to mention annoyed, but we decided to try our luck and go to the school anyway.

       We went back by Metro; Piazza Vanvitelli to Dante, and then a short walk down along Via Toledo, then we walked past a cinema (yay!), Piazza Gesu Novo. There’s a huge church there. God, this church is so beautiful. Must come here for the mass on Sunday. And then I looked at my right. Another huge church! Oh, my God, and another one!

       I looked at my map and realized where we were.

      ‘Lisa, this is the famous Spaccanapoli!’ Remember that one we saw from the top of the castle yesterday? Look how long it is.’

      ‘I know. And look at that pasta shop. Haha I’d never seen so many different types of pasta in my life. But the map says we should turn right into… ah, here. Via Santa Chiara. And there’s a very famous church there too.

     ’ We turned right into Via Santa Chiara and walked down. Soon we were in the school street. We found the building and I was thrilled.

       ‘Lisa, we’re about to visit our first palazzo!’ 

       We were buzzed in by a man’s voice. 

      ‘I guess it’s Gwen’s husband,’ Lisa said. ‘Let’s go.’ 

     We went in through a massive, heavy wooden door, into a courtyard. Lisa and I looked at each other and we couldn’t believe how big it was inside. I had thought the whole building would be the school, but it was divided in many apartments, with balconies all around, all looking out at the courtyard. Just every princess’ dream… 

     ‘Carolina, you’re daydreaming again. Haha. Come on. They’re waiting for us.’

    We walked up to the first floor, and this doll-sized, cute woman and a very friendly looking man were waiting for us, smiling.

    ‘Hi! Come on in. How are you? My name is Gwen, and this is my husband Carl. I hope you had a good flight. Have you had time to go sightseeing yet? Is the B&B ok? What do you think of Napoli so far?’

     Carl laughed. 

    ‘Hey, darling, give them time to answer.’ And he turned to us. ‘Now, first things, first. Would you like an espresso?’ 

     ‘Er… Yes, sure. Thanks,’ I said, thinking how nice they were and hoping they’d always be that nice.

       Gwen asked us again. 

       ‘So, how have you been?’ 

      ‘Great,’ said Lisa. ‘The B&B is great. Gennaro is so funny and helpful, and he speaks a bit of English, which is great.’ 

     ‘Yeah, but we were terrified the night we arrived here,’ I completed.

    ‘Really,’ Carl asked, sounding a bit worried. ‘Why?’ 

   ‘We got here at night and had no idea where to go and we were afraid of walking in the streets alone,’ I said. ‘We had our B&B breakfasts for dinner that night, cause we couldn’t find a place to eat. We walked all the way to the port and didn’t find anywhere decent open to eat.’ 

     Gwen and Carl looked surprised. 

    ‘You two walked to the port area, at night? Oh Dio… No wonder you were afraid. Gwen, darling, can you pass me those cups, please?’ 

     ‘Why?’ I was curious now. I guess I’d had my first real adventure without even knowing. 

     ‘Tales of Napoli, Carolina. And I must say, they are not children’s stories,’ Carl’s voice was full of mystery. ‘I’ll tell you girls one day. Now, let’s have our coffee, or it’s going to get cold.’

    My creative mind had already started working. Gee, Carolina… You see stories everywhere. Stop it. Now. 

     The espresso was really good and we started talking about the school. Lisa asked Gwen and Carl loads of things. How they’d started it, students, where we were going to teach, etc. She was a real teacher, after all. I just listened, very carefully, to everything. Gwen noticed I was anxious. 

      ‘Ah, don’t you worry now, pet. You’ll do well. I know you’re not a teacher, but your English certificates are so good. Also, as a doctor, I’m sure you’ll be great at one-to-one teaching. It’s much different to teaching a big group. I hope you like children.’ 

    ‘Yes! I love children. And you’re right. I am worried. I’ve never taught anything in my life.’ 

     ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you with anything you need. Let’s see how it goes and I can train you little by little.’ 

     That gave me a bit of peace of mind. Gwen had been a teacher and teacher trainer in the UK all her life, so I know I’d be in good hands. I just hoped I could live up to her expectations. 

    ‘Ok, so now, let’s see who and where you’ll be teaching for the next 9 months, shall we?’ 

     Gwen went into an office and came back with two huge files. School contract, school rules, students’ files and street maps. She explained how everything worked. 

       We would go to our students’ houses once a week, for an hour. Luckily our students were scheduled to us according to where they lived and the day of the week we’d be teaching. So, basically, we would walk or take a short metro/funicolare journey from one student’s house to another. She also mentioned some in-company classes in the morning. Monday to Thursday, starting in two weeks. To be honest, I so wanted to say ‘No, thanks’, but at that point, no knowing how much we’d spend per month, I put my fear aside and accepted. 

      ‘What do you think,’ Gwen asked. 

      ‘It’s all fine, I guess,’ Lisa looked at me enquiring with her eyes. 

     And then I remembered that we only had 2 more nights in the B&B. We needed to find a place to live. Soon. 

    ‘Gwen, we need to find a place to live. We’ve only booked the B&B for two more nights,’ I said. 

    ‘Oh, dear. Right, right. I’d totally forgotten about that. Carl, the girls need a place to live,’ she shouted towards the office. 

     I chuckled. Funny couple. Fun to be around, I mean.

    ‘Right, I was just checking with the people we know who’d have a place to rent. You know, we usually have a couple of back up people who are always willing to rent at short notice. I’ve just given him a ring and arranged to go see it tomorrow morning. Can you be here at 8am?’ 

     ‘Yes, sure,’ we both replied at the same time.

     Carl continued. ‘It’s not in the centre, but it’s only 5 minutes from the Metro station. It’s one of three houses in a gated plot and we’ve had a few teachers living there before. It’s even got a little garden and it’s very safe,’ he smiled reassuringly. 

     ‘Ok. We’ll be here tomorrow at 8am. Thank you so much for all your help. We can’t wait to start,’ Lisa said and stood up. I guessed we were leaving.

       Speak for yourself, I thought and stood up as well. 

      ‘Great. Well, welcome to Napoli. I’m sure you’re going to love this city.’ 
     ‘Yes,’ completed Gwen, ‘and please let us know if you need anything. We’ll see you tomorrow. If you get here a tad earlier, I’ll have some coffee ready for you,’ she winked. 

       We smiled and said our thank you’s and goodbye’s. 

       As we walked through the courtyard, I looked up and saw them waving from the balcony. This is going to be a very different year...

The best pizza in the world

    

     We were starving, but we had read about this great pizzeria in our guide book, so we headed to Piazza Vanvitelli. The area, called Vomero was so different to where we were staying. The buildings looked new and the apartments looked huge, nearly all of them with a balcony. I could live here. I wonder how much the rent is.

    The pizzeria was called Gorizia and it was really easy to find. We sat outside and ordered a Coke straight away. It was, again, a  lovely warm day.

    The waiter came with the menu. I ordered without even looking at it.

    ‘Er… due pizze margherita, per favore,’ I said with confidence.

    ‘Prego, Signorina.’

    ‘But, Carolina, the menu…’

    ‘Lisa, you’ll have to trust me on this one. There’s no need to look at the menu, especially for our first pizza in Napoli. Just wait and see.’

    ‘Ok. If you say so…’ she took a sip of her Coke.

    I couldn’t stop looking at the sky. No wonder they call everything here Azzurri. The sky here is so blue.

    ‘Carolina, what are you thinking about?’

    ‘Er… nothing, really. Just looking at the sky. I’ve never seen such a beautiful blue sky.’

    ‘Yeah, that’s true. But tell me, Carolina. How are you feeling? I mean, have you regretted coming here yet? Are you thinking about your family? Jean?’

    ‘Urgh, Lisa. Don’t even mention this name. He’s dead. D-E-A-D. I wish I never had to hear this name again in my life. Remind me never to visit France.’

    ‘What? Come on… Paris? Cote d'Azur…? Please...’

    ‘I’m joking, silly.  I still feel like killing him, though. Haha. When I think of him, on the other side of the country, basically living with that woman, while he said he loved me, but was too busy to come and visit. Aaaahhh,’ I shivered in anger.

    ‘He was a jerk. Actually, he’s a jerk. He’ll always be one. I remember you wanted to go and visit him. Your mum and dad always telling you that you shouldn’t, that he was the one supposed to come to you.’

    ‘I know. It’s like they knew what was happening. It’s this parents’ sixth sense, or whatever. And to think that they were right. It makes me even angrier. And I’d told him I’d go visit him. All those hours on a coach and I’d still visit him. But he never let me. He said he was too busy even to spend time with me. Idiot.’

    Tears started to fill my eyes.

    ‘Hey, come on. It’s a new beginning for you. Cheer up. This, our jobs here, our time here will be the greatest adventure of your life, Carolina. Forget about that stupid Jean now, cause our pizza is c… What the heck…?’

    ‘Due pizze margherita,’ the waiter smiled at our shocked faces.

    ‘Grazie.’

    ‘Lisa, is it a pizza just for one?’ I mean, a whole pizza? Oh Dio. We’ll go back home rolling… Haha’

    ‘Carolina, I can’t talk now. I need to focus. This pizza looks beautiful. Look at all this cheese.’

    I’d never eaten too much. Whenever I served myself, I never put too much on my plate. If I could eat the whole pizza, I’d deserve a prize.

    ‘Lisa, have you noticed that most of the people are eating pizza with their hands? I wonder if it’s tradition.’

    ‘I don’t know. I can’t even try, because my fork and knife are glued to my hands… This pizza is amazing. The best thing ever.’

    ‘I told you,’ I winked and went on to cut one more slice.

    After stuffing ourselves with pizza, a slice of tiramisu each and an espresso, we decided to call our boss.

    ‘So, if we call her today… it’s only 2.30, she must be in the school. We can go there, talk to her,get our folders with the names and addresses of our students…’

    ‘Hey, Lisa, why don’t we try to sort out all the addresses tomorrow and Saturday, so we have the weekend free to explore a bit more?’

    ‘That’s what I’m thinking. We can do this tomorrow, and perhaps we could spend the day in Sorrento on Sunday. What do you think?’

    ‘Cool. Have you got her number? Why don’t we look for an Italian sim card for our phones, then? They have Vodafone here. Clara has Vodafone in Wales. She says it’s really good.’

      'Ok. I wonder if there's a Vodafone near here.'

~ The first day in Napoli ~

     We got up early the next day. I could see the sun through the shutters and I couldn’t wait to sit on the terrace for breakfast. I mean, if we had any breakfast. The thought of having nearly ransacked the kitchen the night before made my stomach twist in hunger. I’d already had a shower and accepted the idea that we would need to go out for breakfast, but when I got to the kitchen, I beamed with joy.

    ‘Oh, benedetto Gennaro! Lisa, come. Quick. Gennaro has left some more cornettos and Nutella! And there’s milk in the fridge!’

    ‘Shhhh… Carolina, it’s still early and people are still sleeping,’ she walked into the kitchen looking inside the fridge. ‘Hummm… jam, orange juice, yoghurt… Man, this Gennaro rocks!’

    We put one of each of everything on a plate – yes, only one of each this time – and went to have breakfast on the terrace.

    ‘Ah… what a difference from yesterday, eh, Carolina,’ Lisa spread Nutella on both sides of her cornetto.

    ‘I know. I can’t wait to go out for a walk. You know, I’m really anxious to meet our boss. She seemed lovely on Skype, didn’t she? I hope my students are friendly. Besides, I’ve never taught in my life! It’s going to be easy for you. You’ve been teaching for ages!’

    Lisa had just had a huge bite of her cornetto, and made a sign for me to wait. She licked a bit of Nutella from the corner of her mouth.

    ‘Yeah, you’re right about the teaching, but I can’t speak a word of Italian. Actually, I can say cazzo!’

     I gave her a look of reproach, I gesticulated with my hand in an upward-pointing cone.

     'Cazzo, ma che cazzo, Lisa!'

     'Cazzo, simply cazzo. Haha, Carolina, I love this word.'

    We both made a face and cracked up.

    ‘Ok, seriously, when are we meeting her?’

    ‘Tomorrow, at 2pm. We’re going to the school, which is not far from here.’

    ‘Hum…’ I finished gulping down my milk. ‘So, that means we have the whole day to explore?’

    ‘Oh, yes, Signorina Carolina. We have the whole day. Where’s our guide? Let’s see where we want to go first.’

                                                  (***)

    We decided to go and see Napoli from the top first, so we went to Castel Sant' Elmo. We walked past Piazza Dante, through some tiny cobbled streets with little shops. Clothes shops, grocery shops, shoe shops, more clothes shops and more grocery shops. Mostly men sitting relaxed at tables on the pavement, drinking coffee, smoking, talking very loudly and, of course, gesticulating. I couldn’t understand a word. I guess they were speaking Napolitan.

    We got to Montesanto funiculare station and after a short ride up to Morghen station and a little walk we were there. I’d never been on a funiculare before, and I was a bit afraid. What if this thing just breaks and we slide all the way down? We’ll all die there. But it was cool and I could see all types of people around me. Some people dressed really well; others could really do with a stylist.

    Lisa and I looked up. The castle is not so big, really, but for someone who never even sees castles, this one was amazing. Its hexagonal shape with very high walls was imposing. There’s a kind of a piazza there, at the bottom of the castle street, right in front of the Museo di San Martino.
     ‘Hey, Lisa, let’s go over there. There’s loads of people down there. I bet the view is beautiful.’

    What I saw when I got to the end of the street enchanted me. It was love at first sight. It was the first time I saw “it”. The great Mount Vesuvius. The terrifying Vulcano Vesuvio. The one and only that had destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum; one that I had only in my wildest dreams imagined I’d see in person one day. Wow. Wow. Wow.

    ‘Carolina? Oi? Knock, knock.’

    ‘Oh, sorry Lisa. Wow. Isn’t it astonishing? I can’t wait to go to the top. Do you think they let us go to the crater?’

    ‘Jesus, Carolina. Aren’t you afraid? One thing is to visit Pompeii. Now, walking around the crater… I’m not sure.’

    ‘Lisa, if I’m afraid or not, it doesn’t make a difference now, does it? We’re already here. Come on. Let’s get inside the castle. I want to see it from the top.’

    ‘Oh my God, Lisa! It’s even more beautiful from here. It’s just majestic. Can you imagine all those people who died there, without even knowing what was going on? I wonder what life there used to be like, what they were doing when the it exploded for the first time..’

    ‘Carolina, Carolina…’ Lisa came closer and smiled. ‘You have such a great imagination. I’m sure you’ll write a book one day. And I want to be the first one to get an autograph, ok? And if it becomes a Hollywood blockbuster, I want Luci Liu to play me and I want to go to the premiere, ok? And if you never write a book, and fall in love with a handsome Napolitan man and get married, can I be one of your bridesmaid, please?’

    ‘Hey, calm down there, missy. Who said anything about falling in love? We are here to work, travel around and have a good time, right? I’ve had enough of romance for a long time. Now, let’s go find a place to eat. I’m starving, dying to try the Vera Pizza napolitana: Margherita!’
    'Ok. Oh, but Carolina... if it really becomes a movie and we actually go to the premiere, can you try and hook me up with Daniel Craig...?'

The (hard) craft of a first novel

                   

 

         Hi everyone! Today I decided to give Carolina and Lisa the day off to go and explore...

                  Instead, I'd like to talk to you about my writing process. Or, in my case, a bit of a "lack of a process" when I write. 

             Here I write about the creative process of Carolina and Loveandpizza.it (with some samples of other chapters!!!) 

          I guess some of you will identify yourselves, and others, more disciplined, will probably have a lot to teach me! Please leave  your comments...

                 Thanks!!!

                  Dani.

                 

                                        How I write - a critical reflection 

                                                          (MA dissertation in English and Creative Writing)

    

       Inspired by a year living in Naples, Italy, I decided to write a novel. I had never done a writing course before, except for writing classes in secondary school, where we were ‘trained’ to write 30-line essays in order to pass the exam to go to university. These essays had a set format and we were given set phrases to use at the beginning, to compare opinions, to conclude etc. Once you were ‘well trained’, you could write your essay on any topic they asked you to – unless you were a totally opinionless person or only liked to read comic books.

        When I decided to embark on the adventure of the MA course, I only had one thing in mind: ‘Now I’ll write that novel.’ Well, after nearly two years, I must confess that I couldn’t have been more wrong. I found out that my writing (or my way of doing it, I should say) would have to be dissected and thoroughly analysed. I found out that I would have to use countless theories to explain why I did this and/or how I did that, when all I wanted to do was just write. I am a storyteller, after all. I had never liked to read deep and complex things and discuss them, and the first time I ever tried to write a story thinking about techniques, I couldn’t go through half of it. For me, writing is experience, writing is feeling. It’s like dancing: you need to feel the music; just marking the time and doing rehearsed steps is not enough; unless you are writing a secondary school essay. Nevertheless, I just decided to learn everything I could, disagree with everyone I could and get on with it.

     Having said that, I wrote my dissertation in an attempt to recount my journey through the discovery and (re-)making of myself as a writer, as well as to critique different research methods and techniques learned through the course. I also claimed the right to call my main character a flâneuse – after all she goes through during the whole space of the novel, she’s not just a wanderer around the city streets anymore; she has absorbed the city.

The (hard) craft of a first novel

A thousand years ago we had about 30 000 [words], now English has 500 000 and the figure is rising daily. They belong to the nation, are listed in dictionaries and each one of us has a usable store or word-hord, as the Anglo-Saxons called vocabulary, of about 15 000. This is 3 per cent of the total in The Oxford English Dictionary and only half the number used by Shakespeare. (Singleton, J and Sutton, G, 2000, p.41)

Well, after this quote, I see myself ready to give up writing; writing in English, I mean. English is not my first language, therefore I believe it is impossible for me to actually have a ‘usable store of about 15 000’ words. However, it is odd to notice that I find it more comfortable to write in English than in my mother-tongue, Portuguese. Sometimes, I feel like I lack Portuguese vocabulary for certain types of writing more than English vocabulary. Luckily, I tend to like to keep it simple.

I really enjoyed the way I gradually discovered the writing techniques I use to create my stories. I had always considered myself an 'intuitive, impulsive' writer. Obviously, I had no idea what happened 'backstage'. Based on the course bibliography, I started to shape my stories, shyly at first, but trying to use some of the ‘techniques’ mentioned in the readings and present in the short stories I was reading. For example, for my first short story of the MA course, ‘Deaf, mute, blind’ (now first chapter of the novel.) I started writing it hoping it one day could become a novel. Apparently, I used one of the ideas mentioned in Burroway’s Writing Fiction (2011) about revenge: ‘An injustice has been done, and you are powerless to do anything about it. But you’re not really, because you’re a writer. ... Cast the outcome to suit yourself. Punish whomever you choose.’ (Burroway, 2011, p.12). Another author who mentions this is Jane Wenham-Jones (2007), who says: ‘This can be therapeutic too and great fun. ‘Don’t get mad – get your pen out’.’ (Wenham-Jones, 2007, p.101)

Another characteristic present in my writing is experience. I usually write about things that happen to me and around me. Although Burroway (2011) says we have to be careful when using autobiography: ‘Probably all good fiction is ‘autobiographical’ in some way, but the awful or hilarious or tragic thing you went through may offer as many problems as possibilities when you start to turn it into fiction.’ (Burroway, 2011, p.8), I feel that it works for me most of the time.

Singleton (2000,) completes this thought when she unveils the meaning of writing about self. According to her, writers who use autobiography have to create dialogues, rearrange things and use a lot of different narrative strategies in the stories in order to ‘explain (away?), rationalise, excuse, justify and disguise the truth.’ (Singleton, 2000, p.100). For her, fictionalising a story about self is a way of being able to use one’s own life and experiences without censoring oneself. 

One example of this tactic used in my own writing explains the fact that the main character of the stories, Carolina, has a massive crush on a pizzaiolo while she’s living and working in Napoli.  Actually, it’s not just a crush, they fall in love. I lived in Napoli; there was a pizzaiolo; he always stared at me. The fact that I ‘transformed’ him in this handsome/mysterious/gentleman-like character was so I could give Carolina exactly what she needed after a horrible man having broken up with her. Actually, the horrible man and the breaking up did happen to the woman who inspired this story, therefore, the need for more tweaks to auto/biographic situations. Evans (2005) explains this in a perfect way: ‘Auto/biography is, in a sense, the most individual of literary genres; its very existence is premised on the belief in the particularity of the individual. (…) many authors of autobiography are motivated by nothing except self-justification, an emotion that may reveal itself in either greater of lesser simplicity.’ (Evans, 2005, p.34)

The part of the story that says:

‘Lisa never wanted to go get the pizzas, but Carolina thought the pizzas from that place were too good for her to argue, so she usually went to get them herself … He was in his late twenties, tall, had dark and messy hair, quite a big nose and beautiful lips. Something like an ‘Italian Heathcliff’. That’s how she used to call him. He had a deep voice and sometimes stared too much for her liking. But somehow he was kind of attractive, and that made her want to go get the pizzas.’

…could have been easily told like this:

‘Her husband never wanted to go get the pizzas, but Daniela though the pizzas from that place were too good for her to argue, so she usually went to get them herself… He was in his late twenties, tall, had dark and messy hair, quite a big nose and beautiful lips. Something like an ‘Italian Heathcliff’. That’s how she used to call him. He had a deep voice and sometimes stared too much for her liking. But somehow he was kind of attractive, and that made her want to go get the pizzas.’

Here, according to Evans (2005), self-justification is the main thing. It actually means: he was cute, but I (the writer, who has actually been in this situation) am too embarrassed to say that because I am a married woman and married women not supposed to have crushes on other men.

Evans (2005) also states that the second feature of the ‘method’ of auto/biography is ‘... the recognition of the boundaries of the work.’  She talks about the many ‘silences’ within auto/biography: ‘...what is not said, what cannot be said, and what we can say does show how authors of auto/biography can easily cast either themselves or their subjects into the rigid roles of hero/heroine and villain. Once these identities are set, it is difficult for individuals to escape them.’ (Evans, 2005, p.43)

I have to agree with her once again, since the roles of the hero/heroine and villain of my stories / novel were all based on myself and/or on real subjects, all known to me to some extent.

As one of the subjects I use when writing is my own life and/or experience, I couldn’t agree more with her statements.  My main motive to use my life as a ‘research method’ for my writing is not only to actually bring out (or self-justify?) some aspects of my personality in a way which I will not be so exposed (I do not need to show my writing to anyone if I do not want to), but also to find out about myself and to become a better person. Using auto/biography as a research method, one becomes a ‘detective’, searching deep inside oneself or others around him, as well as the environment, for clues and stories to write about.

Bearing in mind that I used some of my own experiences while living in Naples to write these stories (and the other novel chapters), Evans’ article is one of the one I’ve related to most of the time while writing.

...one of the most important aspects of researching for an auto/biography is the establishment of the relationship between author, subject and culture. ... We are not simply observers of a society, or collectors of information about another person, we carry some of the values and the ideas of some parts of the society we inhabit. Once we recognise this, the author of auto/biography becomes the ‘hidden object’ of the study. (Evans, 2005, p.42)

            Just to conclude this part on the use of auto/biography in my writing process, I have to cite Carver (1990, p.17) when he says that 'the best art has its reference point in real life.' The idea of the stories / novel is to tell tales of Naples and its peculiar inhabitants and legends, seen through an outsider’s eyes, who is trying to find out who she really is and where she comes from. And once again, the writing process is continued with the use of the writer’s own experiences and personality traits – or of someone known to him/her.

          Another research method which interested me was ethnography. Before studying this method, I believed ethnography was a research method which meant ‘a qualitative research strategy that relies primarily on participant observation and concerns itself in its most general sense with the study and interpretation of cultural behaviour’. (van Maanem 1995, cited in Alsop, 2005, p.111) However, I was not totally correct on that, because I thought that one could use ethnography in any field, not only ‘... traditionally a distant land of whose people and way of life little was known...’(Hammersley and Atkinson 1983, cited in Alsop, 2005, p.111)

        I always thought that ethnography was the study of any people or community, therefore I have to agree that ‘The ethnographer is both storyteller and scientist.’ (Fetterman, 1998, cited in Alsop, 2005, p.112). This is one of the strengths I find in this method, and it is one of the two ways in which an ethnographer intervenes in the researched world: in conveying his research results in written narrative. Being an observer and a writer, the writing process is made even more real and not invented, since ‘... in all parts of the research process, the ethnographer is part of the research and not merely a neutral, impartial observer. (Fetterman, 1998, cited in Alsop, 2005, pp. 112-113)

      One example of how real it can become and how the research involves the researcher is in Janice Radway’s (1997) account of one of her ethnographic studies:

…this project became as much my story as it was theirs; I place myself within the tale as a character inhabiting the same world occupied by the people and institutions I was trying to understand. What I try to provide... is a sense of the process through which I came to recognize that the impingement of my own history on my present activity had everything to do with what I saw and could begin to say about it. (Radway, 1997, cited in Alsop, 2005, pp.113-114)

While writing the stories / novel, another use of ethnography for me is related to travel writing. Travel writing is something I usually do and it has proven invaluable to the final product of the MA. People-watching and being in constant ‘participant observation’ (Radway, 1997, cited in Alsop, 2005, p.118), I embraced my life in Naples as an ‘utopian ethnographer’, and ‘greeted enthusiastically by the members of the community...’ I wished ‘... to observe and to be welcomed in the fold.’ (Radway, 1997, cited in Alsop, 2005, p.117).

 During that period, I started writing ‘seriously’ for the first time. The atmosphere of that city, the chaos and secrets that were behind those palaces walls needed to become a story. I began to build my characters based on people I met while living there (although I already had my heroine, who is based on my youngest sister), and started asking my students about things my characters were likely to do or say, or places they were likely to go in certain situations. The particular behaviour of a Neapolitan; the incomprehensible dialect that they make sure they use, especially when they don’t want you to understand what they are talking about; the mafia conspiracies that one can feel in the air of the Quartieri Spagnoli, where I lived… I also returned to Naples before finalising my dissertation. The need to refresh the memories and, again, wander around the city streets provided me with some more clues on how to improve my main character and inspired another chapter – The Bones Church. All these were part of my ethnographic study in Naples; one I wish to continue one day and use to finally complete my first novel.

Another author who inspired my work, Luciano De Crescenzo, with the simple, peculiar voice and anecdotes in his Thus Spake Bellavista (1989), has helped set the mood for Carolina’s adventures and stories, as well as given me more insight into the Napolitan people’s behaviour and supporting me in my characterisation.

As for the characters, the stories depict funny characters and their way of living life (the art of il dolce far niente, for instance, meaning the art of ‘the sweetness of doing nothing’) and dealing with everyday problems. Naples has been chosen for its chaos, as well as liveliness. The former is what Carolina's life is like now; the latter is what she is trying to recover. This specific aspect of the stories took shape during the Walking in the city module. She goes to Naples to ‘run away from home’ and ends up ‘finding home’. In the middle of the chaos she’s living, she’s able to find the spirit and energy she needs to carry on living her life the way she believes is right. Trying to use psychogeography, I have been using photos and maps along the chapters to give meaning to the characters’ feelings and conflicts.

 To improve my characters and the flow of the stories, I needed to improve my style, and Burroway's chapter on 'Characterization' (Burroway, 2011) was perfect to help me with my dialogues, since this was one particular thing  I never considered to be one of my strengths. I like to tell stories, but when it comes to letting the characters talk for themselves, I have always been insecure. So, I decided to refer back to the text and go through the punctuation marks, quotation marks, italics, etc. On her section on 'Format and Style' (Burroway, 2011, p.87) I learned about the 'invisibility' of punctuation and dialogue tags such as said, replied, thought, etc and how it can make the dialogue/text 'cleaner' of unnecessary words and how to place them in the correct place to create the effect I want on the reader.

When Carolina and Fabrizio have the first conversation at the pizzeria, I was a little more comfortable with the dialogue, trying to make it sound more natural. I ‘knew’ that Carolina really hated the fact that he was talking to her for various reasons (she was very shy, she couldn’t speak Italian very well, he used to stare at her all the time, which made her feel really uncomfortable). However, Carolina was also enjoying the fact that they were talking (she had a secret crush on him).

‘So, Carolina, what are you doing here in Napoli?’

‘I teach.’

‘You teach?’

‘Mm-mm.’

‘What do you teach?’

‘I teach English.’

‘Inglese? Da vero? I can speak un po’ di inglese.’ He looked at her, as if thinking. ‘And I know a great story about an English teacher.’

‘Ah... Ok,’ she smiled. He was good, she thought.

‘Don’t you want to know it?’ he insisted.

‘Hummmm... ok.’ She was sure he'd tell her anyway.  She laughed in her head.

‘Well, once upon a time, there was this beautiful English teacher from Brasile.’

 ‘Yes... and?’

‘And she was like a principessa...’

‘Haha...’

However, when it came to their ‘first date’, I struggled with whether to add more dialogue to it or not. Reading Burroway’s section ‘Economy in Dialogue' (Burroway, 2011, p.75) I came across the 'tentative rule': ‘There is a tentative rule that pertains to all fiction dialogue. It must do more than one thing at a time or it is too inert for the purpose of fiction. This may sound harsh, but I consider it an essential discipline.’ I'm not sure where my dialogues convey more than one thing at a time, so I tend to keep them short and simple. At Carolina and Fabrizio’s first date part in A Napolitan Kiss, this is exactly what happens. Their dialogue serves to inform the reader of some facts about Naples and that’s also how Carolina falls in love with Fabrizio.

Fabrizio loved to tell stories about his land and people.

‘Yes, isn’t it incredible? The land around the volcano is so fertile, and that’s what most of the people who live around there live off. The volcanic ashes soil is excellent for the production of wine grapes, vegetables, orange and lemon trees, herbs, flowers and the area has become a major tomato growing region. I don’t think they are afraid. Well, they might be, but the need to make a living is more important, I guess. Also, they feel safe, because tranquil times can last for around 2,000 years.’

‘So, it could definitely happen again, then?’

(***)

‘And why did you come to Napoli?’

‘Ok. Now, what about that story?’

‘Ok, ok. Dio mio, Carolina, como sei impatient.’ He put the beer bottle to the side. ‘Where was I?’

‘Once upon a time, there was this beautiful English teacher from Brasile, who was like a principessa...’

‘Ah, ok. I remember now. So, she was like a principessa. She really liked pizza margherita and she went to the pizzeria at least twice a week...’

Carolina looked at him, ready to start laughing.

Fabrizio made a stop sign with his hand and continued.

‘Then, one day she realized she was falling in love with the pizzaiolo...’

 ‘Fabrizio...’

‘Nah! Aspeta,’ he put his hand in front of her. ‘...so, one day she realized she was falling in love with the pizzaiolo. She wanted to see him more and more. So she went to the pizzeria every day. In the end, she got as fat as a whale! Hahahaha.’

Carolina couldn't believe his cheek and slapped him on the arm.

‘Grosse!’ She made an angry face, pouted and crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘Ok, I’ll never go to the pizzeria again. Ever.’

   What I tried to do with these dialogues, now that I started to use them much more and better was to give them autonomy to express themselves. Carolina and Fabrizio are the soul of this story, so the best thing to do was ‘not to race through it quickly with an end in mind.’ (Burroway, 2011, p.85)

The third topic of discussion in my dissertation was the depiction of the main character (Carolina) as a female flâneuse. Firstly, let me introduce some facts about the flâneur and the flâneuse.

Goethe was one of the founders of the concept of the flâneur, along with another philosopher, Rousseau. In his book An Italian Journey (1962) he describes Naples as a Paradise. Charles Baudelaire described the flâneur simplistically as a gentleman who strolls the city streets, and therefore, participating in city life, but only as a spectator. According to Baudelaire ‘The flâneur was an idle stroller with an inquisitive mind and an aesthetic eye, a mixture of the watchful detective, the aesthetic dandy and the gaping consumer… a solitary character…read the city as a book… but in a distanced superior way.’ (van Godsendthoven, 2005, cited in van Nes et al, 2009, 122:1)

According to Friedberg (1993), ‘the department store may have been… the flâneur’s last coup, but it was the flâneuse’s first.’ (Friedberg, 1993, cited in van Nes et al, 2009, 122:2)

van Nes et al (2009) also mentions that the flâneuse is marked, if using Friedberg’s concept, as a consumer (a ‘badaud’). While the flâneuse has as characteristic a distance between her and the city, the ‘badaud’ experiences the city as a place to consume.

As the role of women changes in the society, the flâneuse starts to distinguish herself by becoming more independent. ‘At the beginning of the 20^th century…’ she is no longer ‘…objectified by men and patriarchic institutes.’ (van Nes et all, 2009, 122:3)

Janet Wolf (985) claims that the flâneuse cannot exist, because she cannot wander aimlessly around town. I totally disagree and also with Deborah Parsons when she says that the flâneuse does exist, but in a different form than the flâneur.

A very strong theme present in the stories / novel is Carolina’s need for freedom, which is one of the features of the flâneuse. Carolina’s love for strolling around the city and feeling a part of it, feeling so comfortable to the point of considering it ‘home’, definitely classifies her as a flâneuse.  Carolina is a female flâneur and she doesn’t go around looking at shops. She walks around looking for life, for excitement, as a voyeur. She does it for herself. She wants to learn as much as she can. She wants to be part of the city.  Carolina is a wanderer and she uses the streets as corridors, not a destination. According to van Nes et al (2009), ‘for the flâneuse liveliness is one of the conditions to stroll around’.  Again, we have the use of auto/biography here. I  am in love with Naples. I, too, went back to Naples on my own for the second time and wandered around the city streets, trying to experience Carolina’s freedom. I am a flâneuse and what I tried to do with Carolina is to create her to allow me to have this freedom all the time.

Another point is the comparison between the female flâneur to the male flâneur in the sense that the female flâneur’s role, as well as the male’s, is one of understanding, participating and depicting the city and its people. They are both participants in the city life and objective spectators.

Carolina experiences the city through her stories, which come to life as a result of her wandering about the narrow and busy streets of Naples. As the stories are created, the reader can perceive that she starts to claim an active role, not only as a flâneur, but also in her life. She starts to get to know herself; she starts to develop/(re)discover her own personality. This is the role that the city and its people play in this flâneuse’s life; one of enlightment, of understanding the ‘macho’ mentality of the Italian men and with that understanding her own surroundings as she grows up.

It’s in the streets of Naples, with its tales of Camorra, and free violence that Carolina will find the freedom she once craved. It’s walking the dangerous streets of the Quartieri Spagnoli without fear (for being an outsider and not having a greater understanding of what really happens there or about so many people who have been killed there) that Carolina finds her freedom; and her home.

Finally, my aim with this (wannabe) novel is to entertain and educate, depicting a few good historical pieces of information about Naples, and also the people who live there. More importantly, it's been the process of a useless 'fight' against the compulsive writer in me and the discovery that I am also a flâneuse, even if it's my own concept of what a flâneuse is supposed to be. I strongly defend the position of the flâneuse as a woman in love with the freedom of walking around the streets of the city - any city, or even a village, or the countryside - in search of herself, and having in mind all important things in life, none of them related to shopping.

How about you??? What's your writing process like? Do you use any methods, fixed schedule...? 

P.S. If you'd like to see the bibliography used to write this, just let me know in a comment. :)