writing

History And Europe And Estey : Redux

Looking myself up on the Internet (as one is sometimes wont to do), I came across this. I posted this nearly ten years ago, and have/had totally forgotten it. So, it’s a possibility others have forgotten it also. I find it quite interesting.

History And Europe And Estey

Isabella d’Este, Giovanni Cristoforo Romano, 1500.

There is a tradition in “my” branch of the Estey family that we descend from the d’Este of Italy. The d’Este clan were rich and powerful and influential. They married well which – yes – brought the infamous Lucrezia Borgia into the family when she wed Alfonso I d’Este, Duke of Ferrara.

My father had a reproduction of Alfonso’s sister, Isabella, readily at hand. Isabel was a name for at least one daughter in every generation of Esteys. Lucrezia attempted to befriend Isabella, but to no avail.

The town of Este is in Northern Italy, in the Veneto region, about a two hour car ride from Venice. It’s most recent population figure of two years ago was around 17,000. I have a special fondness for this part of Italy and have sprinkled references to it in some of my novels. Indeed, my whole historical onion trilogy is centred around a town in this area.

So, Este was certainly a destination when I travelled through Europe. And the surrounding area. Este was suitably medieval in tone, with its ruined Este castle and wonderful flower beds and bowers and stone bridge over river and walled town and as happily historic as all get out.

I looked to see how many Estes were in the phone book (a respectable number) but I didn’t phone anyone. I would be more thorough and stay longer on another trip. I doubt there is any way to fix up that castle.

I enjoyed all of Italy that I visited (and the rest of Europe held no less enthusiasm from me). But to stick, as it were, around the old homestead, the most enjoyable places were Venice and Florence. I was most surprised to see cruise ships looming from the Venetian waterfront.

I sighed on The Bridge of Sighs – from such beauty to such terror those prisoners were lead. A stunning memory was boating on the Grand Canal at dusk and seeing rooms in a passing mansion ablaze with chandeliers.

Florence was my favourite. It is, of course, awash in museums and galleries and art art Art. To chose the one which stunned me most was Botechelli’s Birth of Venus – and that’s saying a lot, considering. The Ponte Vecchio over the Arno lives up to all its billing. Alas, I bought no gold.

Also, a memory is walking along certain streets and assuming I was near riding stables because of the permeating smell. However, I was in the leather good quarter. There was also the ancient, wire mesh and gated elevator,the type I had only seen in movies, wheezing me aloft to my lodgings. And the lady who left her room key on my table after breakfast. And don’t get me started on the markets and the food. Don’t.

However, there is one golden memory which consists of neither history nor ancient art. This happened in Verona. I was walking along a busy street and looked into the interior of a news vendor. The building also had an array of paperback books. And there, looking back out at me, was my own novel, L’INGANNO BONNER, recently produced in an Italian translation. That was a most pleasant delight indeed.

(image)http://www.isabelladeste.org/_/rsrc/1467897567813/isabella-deste/0a.PNG

05/30/2025 0

Kafka And His Reaction To His First Job

I have written a novel where I fill in the missing days of Kafka’s real diary. However, I appreciate the following, which is Kafka’s real opinion of the first employment he ever had. I never had such far-away thoughts at my own first job, but neither was I enraptured by it. I lasted a year.

*****************

“Now my life is in complete disorder,” he wrote to Hedwig Weiler on October 8, after just a week of work. “It is true, I have a job with a tiny salary of 80 crowns and 8-9 interminable hours of work, but I devour the hours outside the office like a fierce beast. . . . I nourish the hope of sitting one day on chairs in far-flung countries, looking out of the office windows onto sugar cane fields or Muslim cemeteries, and the insurance branch interests me greatly, even though for the moment my work is sad.”

He quit after less than a year, on July 31, 1908, citing health reasons. (“We express our amazement that the state of health of the aforementioned, who after the careful examination of the doctor carried out in October last year was recommended as absolutely fit, is after such a short time so bad that his immediate resignation must follow,” reads a letter from the company in Kafka’s file.)

04/04/2025 0

April Fools’ Joke – As Funny As Ever

This is from a few years ago.

I glean through many sources after information of which agent,s and which editors, have purchased recent books that are similar to one of my manuscripts.

When I find someone I think will be compatible to some of my work, I research them. Then, if I think they would have a reasonable interest in my manuscript (and there can be a variety of reasons) I’ll send a query letter.

I prefer to go through this process of finding names a number of times in a row, instead of finding a compatible person, then immediately sending a query. So, when I find a person I plan to contact, I send this information to myself in an email. It can be weeks before I actually send a query to an agent or editor, and then it can be two or more months before I hear a reply.

Last week I came across the information that John le Carré has a new book coming out the end of this year. I adore John le Carré. This announcement unusually named both his agent and editor. I sent both to myself, and I imagine I would get to them in the next two or three weeks.

This morning, April 1st, I had notification of a rejection by an agent for my NATO Thriller. It was a refusal sent through the portal of the agency (which happens more and more). Since it was not an actual response by the agent, I had to go to my Sent file to see who I had sent the query to.

Uh-huh – it was the same agent as John le Carré. So, I actually got rejected before I sent the query.

Well – anyway – that’s how writers think.

(image)cdn.images.express.co.uk/img/dynamic/39/750×445/851150.jpg

04/01/2025 0

A Valentine’s Day Feast Awaits Sister Darling On Partridge Island

Sister Darling, of

The Rarified Church of the World (reformed),

Steps upon the dock of the Partridge Island Lighthouse.

My humble self (the Lighthouse keeper) awaits her,

As does Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as Liquorice candy

With one white mitten.

I pondered tying a red riband

Around his neck, in celebration

Of the day.

But our cat/kitten is not as young

As he used to be,

And took umbrage at my attempt.

Still, he is young enough

– And spry enough –

And has memories enough,

To jump upon Sister Darling’s shoulder

And nestle in her hair.

And thus, we three climbed our way

To my Lighthouse Keepers house.

I have prepared a most wonderous fish stew,

Bubbling on the hob

(It even has lobster),

And, I have baked a pan of biscuits,

For her edification.

Sister Darling presents me with

A red envelope, wherein resides

(If I don’t miss my guess)

An embossed card to celebrate the day.

But,

Before I can open it,

She shoos Paw from her locks,

Opens wide her winter cloak,

And

“Oh, My!”

Our repast is threatened

To be delayed.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

02/14/2025 0

A Decade That Has Passed Like Ten Years

Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!

You registered on WordPress.com 10 years ago.

Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging.

01/17/2025 0

New Year’s Eve On Partridge Island With Ships At Sea

Just past sunset,

A Frigate and a Brigantine

Sailed past Partridge Island,
Heading out to sea.
The former had a line of sailors

Giving the Lighthouse a salute,
The latter paused to let Sister Darling

Of The Rarified Church of The World (Reformed)
Step onto the dock of the Island,

After she tossed me parcels and bundles

Containing a New Year’s feast.

The ships plied their way to the outer harbour,

Whilst Sister Darling gathered up

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as the new night

With one white mitten,
And we wended our way

Up to the Lighthouse Keeper’s house.

By the time pots and bowls and platters

Of food,

Were ready on the table,

And a haunch of venison, was re-heating

In the oven,

We followed the excited cat/kitten

Toward the Lighthouse, and up the stairs.

We awaited perhaps ten minutes, before

The two ships began firing starburst shells

Toward the approaching year,

Entertaining us, and the boisterous
Crowd on the shore.

It was a glorious sight,

And,
I will report,

That Sister Darling

Supplied

A glorious feast.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

—

http://DaleEstey

12/31/2024 0

Those Pesky Characters In The Novel – Follow Your Characters – Sometimes At A Gallop

My characters are racing me along.
It’s not that I can’t keep up with them – I don’t keep up with them.

They finished a chapter a few minutes ago that I had assumed would go one for two or three more days (writing time). Nope, they finished tonight, and decided where they would rather be.

Bossy as all get out.
But – invariably – correct.

After All, they know what they’re doing, even if their sluggish author does not.
I’m rarely sure how I am going to get from here to there – but it sure is interesting. And thus, will be interesting to the reader.
DE

12/15/2024 0

A Ghost Story – True As True Can Be – To Lead To Halloween

A true story for All Hallows’ Eve, although it did not happen on Halloween.

And, I steal my title from the list of types of encounters with UFOs and Aliens from Space, where actual physical encounters result in injury or death. Admittedly, I experienced nothing but fright, but the touch is without question

.
I was visiting the Bay of Fundy island of Grand Manan.

I had booked a room in a bed and breakfast and arrived mid-evening. I went elsewhere for a meal, but did meet the owners, and noted there were a couple of others staying there. I returned around eleven, chatted to the owners and one guest, then went up to bed.

The room was top of the stairs and across a landing. Comfortably rustic with a radio. The bed was fine and I was not long getting to sleep.

In the dead of the dark (no street lights here) I was awakened by the touch of hands on me. I was sleeping on my left side. One hand was over my groin and the other on my chest. There was also the weight of a body next to me and the pressure of an arm across my side.

I was initially surprised and confused but not frightened. Time probably stretched but it seems to me I lay like this for ten or fifteen seconds. Then, the very first coherent thought which came to me was that someone laying behind me could not have both arms over my body. There could not be two hands placed on the front of my body.

I got out of bed very quickly and did indeed experience fear. I turned on the overhead light but saw nothing. I heard nothing. The temperature was not unusual. I was frightened and certainly uncomfortable, but I can’t say that that aura was present.

I went to the bathroom across the landing. The house was silent.

I returned to the bedroom, thinking both of leaving the light on and turning on the radio. But then I thought that that was just giving into fear, and might encourage the fear instead of ease it, so I did neither. I did not seem to take very long to get to sleep.

The next morning I went downstairs for breakfast. I heard the owner talking to two other guests as I approached the kitchen.

Just as I entered she interrupted her conversation and turned to me. She said: “Let’s ask him. He’s the one sleeping in the haunted room.”

I don’t know if they had been talking about ghosts or if something else had happened in the night. I relayed my experience and the owner then told the story of the house.

As with many buildings on the island it had been a farm house, with the owners also fishing. It was a century or more old and left to a daughter. When she herself got old and could not look after it, her family forced her to leave, something she fought against.

The present owners then bought the building and started taking in guests. However, whenever they attempted renovations, they were discouraged by having paint cans overturned, new wallpaper peeled from the wall, ladders moved, hammers and such hidden.

The new owners’ daughter lived next door, and looked after the house when her parents went away (trips to Florida in the winter). She inevitably had to come over to the house and close doors, turn off lights, put furniture back in place.

The old woman who was forced to leave had the reputation of being a mean and unpleasant person. I don’t know if she was taking a liking to me or not.

10/30/2024 0

And The Witch Jumped Out Of The Bushes

Which (a l’il pun) makes a great first line.

Or can make a great last line.

Or could be the unexpected next line after a placid introduction of description.

Or – could be the climax!

Or – maybe – be the title.

08/05/2024 0

kafkaestblog

It is a whirlwind in here

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