Oct 2018


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My little French visitor has written a letter. That surprised me until I discovered it’s an assignment from his teacher. He and his classmates were asked to write a letter of introduction, telling a little about themselves and then something of what each of them wants for the future.

Chère Madame Noyer,

Pierre MancelleMy name is Pierre Mancelle and I am eight years old.  I live with my parents in the village of Messandrierre.  My maman is a music teacher but not in a school.  She has students who come to the house and sometimes she goes to their houses.  Sometimes she teaches in school when another teacher is sick.  My papa sings at the opera house in Marseille, so he is often away. But I have my own phone now so that I can talk to him when he’s not in rehearsal or on stage.  We have an apartment in Marseille that is near the opera house and also close to the old port.  Papa lives there when he’s singing but comes home when he’s not.  He also goes to Lyon and Paris to sing too.  He’s not famous or anything like that.  He’s a tenor and he sings as part of the company, but he does understudy sometimes.

I like music, but not opera, it’s too complicated.  I like playing my recorder. I also like riding my bike around the village and going on patrol with Gendarme Jacques Forêt, except he’s not a gendarme in the village any more.  He works in Mende now.  So I have to do my detective work with Gendarme Clergue instead.  He’s OK… but it’s not the same.

Just like at home.  It’s not the same.  The family is changing.  It’s always been only me and maman and papa, but soon I won’t be on my own any more.  I’m not sure how I feel about that.  Maman says, that as the eldest, I will have to take on new responsibilities.  Papa says that I will still be ‘the man of the house’ when he isn’t there.  And grandpapa says that I will always be just as precious to maman and papa as I always have been.  But I’m not so sure…

I know I want to be a detective like Jacques.  Maman says I have to call him Monsieur Jacques.  But he lets me call him Jacques when its just us two and when he was a gendarme he let me call him Gendarme Jacques when we were working on cases together.  But now he’s working in Mende I only see him at weekends when he brings Madame Elizabeth to the village.  I wish I could see him more often because he would know what to do.  He knows what to do about everything.  He would know what to do about one of the boys who are always hanging around outside school.  A boy I don’t like….

Ah, I was wondering when he’d get to the point, if ever. If you want to know more, you can find out in Montbel by talented Crooked Cat author, Angela Wren… that is, you will be able to when it’s released on 13th November.

Montbel by Angela WrenAbout Montbel

A clear-cut case?

A re-examination of a closed police case brings investigator, Jacques Forêt, up against an old adversary. After the murder of a key witness, Jacques finds himself, and his team, being pursued.

When a vital piece of evidence throws a completely different light on Jacques’ case, his adversary becomes more aggressive, and Investigating Magistrate Pelletier threatens to sequester all of Jacques’ papers and shut down the investigation.

Can Jacques find all the answers before Pelletier steps in?

Montbel is the third Jacques Forêt mystery and can be found on Amazon.

Angela Wren.

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Angela can be found on Amazon US, Amazon UK, her website, her blog, Facebook, Goodreads and Contact an Author.

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This might be the end of Letters from Elsewhere. I feel it’s time for something new. But not just now. I’m too busy working on my own future at the moment. So, don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while, but don’t be surprised if you do. And I’ll still be around on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram.

Miriam Drori

Miriam Drori, reading from her non-fiction book: Social Anxiety Revealed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“Only one thing marred the trip,” I wrote in my last post. But even that had good consequences, as well as bad.

On the way to Carcassonne, I’d expected not to catch the direct train from Marseille. This would have meant waiting for hours and then changing trains twice on the way. In the event, my plane landed half and hour early and I caught the direct train easily. Plain sailing.

Not so on the return journey. My train was delayed by a full hour. And my suitcase was stolen, probably at the station after Carcassonne. It felt like déjà vu. Exactly twenty years earlier my rucksack was stolen on a train from the airport into Paris. This created no end of complications, involving replacing passports and credit cards.

There was nothing important or valuable in the suitcase. But still.

“You should tell the guard,” said a girl who spoke good English. I found the guard, who also spoke good English but was very unhelpful, unless you count telling me I should have been watching the case all the time.

At Marseille’s Saint-Charles Station, I searched for the police station and found it.

Police Notice

That wasn’t much help. I asked at the information place what I should do. The guy there wasn’t at all helpful. But at my Japanese hotel, I was given a map and walking directions to the nearest police station, which I found easily.

Two things interested me during the two hours I spent there. I wish I could have taken photos, but I decided that wouldn’t be a good move!

As I stood waiting in a queue, a man arrived all cut up and dripping blood. The police officers talked to him from behind the protected counter, and he answered. The people sitting on benches in a corner moved up to let him sit, which he did. A woman who talked to him and seemed to be trying to help got snapped at, but he did thank – profusely – a couple who came into the station with him, for their help.

After a short while, two police officers arrived to administer first aid before taking him away. When I was told to sit and wait, I noticed blood on the bench where he’d been sitting and kept away from it.

Just before that, while I stood at the counter waiting for them to deal with me, I saw two officers – one female and one male – kissing. It occurred to me that this was a strange place to carry on a romance. As I sat in the waiting area, it became obvious that this was a procedure that took place every time an officer entered or left the area behind the counter – men with men, men with women and presumably women with women if there’d been more than one woman. Yes, it was only the kiss-on-each-cheek type, but to one who doesn’t live in France, it seems strange in that setting.

At eleven o’clock, when they finally finished with me, I asked, “Is it safe to walk back to the hotel at this time?” showing an officer the hotel on my map. He pointed to the way I should walk, telling me not to walk round the other way because it’s not safe. That didn’t make me feel wonderful, but I got back in one piece.

The other good outcome was that I didn’t have to deal with a suitcase on the way home. This was particularly useful at Ben Gurion Airport, which was very crowded because of a holiday. I was pleased to be able to get out in record time.

Just clothes

And I got new clothes.

 

It’s been a while since I’ve written about me on this blog, so here goes…

My most recent news is about the few days I spent in France, due to the providence of my publisher, Crooked Cat Books. The “gathering” of authors was both fruitful and fun, and the location of Carcassonne was perfect.

Black Jacket

You can see how much I enjoyed it!

Then, on the way back, I spent a day in Marseille, which also has plenty to see.

Marseille

And I loved the Japanese hotel I stayed in.

Japanese Art

Only one thing marred the trip, but I’ll leave that for another post.

It was great to return home. (Sorry about the misted window.)

Returning Home

Oh yes! A month ago, I was thrilled to be able to share five special photos on Sharon Booth’s lovely blog. Do have a look if you haven’t yet. A picture, as they say, is worth a thousand words.