I have known Angela since we were both indie authors in Chichester, so the success of her gripping World War Two novels with Bookouture has delighted me more than most.
Every summer she moves to Tuscany for six months where she and her husband own a renovated watermill which they let out to friends and family. When not exploring their unspoilt corner of the Apennines, she disappears to her writing desk at the top of a converted stable. In her Italian handbag or hiking rucksack she always makes sure to store notebook and pen to jot down ideas.
The winter months are spent in Sussex where most of her family live. When Angela’s not helping out with grandchildren, she catches up with writer friends. Obviously we haven’t been able to do so this year, but I am still hoping.
Now, over to Angela.
It’s interesting how new ideas for novels germinate. I love that moment when I am grabbed by an event or a person and the desire to write a story is born. It can come from a newspaper article, an obituary, a photo or from somebody’s memories.
A few years ago, I cut out a magazine article with the title Swatched at birth. When babies were left at the Foundling Hospital in the 18th century, the only things identifying them were tiny scraps of fabric. The details on these swatches spoke to me: “A girl, about one day old, admitted 4 March 1759”. A piece of fabric pinned to her dress with a pattern of blue and burgundy flowers was the only link with this child’s past.
I’ve had this article for more than six years, but it gave rise to a detail in my new novel, to be published April 7th by Bookouture: The Tuscan House.
Similarly, on a shopping trip in Tuscany to our nearest town, I came across a simple exhibition of one family’s possessions. There were several outfits on mannequins and a wide-skirted 1950s dress was perfect for one of my characters. Click, click went my phone. And then I caught sight of a pair of slightly grubby booties. Click, click. My characters come alive for me through such props and I hope to transmit the same through my words.
Maurice and I were persuaded in September 2013 to take a parish coach trip down to the Maremmana Tuscan coast. Most of the passengers were elderly and this annual Sunday had become a kind of pilgrimage to the past. Up until the 1950s, the men and boys of their families trekked down from our mountains to the sea to find better pastures for their sheep and cattle. I had never heard of the transumanza before (transhumance) and found myself scribbling down their stories. How could families bear to be separated for five long months every year? How did the women cope? What did the men get up to? My imagination went into overdrive. This led to my husband and I planning our own twenty-seven mile walk along part of the route and then another book was written. Originally, I self-published, but Bookouture acquired the rights. A Tuscan Memory is a bit niche but a book I felt compelled to write.
We have to be in love with the stories we write and hope that our readers love them too.
Find out more about Angela and her writing on her blog: https://angelapetchsblogsite.wordpress.com
