La Serenissima

When it comes to the world’s most romantic cities, Venice must be right up there in the top ten. Why so? What is it about this city that attracts us so, and has done for centuries? She is beautiful, of course – the elegance and majesty of her, a grandeur that speaks of a great history, a city that has somehow held her own despite many challenges throughout her centuries.

Yet one of the things I’m certain that fascinates us so about Venice is her inherent sadness. Even within recent memory, she’s suffered damage from the one thing we identify her with above all others – water. With Venice, there’s always the possibility that she may not survive the rising water levels or the next storm. There are many reasons for this, some perhaps to do with the way she was built in the first place, and, and some caused by our planet’s ongoing climate change. She’s suffering more and more damage to the shallow foundations of many of her buildings, and for a city built on canals, one which owes her very existence to her relationship with water, what an irony that it might be her very life-blood that’s hurting her. Yet she’s still here, seemingly eternal despite her fragility. Perhaps Venice has an inner strength, a force deep inside her that means she’ll never be beaten.

When I wrote my short story Perfect Strangers, which is set in a wintry Venice, this awareness of this ‘weight of water’ was constant. The influence of water and weather became a kind of motif in the story from the very beginning.

'Nowhere drizzles like Venice in January.

A fine mist that plays make-believe, pretending it’s not really there until it creeps up on freshly blow-dried hair and into the toes of newly polished boots. Sneaky drizzle.'

Anna meets a quiet, handsome American, and despite that fact that they’re complete strangers to each other, she recognizes a little of herself in him. They’re ‘two perfect strangers in a perfect city,’ and it somehow feels right they should spend the day together. Then Venice begins to work her magic…and what began as an innocent diversion quickly becomes something much, much deeper. Here’s the scene where Venice unleashes her powers of wind and water, and everything between Anna and her companion begins to change.

'As the waterbus headed back across the canal, the winter sun gave up the struggle completely. Black clouds gathered, firing warning shots of ice-cold raindrops across their faces. A sharp, merciless wind whipped the water into foaming white horses that reared and struggled against the blast.
When they docked, the few other passengers scattered and disappeared like a child’s dropped handful of marbles. The skies ripped open and flooded the streets with freezing water as the force of the wind pushed them backward, slapping the hems of their wet coats around their legs.
Anna’s hair whipped around her face as the American grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him, racing for shelter. Stumbling blindly in the rain, she trusted him completely. He made for a shop doorway and hauled her in, both of them laughing and breathless from the run.
“Good God, isn’t there enough water in Venice already?” He squinted up at the sky. “Looks like it’s setting in for a while, too.”
“Clearly somebody somewhere thinks not.” Anna loosened her coat to shake off the rain, then pulled her belt back tight around her waist. Shoving her hands deep in her pockets, she peeked out of the doorway at the storm, shivering. She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh! We’re stuck here.”
“Looks that way.”
“Hmm. It might stop in a moment.”
They both peered up at the sky, then exchanged incredulous glances.
“Unlikely!” they said together.
They watched the rain, listening to it pound the pavement at their feet. A man wrapped up tight against the storm rushed past, one hand clutching a dripping hat to his head; after him, not another soul.
Anna leaned back against the shop window. A small, perfectly conical Christmas tree displayed Murano glass earrings in the shape of tears, and she looked away. She’d had enough of tears.
Softly, his voice moved into her thoughts. “You have diamonds in your hair again.”
Anna looked up, not understanding. “What?”
He lifted his hand to stroke the side of her cheek, and she held her breath. “When I saw you this morning, with the rain on your hair. It looked like diamonds.”
“You were watching me...how long?”
“Oh, a long time. I couldn’t take my eyes off you — this crazy, beautiful woman dancing in Venice in the rain.” He moved toward her, and Anna felt herself drawn to him in return, unbidden, instinctive.
His kiss was a hesitant, unspoken question, and she gave him her perfect answer. Nothing in this world had ever felt so right; it was the kiss she’d been waiting for all her life, and she wrapped herself in it as if she was coming home.
Afterward they held each other close, feeling the peace and stillness that had eluded them both for so long. His sweet, warm breath caressed her face as he spoke.
“I don’t want to be a tourist anymore.”
“No,” Anna whispered. “Marco’s apartment...”
“Yes.” '

When I put together a video trailer for Perfect Strangers, I wanted it to be quite simple, so the obvious choice was to use black and white images. It had to hint at Anna’s sadness, the dearth of colour in her life until the day she comes to Venice and meets her ‘Perfect Stranger.’ Above all, I wanted the magic, beauty and clarity of the city to shine through.



I don’t think the world will lose Venice, despite her troubles. Too many people care about her to let her deterioration continue. She is magical, eternal, and to be cherished – and I hope this will always be the case.



She is loved. And Venice, like love, is per sempre…forever.

Perfect Strangers is available HERE from The Wild Rose Press.

Visit the charity Venice in Peril for more information on the restoration and protection of La Serenissima.

A Girl's Best Friend.

‘“Here you go. A slice and some ice, just enough to make that satisfying clink as one gets slowly sozzled.”
“Danny, you’re my hero. Say you’ll marry me.”
“I thought you’d never ask. A church do, naturally.”
“Only if you promise to wear white.”
“And you promise to wear as little as possible.”
“Cheers, you loony.”’

Recognise that sort of exchange? If you’ve got a best friend, then you will! That’s Maggie Lawless, my heroine from A Different Kind of Honesty, and her best friend Danny Chang. I don’t think I could ever write a heroine without writing her best friend too. My heroines aren’t dependent on my heroes – God forbid! – but they’re definitely dependent on their best friend. A girl’s best friend provides the shoulder to cry on, and the metaphorical ankle to kick. He – or she – will set her straight, cheer her on, and point out the error of her ways in the nicest possible way. Well, you knew that! But in terms of writing the story, the Best-Friend-Character is a great tool. The heroine can say things to the best friend that she might never say to the hero, and maybe not even to herself. Having the BFC shows us how the heroine conducts her relationships with other people, and tells us a lot about her loyalty. As a writer, I love writing the heroine’s best friend, because I get to indulge my naughty side. I can tease the heroine, I can stop her taking herself so seriously and let her laugh at the occasional absurdities of her romance with the hero. Here’s another exchange between Maggie and Danny.

'Maggie didn’t even pretend not to watch as Tony walked toward the sliding doors.
Danny folded his arms and tsk-tsk’d.
“Honestly. Put your tongue in, girl, it’s not ladylike. Listen, do you have any idea how much I’ve been dying to get you on your own since the softball game?”
Maggie picked up the hand towel from the counter, making a big deal of shaking it out and hanging it up on its hook. “Have you really?” she said, as lightly as she could manage.
“Just a little! I nearly followed you to the bathroom at one point, but I decided that was a bit too juvenile even for me.”
He hoisted himself up on the counter and swung his feet like a ten-year old. “What happened out there? That was one helluva tackle.”
Maggie tried to keep her expression as serene as possible. “We just crashed and tripped, that’s all.”
“Oh, yes, silly me.” He raised his eyes skyward. “And you just happened to end up underneath him. Gosh, the memories must have come flooding back.”'

In my short story Perfect Strangers, the heroine’s best friend is vital. Marco, Anna’s best friend, has let her use his apartment for a few days – the same apartment where she and the hero spend their one perfect night. We never actually see Marco, and only hear from him once during one short telephone conversation, but I was able to use this BFC to move the story along and tell the reader a bit more about Anna.

'She remembered their phone conversation as if it was yesterday.

“Ciao, bella, come va?”
“Marco! I’m fine, you?”
“Good! But I have a little mystery which I think maybe you can solve for me.”
“A mystery?”
“I have an envelope, addressed to—let me see—’Marco, Director, L’Accademia, Venice.’ That’s all. Inside, a note and another envelope. Cara mia, what have you been up to? I think it’s meant for you.”
“For me? Why?”
“Listen. ‘Dear Marco. Forgive me, but please pass this to the woman who stayed in your apartment last week. I never knew her name.’ It’s not signed.” He paused. “Anna, are you still there, bella? Shall I open it, yes?”
“Yes.”
She held her breath as she listened to the sound of paper tearing, then Marco’s voice back on the line.
“Ah, someone has taste...La Madonna della Sedia. Again, not signed, but there’s something written on the back. Let me make it out...’per sempre’. Dio, Anna! You keep secrets! You know who this is from?”
“I know who it’s from. Thanks, Marco. Please send it to me.”'

Finally, here’s an excerpt from an unpublished work-in-progress, Silver Wings. Amy is a WWII land-girl who helped rescue a Spitfire pilot whose plane crashed in the field she was digging. When he returns to the farm to thank her, her best friend Pixie knows she’ll find out what he said later – but nosy Dot has been listening at the door.

'Dot was hopping from one foot to the other, as if she was desperate to go to the loo, but wouldn’t go till I told her what happened. As if she didn’t know already, with her listening at keyholes. Well, she could pee in her knickers for all I cared; I wasn’t gong to say a word. Pixie was grinning again. She doesn’t need to spy to know what’s going on in my head, and she’d know I’d tell her later anyway. I love Pixie to death, and she knows how to keep a secret. But as for Dot...I couldn’t resist.
“I must talk to Tom about getting the farm cat down here,” I said as I walked past them, all airy. “I’m sure I heard mice in the hall. Or maybe even a rat!”
Pixie laughed her huge laugh, and Dot squealed and rushed off down the garden. I hope she wet herself before she got there.'

I love my heroines, and I love their best friends just as much. Here’s cheers to A Girl’s Best Friend!