Lady Sylvia Ashley, London 1936
A couple of things have happened of late to call me across the pond and make me yearn for the U.K. Firstly, I have a job opportunity that may take me to London and Sussex in August. Secondly, I have submitted Silky to an open call this week from a British press. It seems like a match made in heaven and I thank the friend in my writers group who told me about it. Fingers crossed.
It’s been quite awhile since I set foot on British soil. The last time was to research Silky’s birthplace and to find as much information on her as I could in a three-week period. Remember, in 2001 Google was a fairly new search engine and Wikipedia did not yet exist. I visited libraries and perused publications and microfilm until my eyes were spinning in my head. I followed a map all over London, not to tourist sites, but to trace Sylvia’s footsteps
I have such treasured memories of my first trip to England in the eighties: day trips to castles and museums; romantic train rides to the homes of my favorite writers and artists; pubs and hikes; strolling the village parades and flea markets. I stayed for two months and nearly married a Brit. I’ve always felt at home there. I think it’s fair to call myself an anglophile.
It is mind-boggling to think it’s been fourteen years since I’ve been abroad. And that I’ve been working on Silky all this time! I’m no Donna Tartt, but apparently I take just as long to write a novel.
Here’s hoping this anglophile gets the chance to return this year. And wouldn’t it be grand if it was as a newly published writer?! Yes, please.