We’ve got a lovely, sunny day here in Frankfurt — certainly too sunny to start the day writing about one’s suicidal hero. So I let him wallow in his study for a little while longer, and instead started to read the book on Beowulf I got a few weeks ago. The story of the Beowulf manuscript alone reads like crime fiction — I think this is going to be such an exciting course! (Of course, I thought exactly the same thing last spring, too, and look what happened.) (But no, I’m not going to let this spoil my excitement! Ha!)
Since it’s so wonderfully sunny today, it might be a perfect day to write the prologue for “Betrayed”. (Or do you think “Betrayal” would be better? I just can’t decided… Opinions, please!) The prologue is set in Italy and it starts like this:
Italy — where the summers are dry and hot and taste of herbs and olives and tomatoes; where the most famous artists of Europe have left their traces in old palaces and in churches striped like zebras.