Author: Carole Hill

When my daughter and French son-in-law suggested we lunch at a rustic, Alpine high-altitude restaurant with stunning views located in the heart of the Chartreuse Nature Park, I naturally said, “Yes, please!”

Little did I realise the restaurant–only about hundred feet from the summit and accessed via a narrow, twisty road with hairpin bends and terrifying sheer drops–would result in heart-stopping moments. As we weaved heavenwards with no safety barriers to prevent us from plunging to our death, I closed my eyes and prayed. My son-in-law drives fast. Very fast! Me I would have inched up that road at a snail’s pace.

Move over 50 shades of grey, I felt sixty shades of queasy-green by the time we arrived at the Restaurant Auberge du Charmant Som. However, I was rewarded with breathtaking views and a cooling breeze. Perfect. The temperature back at the house was a stifling 40!

After we had eaten a rustic lunch of Salade verte, charcuterie, omelette, ‘tomme de chartreuse’ (Green salad, cold meats, omelette, and typical cheese from the area), the family donned their hiking gear to walk to the summit a round trip which would take at least a couple of hours. Me, I’m not that adventurous, so I came prepared.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come,” they asked, concerned I would be bored.
“No, honestly, I’ll be fine, thanks,” I assured them, and with that, I retrieved my laptop and writing notebook from my holdall and set it up on the table. “Dawn will have a conniption if I’ve not completed these scenes for The Second Promise by this evening, and what a beautiful place to write and seek inspiration?”

My daughter shook her head and frowned. “Mum, you’re an artist. You paint. Most normal people set up an easel, canvass and paint the views, not bury themselves in their computer.”

Thought: I’m not normal; I’m a writer. “Writers paint with words, besides I want to enjoy a piece of Tarte aux myrtilles maison and a a cup of coffee.”

One of the joys of writing a novel is that you can write anywhere. Whether it’s on the beach, having a coffee at a local cafe, waiting at the airport to catch a plane, on the plane, or on the top of a mountain, I never cease to surprise Dawn with my gadding about or where my inspiration comes from I love to people watch!

One of the joys when crafting a novel is that no rule demands you to be tied to a desk – or at least not that I’m aware of. Whether writing while on the beach, at a cafe, enjoying a sunset drink, waiting at the airport, on a plane, or even on top of a mountain – I write.

I never cease to surprise Dawn, my co-author, with my gadding about and the source of my inspiration. I love to people-watch. I also love taking photographs. The two often offer an exciting combination, especially regarding creativity, plot and character development.

One morning, I was enjoying a coffee at a cafe in a typical Portuguese village in the Western Algarve, pondering on the nightclub scene where Sophia loses Aaron, and he is whisked off to the hospital by a guy called Itan.

I never had a minds-eye image of this guy until taking photographs of the view from a cafe in a small town in Southern Portugal. As I pointed my camera to photograph the church and square in the foreground, I heard a couple of guys laughing, and the next moment, an exuberant young man with blue hair jumped into my line of vision and posed. I clicked away and immediately thought – Itan! Perfect!