The Pirate Queen & Belleek Castle

Statue of Grace O'Malley, the Pirate Queen of Ireland

Did you know that Ireland had a Pirate Queen? I didn't. But goodness, she was a true pirate and a rebel during Queen Elizabeth's time (late 16th century). I've become so enamored, I've named a character in my Irish Jane Austen styled novel, after Grainne Ni Mhaille (Granuaile O'Malley, aka Grace O'Malley), the pirate queen, and the children tell numerous stories of her exploits.

For the full history of the Pirate Queen, I recommend wikipedia, or this man's far more humorous version filled with proper swear words and scenarios that even Ni Mhaille might find offensive, but still appreciate. Bad Ass of the Week.com - Great blog!

How did I learn about the Pirate Queen while in Ireland? I walked into her bedroom.

Belleek Castle in Ballina

Map of Ireland with Ballina dotted - Home to Belleek Castle and it's 1000 acres of woodlands

First, a quick game of connections:
    -We were staying with our Irish friends at their castle in County Mayo, Turin Castle 

Turin Castle

    -Turin is an old "de Burgh," aka, "de Burgo," aka "Bourke" castle. One of many that dots the western coast of Ireland. The Bourke's were a powerful merchant family.
    -Another Bourke castle is Rockfleet Castle, which was essentially stolen by the Pirate Queen.

Rockfleet Castle - Look similar?

How does a Pirate steal a castle? Pirates only steal things on the seas, right?

Here's the quick story:

By 1566 Gráinne Ní Mháille had married a second time, this time to Risdeárd an Iarainn Bourke, called "Iron Richard," an appropriate corruption of his Irish name as he is reputed to have always worn a coat of mail inherited from his Anglo-Norman ancestors. The nickname may also have come from the fact that he controlled the ironworks at Burrishoole, where his principal castle and residence were.

NOTE: The mother of my fictional Irish family is a Bourke and the family income is made by ironworks. Why bother making stuff up when the truth is far more interesting.

Back to the quick story:

Traditionally it is said that the Bourke marriage was motivated by Ní Mháille's desire to enlarge her holdings and her prestige. Bourke was owner of Rockfleet Castle, also called Carraigahowley Castle (Much cooler name!), which was strategically situated near Newport, as well as other lands like Burrishoole, with sheltered harbors in which a pirate ship could hide.

According to tradition they married under Brehon law 'for one year certain', and it is said that when the year was up Gráinne divorced Risdeárd and kept the castle. Brehon Law is another crazy Irish world, which amazingly still exists today in some really remote West Ireland towns. The Brehon Law basically lets you live together for a year as a trial marriage. (Personally, I think this is a great idea!)

Legend says that when the one year had passed, Gráinne Ní Mháille and her followers locked themselves in Rockfleet Castle and Gráinne called out a window to Bourke, "Richard Bourke, I dismiss you." Those words had the effect of ending the marriage, but since she was in possession of the castle she kept it. Rockfleet remained for centuries in the O'Mháille (O'Malley) family and is today open to the public.

Despite the divorce story, Ní Mháille and Bourke appear mentioned as husband and wife in English documents of the period, so appeared to remain married, at least allied, as far as the English were concerned. In her answers to the questions from Queen Elizabeth I (Yes, there were infamous Queen to Queen negotiations), Ní Mháille said she was Bourke's widow.

NOTE: There is now a Pirate Queen story my fictional Irish daughter (of marriageable age) tells to the family. He-he! Yes, demands for Brehon Law might be requested! She's a feisty daughter.

The Pirate Queen's Bedroom

In steps Belleek Castle and the owner, Paul Marshall Doran.

Belleek Castle - Bar - Made from real pirate ships!

We were honored to dine at Belleek Castle with the owner, his lovely wife, our friends and the castle accountant, which proved immensely educational on many fronts. (But that's a whole other post.)

FYI - Dinner at Belleek is pretty darn amazing; all around 5-star inventiveness, fresh greens from the castle gardens and gorgeous presentation.

Filet Mignon's skewered on a Spanish Sword and flambeed. Magnificient!

The dining room is a Spanish Galleon Ship (yep, a real one) which was my first introduction to Pirate architecture. 

This is the upper deck of the dining room. You can see the tables and chairs below on the lower deck of the ship.

Then the owner took us on a tour of this amazing pirate ship castle. We saw interior wooden panels with carvings of New World caricatures, like Native Americans, Merchants, Traders, etc, ancient treasure chests, canon balls, ship models, captain's quarters, and rum!

Belleek Castle - another bar - loaded with real ship pieces. 

 Then we got a private tour of the recently organized collection.

Belleek recently opened a museum inside the castle showcasing the family collection.

And there it was, Grace O'Malley's bedroom!

But it gets better. Not only did I get to meet Grace O'Malley (figuratively), feel the walls and smell the stories of 500 year old pirate ships, but then we got to play, yes PLAY, in the armory. 

Brenden (friend) and Wes (husband) handling 13th century swords.

Wes said afterward, "I knew I shouldn't be touching something so historical and precious, but I really wanted to touch it."

Then the owner gave them proper head gear and the battle began!

We decided that Wes chopped off Brendan's leg (see previous picture) and declared him the winner.

The owner demonstrated how to properly attack with two swords. 

Not only did we get to play with swords, but we learned how to properly handle them like a proper pirate. Not your standard night out, huh? (Yes, I'm gloating a bit here.)

So, in one night, I learned enough history and experienced a tantalizing dance of the senses that now allows me to spin fun (& fact) filled pirate tales by a fictional Irish fireside.

If you're on the west coast of Ireland, get thee to Belleek Castle!

Back at Turin Castle, our friends honored us with the Lord and Lady suite for the weekend, which is the entire top floor of the CASTLE, so yes, it's amazing. And surprise, surprise - on the bookshelf sat Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility by my favorite gal, Jane Austen.

Turin Castle - Lord and Lady Suite bookshelf of classics, including Austen.

But, surprise, surprise, the books weren't real. Instead the bookcase swung open, gothic style and revealed a secret passage!

Secret passage behind the bookcase!

Is the secret passage featured in my fictional book? Of course it is! Where does the passage lead? You'll have to stay at Turin Castle (You can rent it) to find out for yourself. Or read my book when it's done.

Bottom line - Get out into the world! As a writer, your imagination is a great place to create the world of your novel. But your novel will be so much better if it's inspired by the real world and the real history you are attempting to portray. 

High Tea at Highclere Castle (aka: Downton Abbey)

Miss Katie Neipris at Highclere Castel in England

Novel Travelist has been exploring the idea of a location, a house, a city, as an integral character in a story. What better lead character to examine than Downton Abbey herself, Highclere Castle.

We have a wonderful post today from Miss Katie Neipris, an American student who earned the rare opportunity to study at Oxford. During one of her weekend adventures, she enjoyed a stately high tea at Highclere Castle. I'll let her tell you all about it:

Last Summer I traveled out of the country for the first time to study at my dream school. Oxford and England were more magical than even my wildest expectations, and I spent a very happy five weeks traveling around the midlands. Every British book and movie that my Anglophilic mind consumed created high expectations and reality surpassed them. The first week at Oxford, I befriended a girl in my class who possessed a similar affinity (obsession) for and we bought our tickets to tour Highclere Castle. The volume of visitors is quite high so we had to buy them three weeks in advance, which seemed a terribly long wait (but was assuaged by three weeks' worth of delightful travels elsewhere). Finally, the magical day arrived, and we chattered happily on the train to Newbury. After a not-too-expensive taxi ride into the countryside (around £15, split in half) we reached a patch of green that appeared untouched by the twenty-first century, until we reached the rows of cars lined neatly on the grass. We continued down the path (the path that Branson drives on!) and there it was, Highclere Castle, looking exactly the same as it did in the show. No, better, if that's possible.

Photo by Katie

I think I stood there, open-mouthed, for about ten minutes before I realized that we could actually go in. Rachel and I half-ran up the gravel path (that crunched just like in the show) and hesitated before we crossed yet another portal to fantasy. Like Alice’s door in Christ Church or the doors of the Great Hall in the Harry Potter studio tour, the heavy Highclere doors welcomed us into another world entirely. The kindly ticket lady smiled at our dumbfounded expressions, which I’m sure she’s used to seeing, before directing us into the library.

This was the room I was most excited to see, and I remember the floaty feeling of walking into a truly magnificent library, draped in dark red and manly brown. Family photos of the Carnarvon family adorned the piano and the shelves, and a few more modern pieces of furniture replaced those on the show, but other than that the room was identical to its televised counterpart, and I kept expecting Hugh Bonneville to pop out.

We followed the downstairs circle of rooms, each one offering more excitement and surprises than the last. The music room contained a desk that was owned by Napoleon, and similarly unexpected treasures cropped up in every room: tokens of overseas travel, vases that adventurous ancestors carried back to England, and heirlooms that could easily deserve a place in the British Museum. Each room held more history than can be explained on the show, and I loved learning about how the mint-green walls were incorporated into the drawing room and how the men and women had their own sitting rooms. The smoking room is the sheer epitome of masculinity, and it’s basically the gradually-modernized equivalent of a man cave: dark wood, richly paneled walls, ornate billiards tables and games, furniture that makes you want to pull out a pipe and a brandy snifter. The adjacent pink room is just the opposite: delicate and feminine, though no less impressive. Each room bears a fascinating history, and some of these have been incorporated into plotlines. The dining room served as a makeshift hospital, and much of Season Two is based on the real World War I experiences of the castle’s inhabitants. If you want to learn more about this, I highly recommend Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey, which describes the history of the house and is written by the current Countess of Carnarvon.

Book written about the WWI days at Highclere Castle

I loved hearing the exclamations of surprise from our fellow visitors as we enjoyed this communal experience of learning about the secrets behind a story and a house that we’d all fallen in love with. The docents were incredibly knowledgeable and happily answered all questions, and their excitement mirrored our own. I asked one of them how much it costs to get married there and she told me that it’s around £15,000 “before champagne.” Then she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “but the heir is nineteen!” and winked. I really love British people. (And yes, there really is a handsome 19 year old heir to Highclere.)

We continued around the house, excitedly pointing out sites where our favorite scenes had taken place: the dining hall where Mary and Matthew danced, the hallway where so many whispered conversations transpired, and, most importantly, the staircase. We walked upstairs and entered a narrow hallway (you could definitely tell which tourists were American by their clear unfamiliarity with tiny corridors) that took us around to the bedrooms that are used in the show, and I loved seeing how unchanged the house was from its filmed version. We walked down the hallway where they carried Mr. Pamuk before returning downstairs.

Lovely Cream Tea

We crossed the salon once more and entered the side "garden" (which is more like a park) where we enjoyed a lovely cream tea. Rachel and I were easily the youngest people there, but all of our fellow travelers were extremely kind and just as Downton-obsessed.

It sprinkled lightly as we wandered through the many gardens, follies, and sheep-dotted hills that surround the castle, and each path uncovered some new, beautiful facet of the Highclere estate.

There is nothing in the surrounding meadows to indicate that you are in the twenty-first century; it's so timeless and pastoral that it almost seems like it can't be real, as if it's a Keats creation rather than a real place. 

Sheep-dotted hillside

There really is a Secret Garden, and a Monk's Garden, and every shade of flower you can imagine. Highclere rests on over 1,000 acres of land, and we happily explored as much as was open to the public. 

We met people from all over the world bound by love of the same show, and chatted happily with Germans and Australians and Canadians as we all helped each other out taking pictures. 

One of the many follies

Eventually, we had to leave, but I know that it was not the last time I'll see Highclere. I can't recommend visiting here highly enough, and I can't wait to go back.

If you'd like to visit Highclere Castle and enjoy a tour and tea, here's the link for reservations.

Travel Quest - Museum Short Story

Wes McBride sketching at the Getty Villa in Malibu, CA

Every Saturday morning, Wes and I pick a location and go out to sketch and write. Last Saturday we went to the Getty Villa and while Wes sketched, I created the coolest museum game for writers!

I ran around the museum gardens and took random pictures of whatever caught my eye and a few other indoor pictures. I didn't photograph any paintings as that's typically a No-No at museums. Here's a collage of my pictures.

Random photos from the Getty Villa used to inspire a story

As Wes sketched, I sat next to him and toggled through the photos on my camera. As each photo popped up, I incorporated it into the story. 

This can be done at any museum around the world!

So here's the story, with a play-by-play of which picture inspired which section:

THE MERCHANT AND THE MUSE 

By Sara McBride

In the days of splendor, in a place long remembered, where day turned to night and endless ash fell, there once lived a man whose trade was to sell. A merchant of fine wools, he stood draped in his wares. His strong face and sharp eyes sat framed by graying curls, a reminder of his struggled youth, long passed. Now wealthy, a man of habitual income, but lost in search of new purpose. When his hair was dark in color and his skin smooth with bloom, he struggled from day to day, simply to eat, to live. Now life existed as a blur of days, a smear across the heavens, all needs being met and no needs being satisfied. He asked the gods, “What is my purpose?” The gods did not answer, or so he thought.

Everyday he passed the Stream of Muses on his way to market. A long set of colonnaded corridors leading out to the sea, the Bay of Naples, contained crowds of buyers and sellers, hawkers and shoppers. Until one day, as he walked along the shady Stream of Muses, a muse stepped into his path. Her hair was braided and set high, in a royal fashion.

Her scent danced with flowers and mint. She was all summer freshness, but for her eyes. Her eyes, the window to her heart, her desire, her source of inspiration to others, her eyes held sadness.  The wool merchant knew she had lost the most precious holding of a muse, her gift to inspire. Unsure how to help such a pitiful creature he dressed her in his draperies and took her toward the market.

   They came across a young boy bartering wine for other useful objects. The muse smelled the wine, observed its silky texture and gained a smile to her face. The merchant, upon seeing the muse so altered, offered the boy a cloak of moderate wool for a jug of his grape elixir. The deal was done. The merchant drank from the jug and patted his belly with pleasure as a demonstration

to the muse. She hesitantly took the jug and drank the smallest of sips. The merchant encouraged her to drink more, certain it would make her happy. In her effort to appease, she did drink more, but her face filled with a tortured gaze increased by each swallow. The merchant, seeing her displeasure, halted her and begged her to drink no more.

Farther down the road, they came upon a group of actors rehearsing a play. The merchant and the muse stopped to watch. The play developed up to the Deus Ex Machina, but the cloth used to conceal the machine of the Gods was threadbare and torn. The actors bemoaned their sad fate. At that moment, the muse stood and began to detach her body’s drapings, the drapings that the merchant had dressed her in. The merchant caught her before such unseemly revealings could occur, his eyes crinkling with laughter at her innocence. He pulled from his wares an enormous bolt of solid cloth and draped it around the God’s machinery. The actors cheered. A masked man revealed his whiskered face, ink long dried in his beard, and thanked the merchant with a gift of blank scrolls to be writ upon. They continued the play to the end, and the muse smiled joyfully at the hero triumphant. But when the play ended, sadness once again consumed her.

   The merchant sighed, but pushed on toward the market. They found themselves admiring the stroll of a peacock, whose neck was fastened round with a gold chain held by a portly young man. The peacock and the portly youth followed a mature, lean man of the military, holding a helmet under one arm. The helmet was ingeniously carved with wings that mechanically flapped with a strong wind and an eagle’s head perched above the brow. This identified the military man as a watcher from the mountain rims of Vesuvius.

Before the merchant could make an introduction, the muse approached the portly youth and pointed at his elegantly feathered bird. The youth being kind, and enjoying her attentions, bent down and plucked a long tail feather from his pet. The squawk surprised all. The military man turned to behold the scene. He struck his chest with his hand. He gasped. He declared the muse to be an angel and that she embodied the good omen he sought. He now knew that he must return to his family and no longer patrol the mountain rims. He handed his helmet to the merchant who inquired how long a journey he must partake? Upon hearing the great distance, the merchant gave the man a thick cloak to assist him on his travels. The muse smiled at the merchant’s unsolicited generosity.

   The merchant and the muse entered the market, but the muse would not let him stop. She continued to the waters edge and further down the road. She walked and walked, leading the merchant, their roles now reversed. Finally, after the wind had rubbed his face raw and his cart of wares felt numb in his hands, she stopped at the cross roads of Vesuvius and Naples. Then, unexpectedly, she reached into the cart, pulled out the helmet and placed it on the merchant’s head. She touched all the objects in the cart: the jug of wine, the blank scrolls, the peacock feather with a fine point for a quill, his last four cloaks, and the helmet upon his head. She smiled. She smiled so brightly her eyes filled with stars and night fell instantly. She vanished. The last remnants of daylight returned, Apollo ending his ride across the sky. But she was gone. The merchant looked in all directions, but she was not to be found.

The Iris made me think of Ink.

The sun glinted on something in the cart. The merchant reached for the object and discovered it to be a small glass bottle of solid black ink. It was the ink of a moonless night. He opened the bottle and out danced the scents of summer freshness, of flowers and mint. He corked the bottle and kissed it.

     
Wearing his eagle’s helmet, he turned away from the road home and journeyed forth onto new soil, up the path to the rim of Vesuvius. There he found a small encampment of Roman Eagle soldiers, four men. He offered them wine. He gave them each a new, much welcomed cloak of fine wool, and they embraced him into their simple ways. The merchant soon forgot he was ever a merchant. His new purpose consumed him.

The Stream of Muses continued to babble on. But one muse, the Muse of History, is not always there. Often she is visiting her old merchant friend atop Vesuvius as he records the histories told to him by the many soldiers who pass their military time at the rim. Now she is never without a smile, as the merchant has discovered perspective in his own life and by helping others do the same, he finds purpose.

THE END

So now I've written this fun little story. What do I do with it? I'm going to put it in my Jane Austen - Ireland book. The book stars two sisters who are competitive with each other. One evening, they are both trying to impress the same gentleman by telling stories, a fabulous Irish fireside tradition. The serious sister who loves history will tell this tale. On our next museum trip, I'll figure out the story told by the whimsical sister. 

Get thee to a museum - Inspiration awaits!

The Buried Books of Herculaneum: Part 7

Vittorio Emanuele

King Big-Nose was placed back on the throne for a third time, at which time he traded some of the scrolls to Britain’s King George IV in exchange for a giraffe. The English again tried a chemical softening process to unwind them. Again, the scrolls were ruined. No more had been unearthed...


Part 6 of this series continues the story of the excavations of Herculaneum, as we seek to unravel the answer to the Novel Travelist mystery: Why was the Villa dei Papyri never fully excavated?

Here we continue this story. To read the story from the beginning, click "Novel Travelist Mystery: Buried Books" on the right hand side of this page. Then scroll down to the bottom and start with Part 1.

*****

By 1870, Naples was in shambles following a long succession of Ferdinand’s offspring, all of whom were as incompetent as he. The king that finally ended this legacy was Vittorio Emanuele, who brought about the Unification of Italy that has remained to this day. Emanuele was the first king of a united Italy in over a thousand years.

Under Emanuele, the technique of plaster casting of human bodies was developed, along with the plaster casting of root systems that permitted a complete reconstruction of Pompeii's agriculture-based economy.

Plaster cast of human body from Pompeii

Also under Emanuele, the church and state divided. The fledgling unified Italian state used every weapon imaginable to defeat the Catholic Church. The secularism of ancient Rome proved to be an invaluable one and sparked a new interest in the ruins of Pompeii. Emanuele and the architects running renewed excavations posed—literally with shovels in hand—for the recently developed medium of film. The perfectly preserved slice of ancient Rome that was Pompeii inspired an Italian nationalism never seen before.

This set the stage perfectly for a young journalist coming to power as Italian premier in 1927. Benito Mussolini exploited the nationalist fervor that was sweeping the nation and developed a cult that tightly associated Roman antiquity with Italian racial superiority. And according to Il Duce, the ruins of Pompeii held the archaeology to prove it.

Mussolini and Hitler

The ancient Eastern good luck symbol that was found repeatedly in the ruins was picked up by Mussolini’s German counterpart. Hitler’s hijacking of it as the symbol for his political party tarnished the swastika globally and forever.

By the end of World War II, Pompeii and Herculaneum had been excavated, bombed, and excavated some more. But the Villa dei Papiri remained mostly submerged. By that time, approximately 400 scrolls had been opened and read, with approximately one in ten of those written in Latin as opposed to Greek.  This fact, in agreement with popular ancient Roman culture, suggested that a still-buried Latin library probably existed within the house.

If so, it is still there.

To be continued in part 8, August 29...

Author's Note: Part 8 will conclude the Buried Books of Herculaneum Novel Travelist Mystery, a non-fictional theme explored in my new novel, The Vesuvius Isotope. WARNING! PART 8 WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS for the novel. Readers of this blog series who are interested in the novel are encouraged to pick up a copy and read it before August 1.

This blog post explores a non-fictional theme or locale that is incorporated in The Vesuvius Isotope, a new novel by Kristen Elise. Buy The Vesuvius Isotope on Amazon.

When her Nobel laureate husband is murdered, biologist Katrina Stone can no longer ignore the secrecy that increasingly pervaded his behavior in recent weeks. Her search for answers leads to a two-thousand-year-old medical mystery and the esoteric life of one of history’s most enigmatic women. Following the trail forged by her late husband, Katrina must separate truth from legend as she chases medicine from ancient Italy and Egypt to a clandestine modern-day war. Her quest will reveal a legacy of greed and murder and resurrect an ancient plague, introducing it into the twenty-first century.

Kristen Elise, Ph.D. is a drug discovery biologist and the author of The Vesuvius Isotope. She lives in San Diego, California, with her husband, stepson, and three canine children. 

Old Travel - New Story

GUEST POST by Susan Nystoriak - Her blog, S. M. NYSTORIAK'S WRITER'S BLOCK is excellent!

I would like to introduce you to a new Novel Travelist I've recently had the pleasure to meet. Susan Nystoriak is working on her second book, but was recently inspired by old travel. Take it away Susan!

How my 20th Century Trip inspired a

21st Century Novel, about a

19th Century Secret...

My name is Susan Nystoriak, and I am a Novel Travelist, in retrograde.

Allow me to explain. This fantastic website is all about connecting travel and locations to novels. Most times, an idea for a novel comes, and the author completes the research to give the book authenticity. An author may have to travel to different locations during the research phase. In my case, however, the travel came first. My latest novel, WORDS IN THE WINDOWSILL got its start way back in 1994, but I didn’t realize it at the time.

In the summer of ‘94, I was a recent college graduate, and was frantically looking for a job in my career field, Music Education. I had taken a few interviews, and was anxiously awaiting the outcomes. Months prior, a friend and I had planned a trip to Europe for that summer, and I was glad, because waiting patiently for a job offer was a real challenge! The trip was a much needed escape.

Two of the many places we visited were Bonn, Germany, and Vienna, Austria. The entire trip was glorious, but it was these two destinations that became the seeds for my latest novel.   Here are a couple highlights from the trip: 

Beethoven Haus in Bonn, Germany

In Bonn, Germany, a visit to Beethoven Haus was a major thrill for me. I saw the pink façade of that building and fantasized about what it must have been like in the time of Beethoven. As a musician, I knew a lot about Beethoven’s contribution to history, so it was very exciting to see one of his homes.  Also, the overall feel of the place made an impression on me. The twentieth century Germany that I was visiting seemed like a throwback to an earlier, simpler time. The cobblestone streets, the gingerbread style buildings, and the general old world charm created a feeling of being swept back in time (See below, Rothensburg. This is a borrowed picture-Bing images. Mine came out a bit too grainy).

Rothensburg, Germany - Old World Charm

Vienna was equally delightful, as we visited Schoenbrunn Palace, and stayed at the former Schoenbrunn guest house. (Below, more borrowed pictures: Britannica. I am not a great photographer, it seems!) 

Schoenbrunn Palace in Vienna, Austria

Again, if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought I was back in the 1800’s. The stylized buildings and streets were the same as they had been all those years ago, and I felt a deep connection to it. I speak about inspiration and my connection to old Europe in another blog post, here: Inspiration - It's a Magical Thing

In both of these two places, I experienced people steeped in tradition. From the buildings and streets, to the recipes they cooked, I felt I was a part of a centuries-old culture that was still holding strong. And that was nice, in stark contrast to the ways of home.

I kept a journal of my month long trip and filed everything away for safe keeping. Pictures, newspapers, recipes, coins, transportation passes…I wanted to be able to revisit the experience later on in my life.  

Returning from that trip, I had a new outlook on things. For one thing, the world seemed much smaller than it did before. For another, I had been offered a job while in Germany, which was a relief to me!  But twenty years later, I remained moved by what I experienced on that trip, and I just had to write about it.

My old maps and notes - Now two decades old, but just as inspirational

Flash Forward:  Twenty Years Later:  I dug out all of my treasures that were tucked away for safe keeping (Picture above - my actual stuff!), and remembered. I remembered the feeling of being fresh out of college, traveling abroad. I recalled the busy airports and bus terminals, cab drivers that had to be spoken to, learning how to pack for such a trip, everything came back to me. And when I revisited the old journal, I smiled. I had made notes, drawn sketches, talked about foods we tried for the first time, and recipes. I had written about others who I had met on that trip from all over this small world.

As a result, this past October, I began plotting and planning out a novel. 

Those seeds that were planted during my time in Europe had lay relatively dormant until recently, but were beginning to germinate. And a few months later, WORDS IN THE WINDOWSILL became the product. Here is a little blurb about it: 

Grad student and self-proclaimed “Ladies Man” Hans Meyer has the world at his piano-playing fingertips. All he has left to do is write his thesis. But when his research takes him two centuries back in time, Hans stumbles upon a secret that will change history, and turn this 21st century cad into a gentleman.

During the story, 25 year old Hans discovers an unknown symphony, and goes back in time to Vienna, where he takes part in living history. In some ways, when I spent my time in Bonn and Vienna, I felt the same way. I know that is why I was driven to base my character's travels as I did. For those memories to have stayed with me all this time really speaks volumes to me; I couldn't have predicted the impact that trip had on me back then, but here we are.

So, you see, I am a Novel Travelist, but in retrograde. My travel came first, long before I ever realized I would write about it. And I am so glad I found this website. It is a wealth of information for any novelist needing to find information or contacts to help them along the way. Thank you, Sara, for allowing me to do this guest post.

What past trips still speak to you? Is there a novel in that old trip?

Guest Blogger:

Susan Nystoriak was born and raised in the Adirondack's of Northern New York State.  A classically trained musician, she has been fortunate to always have the arts as a prominent part of her life.  She has been a music educator for the past twenty years, and has begun to fortify her other creative outlet; writing.  Still a country girl, Susan still resides in the Adirondack's with her husband, two children and a dog.  Whenever possible, she enjoys planning trips for her family. You can read more from Susan at her WRITER'S BLOCK blog: http://smnystoriak.wordpress.com/