While the results come in from last week’s survey, I am pleased to host a guest post by Maeva Cifuentes, a freelancer from California, Barcelona, and places in between. Maeva contributed this post to the Freelancer Union blog, and graciously consented to my linking it here.
I hope you have enjoyed Days of Lead, at least as much as I enjoyed writing it.
In addition to the usual reminders that all the characters are fictional and any resemblance to real persons is coincidental, I must point out that Days of Lead is not an historical novel. It is the fruit of my own imagination and my experiences growing up as a young translator in Rome.
About that time, Italy was rocked by extremist violence from both the right and the left, not to mention anarchists who hated both sides. By the 1970’s, these bloody years had acquired the moniker anni di piombo, Years of Lead, which inspired the title of this book. I have deliberately set the time of the story at a different point.
After I wrote the first draft, the Piano Solo papers were declassified. I was shocked to discover that my inspiration based only on rumors in the press and recollections of my teenage years had caused me to mirror many aspects of the real coup attempt in my story. I went back and changed characters and times drastically, lest you be misled into thinking that I was reporting on actual events.
Unlike Nancy, my mother was far from being a well-off executive in a multinational company, but she did make it possible for me to attend Notre Dame International School during the time in the book.
And, yes, I did buy myself a Vespa 50, after riding my bicycle in all kinds of weather for seven years.
=========== So what’s next?
I am already working on the second book of the series, as well as the sequel to Emily & Hilda, which ran in this blog during 2018.
I write this blog for your enjoyment more than anything. The two serial novels seem to have been a hit, but I need your input about where to take this blog.
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Tuesday, 17 October, I woke up in a pleasant, modern room in the Wyndham TRYP Hotel in midtown Manhattan. With plenty of time to catch a 1415 train, I did my stretches, showered, shaved, and packed my panniers for the last time. Catching breakfast at the Starbucks on the corner of 9th Avenue and 34th Street, I witnessed the Modern American Ballet in full form. Six baristas crammed behind a tiny counter took care of a line out the door with incredible efficiency, never once running into one another. Continue reading →