French Resistance

At last, Bronte has arrived in La Rochelle, France after an uneventful journey on board her Ukrainian merchant ship. You will be happy to know that she was able to relax and enjoy a full menu of cabbage rolls, perogies, and borscht, of course. And she also used the uneventful time to learn a smattering of French. "Je nes comprends pas," that sort of thing. So, unlike Dan Brown, who sends his poor hero off to save the world on an empty stomach and without the benefit of a decent night's sleep, I have taken care to see that my heroine is well-fed and rested before another onslaught of adventure. I can be a benevolent creator when I'm in the mood. I am a little behind, at 28,218 words, but I'm not stressed, which is a new and quite pleasant feeling. I'm going to work more tonight, if I can. I have spent some of my free time today reading about the region of France that she must pass through with Jean-Pierre, her courier, so that I can have a little description. I won't focus too much on that, though, as I can research and add more atmosphere during revisions. I also took a few moments to flip through my Paris guidebook, which I adore. I turned right to a page about the catacombs of France, specifically the ones that were the sites of French Resistance hideouts during WWII. Imagine my delight! I'll have to work those into the story. The only thing better than a crash and burn car chase is a mad dash through eerie tunnels with mysterious evil-doers close on your heels. I spoke with my friend Shelly about the story last night, and she and another old friend Laura wanted to be written into the plot. So if either of you happen to read this, you are now officially part of the Resistance. I hope that you don't mind being French (and now sporting the Frenchified names Michele and Laure). I can't imagine that you would. Off to write! Au revoir!