At the Table in Paris: What Lucy's Writing

 

LUCY BURDETTE: I haven’t been in Key West over the past couple of months—at least not in my mind. Instead, I’ve been determined to write a real draft of my Paris novel before I need to get started on Key West #17. Writing this book has been on my wish list for several years, and I’ve had to make multiple trips to Paris (for research, of course.) You might remember that this is women’s fiction, about the journey of a young woman finding herself while looking for her biological father, a famous French chef. I’m closing in on 30,000 words and it’s been quite an adventure! The main character has changed, the point of view has changed, the opening scene has changed. I’m sure other things will change too, but I’m enjoying the journey, even though it’s hard. With a mystery, another murder always sparks up a sagging middle. With women’s fiction, it has to be all about the character’s odyssey. Here I give you the opening paragraphs, while warning you not to get too attached to these exact words…

Chapter One: The Paris Recipe

Natalie

Outside the arrivals hall at Charles de Gaulle airport, Natalie showed the Café de Floré’s address to the taxi driver who took her duffle. He grunted as swung the bag into his trunk, and they careened away from the curb, speeding along the superhighways that led to the city. Natalie gasped when she spotted the outline of the lacey wrought iron Eiffel Tower in the distance. The distinctive metal structure towered over the city, much taller than the other buildings that surrounded it like a sea of hungry chicks around a mother hen.

“C’est belle, oui?” the driver asked, smiling in the rearview mirror for the first time.

“Mais oui,” she whispered. “She’s gorgeous.” 

The taxi drove from the ring road that encircled the city—the périphérique exterieur, as her iphone told her—and dove through a series of narrow streets, into the harsh cacophony of the city. As they drew closer, she scraped her dark hair into a messy bun and patted a bit of glossy color on her cheeks and her lips. Even after staggering off a red eye, this city made her want to try a little harder.

The cabbie lurched to a stop in front of a large café across the street from a church. “Voilà,” he said, after dragging her duffle bag from the trunk and accepting the five euro tip she offered. “Bonne chance,” he called as he drove away.

During their one very short conversation, Aurelie, the kitchen-manager-plus-who-knows-what-else, had instructed Natalie to take a cab to Chez Cassan at noon. There she’d give her a quick tour of the restaurant along with the key for the place where she’d be staying. At least that’s what Natalie thought she’d said, as it had transpired in rapid French which was totally different than repeating words and phrases into her phone in the Duolingo app.

“C’est tout provisoire,” Aurelie had added, meaning it’s all temporary. Underneath that, probably meaning: We’ll see. I have my doubts. Maybe even, I did not want to hire you.

Natalie had shaken that off. No stiff, unfriendly French woman was going to ruin her dream before it even got started. The Real Natalie in Paris. Ha! Working in what was surely one of the top twenty restaurants in the city. Ha! Or had been anyway, until Chef Cassan’s ship had lost its rudder. Oof!

What’s the best non-mystery novel you’ve read lately, and what did you like most about the story?

Meanwhile, the final edits have been finished on A DELICIOUS DECEPTION (coming July 14,) as well as the paperback version of THE MANGO MURDERS (July 7.) Pre-orders are always appreciated!