“How about an update?” a friend asked, “nothing about the book lately.” Yes, thank you Arthur for pointing this out and for reading my blog. Ah, the book Pardon My Camino– not neglected but just not uppermost in my mind what with fretting about Ukraine and my Camino trip preparations.
After the satisfactory outcome of getting the book formatted, a process that involved my accepting my limitations and asking for help (those great life lessons) and receiving the help and the shiny orderly version of Pardon my Camino. I was then able to send it off to a publishing house here in Alberta, along with the requested cover letter (read snappy pitch) and a synopsis (straight up and no rhetorical questions followed by…, please) and a CV. This all electronically, of course, and thank goodness. That was early February and by the end of the month, I heard that my text had been loaded into their text bank for their editorial staff to read and also not to expect any further news for at least a year or more.
I am an optimist, so in that frame of mind, I took this as good news. This means I have passed a first hurdle – yes… or are all submitted texts uploaded? No, surely they read my scintillating cover letter and engaging synopsis and gave it the green light for at least a read. Oh, dear publishing house of edits and hope, may you fall in love with my heroes and their adventures, may they seduce and entertain you. Here they are, Bob and Brigit, on the Camino in the province of Galacia, taking a break and finally getting around to turning on their cell phone again:
At the next village, Mato-Casanova—“well how about that for a name!” exclaimed Brigit—they stopped and sat at a stone table in the churchyard. All of a sudden, from nowhere, a flock of sheep rushed around them; checking out the grass along the wall, seizing mouthfuls as they went, and then they were off. They didn’t even notice Bob and Brigit, far too busy with the grass, and no one was with them.
“Well, that was an extraordinary moment. We might as well have been church-yard statues!” marvelled Brigit.
“It’s just more dumb pilgrims for them. There must be generations of their ancestors putting up with us crowding their space,” said Bob. “I guess I had better turn on the cell phone. I forgot about it yesterday evening.” And he dug around in his pack. “Hope we still have battery.” The phone pinged and burped its way through start-up.
“There are some lovely wildflowers here. I’m amazed they have survived the sheep. Violets and this is some kind of lily.” Brigit was checking out the churchyard.
“Heavens, we have a whole slew of text messages. How come we are so popular all of a sudden? Mostly Charles-Michel, English and French. Must be important.”
“What’s it all about?”
“Doesn’t say, just been trying to reach us. It’s important, please call, text, but get in contact.”
“Wow, that’s a bit alarming. I hope there’s no problem.”
“Let’s see if we have phone service here. “Allô, bonjour Charles-Michel, qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
“My God, where are you guys?”