Check out this mini-story I made as a slideshow

View slideshow I hope you enjoy it!

Inanimatealice project from iStories

This blog is, as from today (12 Dec. 2009), a tribute to James Hadley Chase, who wrote with great precision zillions of novels set in the USA , without (hardly)ever having set foot in it. I hope I can measure up to him -even if only just a bit.


After some painstaking and futile attempts I've realised that Chase must have been a much more conscientious man when it came to geographical accuracy (or just plainly much more into maps than I am). So, while still dedicated to him, I hope readers will forgive -and perhaps enjoy- some creative licence on my part...

Wednesday, 23 December 2009


I've been on the island for a couple of days now. Life is simple. I get up in the morning to have breakfast, then go down to the beach and sunbathe until I feel warm enough to dip into the ocean.

The sand is white and powdery like thick flour. The water's green and then blue. There are ripples, but no waves. It's very different from the beach back home, back in my childhood: then the sand was yellow like corn and the sea, always frothy and brownish because of the waves. It was fun to dive into the waves before they broke; you could always play to perfect your timing, wait for that perfect moment when the wave is as big as it will ever get...and then dive in. Mothers and younger children would play the other way round: catch the wave when it's getting smaller and let it bring you back to the shore. It's different here. There's no flag to warn you about the sea each day -I can still remember longing for that light-blue triangle which hardly ever rose. But there's no need here. You can walk around in the sea confident that there'll be no sudden currents and without worrying that you'll miss a step because there's a pothole in the sand below. I loved all that as a child. This predictability and tranquility suits me now -for now.

As I lie in the sun I think of nothing and just let my ears be filled with the various sounds. A gym class takes place in the swimming pool at noon.

After that I read in a nice spot in the shade -Strangers on a Train- until it's time for lunch.
No-one asks too many questions, and they're friendly. Some people seem to find it a bit odd for a young woman to be on her own here and at the same time opt for a quiet life. But it's alright; there's just one waiter that keeps asking, and so I try to avoid him as much as I can.

Then I just go to my room and take a shower and a nap. I wake up just in time for salsa by the pool. It's fun and lively and the music begins to change into -I wonder what you call that kind of music. All I know is that it's the only time you'll here people say the roof is on fire with such glee.

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