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...

Friday, 1 January 2010


It's a summer weekend somehwere in the North-East of England, near Norwich. It's sunny and the end of a hectic week during which new acquaintances were made amidst an appreciated full schedule of lessons. Some of us even tried out new food, with different outcomes -one of those (the dreadful French toast H. didn't see coming as sweet) will become a landmark and will add a new loyal and assiduous customer to one of the big supermarkets in the area. A safe lunch is a must.

Today the weather's perfect as it can get, not the slightest hint of rain in the air. We get off the coach at the pier and there's your hustle and bustle of people waiting for the next boat tour, gladly killing time with snapshots and introductions and tales of the previous day and our new and fleeting everyday lives.

We get a sign to get on the boat, which will not really take us anywhere but around this man-made piece of water -is it a lake? a river? I don't remember, but nice houses have been built on the shores and people wave and smile at us and I'm eager to see the black swan I was promised -that, well, now English but originally foreign swan with a romantic story behind (was Churchill involved? Wasn't it about a bet? Vague recollections only). We take a turn and I see it, and it's even more exciting than I'd expected: it looks daring, bold, with an orange tip just on top of its bill. And of course it's Odile, and I can hear the music inside my head -see those defying arabesques and the moment when you feel the torment, the futile banging on the Palace windows while Siegfried is enthralled, entranced, with eyes only for that beautiful captivating black figure. Despairingly, we all know this will only lead to that fatal, inevitable breaking of the oath. And the music
grows louder and fills my head and we're now seeing trees and ducks (some really strange -Chinese originally?) but I can only pay so much attention because mi mind is still with Odette. She's alone now, apparently there is a companion but he must be hiding somewhere...And Odile may be pure and loving and the right one with that beautiful ground-breaking adagio but my heart is secretly and inexplicably with Odette.

And when we're back on the coach chatting and snacking we look at our photos and I see the beginning, when the true oath was made, in a picture gracefully captured by Pearl:


Jime said...

Very nice story !!!!!!!!!! and the photo is real! as it did to remove it ?????? is perfect! at the right time...



Beatriz Lupiano said...

Thank you!! Yes, there's no photoshop or any other trick. The photo is real. Pearl's a good photographer..