“Ripped from the headlines” was never my original intent for this novel. As a former medical and health reporter for a number of years for the American Broadcasting System in Los Angeles, I was one of the first in the media to begin doing stories on the men and women returning from Viet Nam with what previously was referred to (usually in whispers) as “shellshock.” I chronicled the years of struggle it took for service men and women to have the condition formally recognized by America’s medical and military communities. And then, after nearly two decades of America’s involvement in foreign wars in the Middle East and the horrifying statistics of returning veterans committing suicide, a story began to form in the far reaches of this writer’s brain where these things can percolate virtually for years.
Another impetus for this novel is my love of France, and the fact that my husband of forty years and I have reason to travel there nearly every June, and have encountered many ex-pat Americans who have found life there to have that Je ne sais pas quoi element that they can’t find anywhere else. Paris, despite the tumult of recent years, is—like my own San Francisco—one of those cities where the beauty and culture of the place can soothe the soul.
Central to the setting of That Spring in Paris was the sheer luck of finding the Orion on an AirBnB listing for stationary barges to rent on the Seine. Of course, the fact that we came aboard on the very week when a “Fifty Years; Flood” occurred, with the river’s waters rising some twenty-three feet above flood stage, merely added to the drama. In the novel, recounting that experience in fiction provided an exciting sequence for the main characters to learn what good partners they made under extreme duress, and despite the hero’s battles with PTSD. My deepest thanks go Brigitte and Eric Sautot for their incredible hospitality—and for finding us a swell hotel—Hôtel Eiffel Trocadero on Rue Benjamin Franklin—when it was finally decided it was no longer safe for even former boat owners like my husband and me to remain on board!
Other Parisians that provided guidance include Philippe Pellerin, owner of La Caléche, the restaurant across the street from #7 Rue de Lille, where Juliet and Finn enjoy several lovely meals and find themselves under an outdoor table when a car backfires soon after the terrorist attacks of November 13th. As for the other restaurants and bistros mentioned in the novel, I can highly recommend them all and thank their proprietors for their culinary skills and warm welcome.
And speaking of delicious meals, we had occasion to meet up with another barge owner, American Charlie Downer at a wonderful restaurant in the Passy, along with my high school pal, Lacy Williams Buck. When we couldn’t board the Orion due to the extreme flooding that week in Paris, Charlie later sent me gorgeous pictures of her interior that are lovingly described in the last chapter. Leslie de Galbert, an American originally from New Orleans, and now long-time resident of France, treated us to superb dinner in their apartment with a head-on view of the Eiffel Tower and was a great source of help along the way.
And if you love feasting your eyes on images of delicious food, Paris Breakfast blogger, Carol Gillott, who takes incredible pictures of Paris and environs and offers her delightful watercolors for sale online, was the inspiration for the way in which the heroine initially could support her “artist habit” when she first moved to Paris. The minute I spied Carol’s photo of the wisteria-draped café, I knew I had to have it for the book’s cover. (Just Google “Paris Breakfast,” sign up for free, and enjoy weekly doses of the City of Light—and color!).
Huge thanks are also due Rich and Caroline Nuckolls who operate the wonderful Art Colony Giverny where both experienced and fledgling artists can live near and paint in Monet’s Gardens each summer. What an experience it was to be admitted with Caroline’s gaggle of painters “after hours” into the Impressionist’s magnificent garden and trod across the green bridge spanning the lily pads beside weeping willows in the soft, golden light of oncoming dusk. Anyone interested in her classes can contact her at info@artcolony-giverny.com.
With regard to the military aspects of the story, I am great indebted to a number of U.S. Air Force members—some retired and others still on active duty—who set me straight on everything from the age at which a pilot who attended the U.S. Air Force Academy and had served in Iraq and Afghanistan would reach the rank of Major, to the responses that drone pilots experienced in those unmarked white trailers in the desert of Nevada. Gentlemen, you know who you are, and you have my undying gratitude. Any mistakes or misstatements, however, are my own.
And then there are the “Ciji’s Betas.” These are friends and colleagues willing (and brave enough) to read my early drafts of some 400 pages of manuscript that often reach eight or nine versions before I’m through. Liz Trupin-Pulli—pal, editor, and an ace of an agent—helped me immeasurably on this one, as did the critique of bookstore partner, dog-walking pal, and writer herself, Cheryl Popp. Additional writer-betas include Kim Cates, Janet Chapman, Diana Dempsey, Kate Moore and Cynthia Wright. The other sets of sharp eyes belonged to Diane Barr, Linda Hammond, Dean Stolber.
Like most writers who have once been working reporters, I often seek out “sources” to interview in the course of writing fiction that can show me the intricacies of their unique worlds. I am grateful to my childhood friend and distinguished graphics designer and artist, Marcia McGinnis Shortt, who helped me to sketch in the background for the heroine, Juliet Thayer—a woman that transitions from a designer of video war games packaging to a fully-fledged landscape painter.
As usual, my thanks to formatter Pam Headrick of A Thirsty Mind Book Design for the mechanics of getting the book ready for publication.
In the dedication, I mentioned the members of my own family that have served in the nation’s military during times of war—and peace. I could not have written this novel without the encouragement and support of former naval Lt. Anthony Cook, who floated around Viet Nam as “officer of the deck” in his youth, and has been a steady hand on my shoulder during the wild ride that became the publishing business. After four decades of marriage, we’ve figured out a way to have fun researching my projects and bringing them to the page with an “out-fox-‘em” attitude that has served us well. Thank you, darling, for everything you are—and do.
I hope my beloved son, Jamie Ware Billett, his amazing, lovely, and talented brain scientist wife, Dr. Teal Eich, and their precious boys will inherit a world far more peaceful than the one described in this novel. Our family association with beautiful Talloires in the Alps all these years has been one of life’s great blessings. Vive La France!
Meanwhile, may we all hold on to each other tightly—with abiding love.
Ciji Ware
San Francisco, California