Monumental Olive Tree Of Palea Rumata
I've had a wonderful break in Crete, having spent time exploring the island, enjoying the beach, meeting new people and in between all of that, lots of lovely reading and lots of lovely writing.
Midnight At The Alhambra is well underway and I'm writing around 3000 words a chapter. I needed the holiday to kick-start the novel. My plan is in place and I am motoring along quite nicely, now that I am back home.
Crete has motivated me, there is no doubt about that. Visiting towns and villages that were occupied during WW2 and suffered atrocities affected me deeply. Also the olive tree (pictured above) which is 3000 years old and still producing olives.
I wanted to spend some time alone with this tree, I mean a lot of time. Time enough to get to know one another. I wanted the tree to whisper it's secrets, all what it has seen over the centuries from Minoan times. I felt something with this tree, I felt that wherever I am, whatever I see, there is always a story to be told. Am I being odd, or is this normal behaviour for a writer?
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