Musings on my story

They say “Write what you know”. I guess that was my first mistake.

I received a call from Petros last night. A friend of over 30 years. He lives in the States. Has done all his life. You can probably tell from his name that his ancestry is from the land of myth and raki.

I had sent him a copy of the dramatically titled “The Weight of Shadows”. Thankfully he had enjoyed it but, in his generous way, he said it was filled with missed opportunities. 

We talked it over for a couple of hours and there was no denying that he was right. He, the true Cretan and I, the cretin. 

One of the most painfully obvious ways the story was wrong was that if this man Niko were a conductor for operatic productions in London of any worth, he would have a backbone if nothing else. I had painted him as a whimsical Hamlet, and things happened to him. He had no agency. No wild extravagance, no passion, no drive. By all accounts a bit of a wimp. On top of that, he took the idea of skipping away from the production as if he were working as some pencil pusher in a big firm. Impossible.

Then, there’s the fact that even though the ownership of firearms is under strict regulation, it would be highly unusual for there not to be villagers shooting into the sky during a festival, or any other time given what Petros said. All the road signs are shot to pieces by drunken drivers taking potshots as they fly past. 

What most upset him was that every time food was present, our hero would comment that it was simply “delicious”. My goodness, what world am I living in? Food is a direct conduit to the visceral soul of a story, a spoon-fed flavoursome explosion into the mouth and mind of the reader. And someone with the character of a conductor would sink into the divine revelry of the wafts of grilled garlic broken over spit-roasted meats, crispy fresh grilled fish, and the briny soft chalk of feta cheese without leaving out of course those juicy black olives which the whole village have been farming for centuries.

He spoke of many other nuances which I have noted down carefully and I hope that I will find the time to revisit my little story and wrench it sideways with passion, pistols and Kalashnikovs, feasts and gusto.

By the end of my conversation with him, I was very envious of all the opportunities that lie in waiting for the revamped Niko. I would like a bit of this new Niko in my own life.