I'm on the banks of the River Itchen in Winchester, England and have immersed myself in the setting of my work-in-progress. The story takes place mostly in present day with some dips back into 1881. So I'm torn between worlds right now.

 

It's been an extraordinary trip so far. Upon landing, I dropped my bags in a room above a pub and rushed to the cathedral, where Jane Austen is buried. With movies so much on my mind lately, it was a delight to stumble upon them filming The Crown on the cathedral grounds. After a fine tour, I found the home where Jane spent her last years, then the bookstore that she frequented a few doors down.

 

Popping over to see a replica of King Arthur's Round Table rounded out the day before I sought refuge in a pub that served its first drinks in 1002. Yeah, you read that right. And I drank a pint of cask ale (or two) from a brewery called Greene King, which served it's first batch in 1799. 

 

Hoping that my wife no longer reads my newsletters, I have to recount my experience at the Chesil Rectory. On Sundays, like many places in the UK, they do a roast dinner. I had a fantastic nut roast with Yorkshire pudding, sourdough bread so good it drew tears, cauliflower cooked with Pitchfork cheddar, and some lovely braised vegetables. Paired with a fine Burgundy, of course, and then an even finer nap. Needless to say, I've been there twice and headed back for one more meal on Wednesday night before my departure. The real reason I bring it up is that the building was once owned by Queen Mary, aka Mary Tudor. Her lavish wedding to King Philip of Spain in 1554 nearly bankrupted Winchester, so she gave the building to the city, where it eventually became what it is today, one of the best restaurants in Wessex.

 

It's been that kind of trip, simply mesmerizing as I imagine my ancestors breathing this air. I come from the same family as R.D. Blackmore, who wrote Lorna Doone, and to whom I attribute any talent that I might have. My mother gave me a very old copy that's been in our family for generations, and it was in holding the book that my new story took seed. I first thought I'd rewrite Lorna Doone in modern day times, but it's become something far different. 

 

I can assure you that I've never quite felt so in touch with a story, and as I meander the streets, I become the protagonist who is leading the 1881 narrative. Last night, I thought I'd take a break from the glorious pub food and have Thai. After enjoying my first Thai wine (a colombard grown on a farm near the ocean where they used to tame wild elephants--let's pause here for a series of these:!!!!!!!), I strolled by Gallows Hill, where they hung criminals for centuries. Considering my character's predicament, I felt the shivers.

 

My guy is seventeen and attending Winchester College (a school for 13-18 year olds), where I've spent hours in the last few days. In fact, I have a meeting with their archivist today. They've been so gracious with their time and efforts since I introduced myself. And this is no average school, Winchester College. It opened its doors in 1394. A long list of impressive alumni includes Prime Minister Sunak. I felt like I was walking through Hogwarts yesterday during my tour of the grounds.

 

Before I rattle on too long, I must tell you of yesterday morning's experience. I took the same river trail that John Keats walked often in 1819, when he composed one of his most famous poems: To Autumn (Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness…). Words bubbled up inside of me. Along the way, I stopped at St. John's Almshouse, built in the 12th century. They still offer a glass of beer and a piece of bread to anyone asking for a “wayfarer's dole." 

 

I best carry one, as I have a murder to figure out. I'll leave you with some photos to give you a better idea of Winchester. No doubt, you should put it high on your list.

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