But maybe there was some subliminal education going on
there, because when I went to my first Flamenco Festival at London’s Sadler’s
Wells I was so inspired that I decided to use flamenco as a resonant element in
my new novel. Research was needed, so I started flamenco dance classes (read the
August 2011 post!) and had to take a course in Granada – where I… well, started
to turn into a flamenca.
The music took over my iPod and car, the classes intensified; I became entranced by the complex rhythms, the excruciating beauty of those exotic chords, the discordance, the sensuality of it all. Nowadays, even the florid cante (singing) – that used to have me giggling and fast-forwarding – hits me in the gut with its raw emotion.
It isn’t just the music. I also seem to have been
taken over by flamenco’s live-in-the-moment ways, where the only things to
worry about are being fuera de compás
(out of time) or being told ‘no me dice
nada’ (you’re not saying anything). I write
flamenco: I have ideas as to where the story will go, but let the characters
come in and do what they will with it – as long as they keep to pace.
Strangely, this creates more truthful and intricate plots than I could devise
with my brain. I’ve even started to think
flamenco, with less fretting over the future…
Is all this a good thing? Well, there are drawbacks. Such as an increase in dust, clutter and unopened letters round the house. And I’m more easily distracted than ever; there are powerful tracks in my car – like ‘Dos Punales’ (Two Daggers) on Josemi Carmona’s ‘Las Pequenas Cosas’ CD – that often have me ending up in the wrong town.
But there’s no turning back now. On February 15th
2013 my flamenco seduction will have the happy outcome of the birth of my new
novel, FLAMENCO BABY. Olé!