Parlez-vous français? Or Pittsburghese?
What do Sting and the Police have in common with me? Everything now.
The Fall & the Frenzy
The fall is my favorite time of year—and also when the worst memories live.
October 30th was my wedding anniversary. November 3rd, my husband’s birthday. November 21st, his death day. The best and worst days of my life, packed into three short weeks. And for some reason, in 2023, I thought this was the perfect time to sit down and write my memoir.
I had stumbled across NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), a challenge where you write 50,000 words in 30 days. Most people use it to crank out a novel. Me? I decided to take on my entire life story.
I wrote and wrote—pouring everything onto the page. No filters. No glossing over. Just the raw, messy, chaotic truth. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I realized: this isn’t just a memoir, this is also a screenplay.
So yes, November became the month I wrote both: a 98,456-word memoir ✨and a 109-page screenplay. And no, it was not a dry December either.
I’ve heard people say everyone should write a memoir at least once, even if no one ever reads it. I get that now. There’s something almost shocking about seeing your whole life laid out on paper, like evidence. My story was messy, magical and chaotic, but it was also alive.
That script—the one that grew out of my memoir writing frenzy—is the same script I later submitted to a contest. A contest I entered at the last minute, because someone tagged me on Instagram. I thought, why not? I didn’t expect anything. But that’s the script that eventually landed me in a castle in France in 2024.
And in some strange, poetic way, the navigational paintings I started after my husband’s death—the ones that got me into Skopelos—and the script I hammered out during NaNoWriMo were ✨two sides of the same compass. Both pointing me back toward myself.
A Trip & A Script
That script was raw, messy, alive. On a whim, I entered it into a contest. The prize? A scholarship to workshop your script in a castle owned by Miles Copeland (yes, the manager of The Police).
Somehow, I won.
So in August 2024, I boarded a last-minute (to me), one-way flight to France.
I would spend a few days in Paris, then hop on a train heading toward southwestern France’s Dordogne region. My destination: a medieval fortress tucked into 270 acres of forest and fields, with roots stretching back to Roman times—possibly once a guard post on an ancient road.
The castle, Château de Marouatte, built between the 11th and 16th centuries with its outer bailey added in 1579, rises with battlements, a moat, and guard towers that whisper centuries of stories. Once home to feudal families like the Montagriers and the Chabot de Jarnacs—whose cruelty inspired dark local legends—Marouatte was battered during the French Revolution and even used as a stone quarry before being painstakingly restored by architect Maxime Dannery.
In the 1990s, music executive Miles Copeland III breathed new life into its walls, turning it into a songwriting retreat where artists penned chart-topping hits and even the band Marillion recorded their album Brave. Today, its towers and stones carry echoes of the past, while still drawing modern creatives to add their own voices to its centuries-old chorus.
I was there with other writers, workshopping scripts, drinking too much wine, and wandering the halls at midnight wondering how the hell my life had landed me there.
The castle was as wild as you imagine: stone towers, sprawling lawns, and the ghosts of legends echoing in the walls. And I wanted every part of it. During the nights I would sneak quietly out of my bedroom, roaming the halls and the grounds. Scaring myself with my own wild imagination and sometimes, from the eery things that happened around me.
Hint: You can read and watch all the posts from the castle by going here and typing “castle” in the search bar.
I spent my days waking up as early as possible to walk the castle grounds. Admittedly I like sleeping in, so I never got very far. But I did find a labyrinth. And a few ghosts. I also became bestest friends with an Irish woman who was just as creative as I was.
On the last night of the castle, we were asked to participate in a cabaret. My new best friend from Belfast and I did not want to participate, but over a game of late-night pool and some red wine, we came up with an idea.
Since the retreat was about how to go from script to screen, we decided to do just that. We would write a script, act it out, and produce a final film. We decided to choose four well-known movies and do 10-15-second shorts as a silent film.
On the night of the cabaret, we got up in front of everyone and performed the script, which was about two women who went to a writer’s retreat and were expected to perform in a cabaret.
We reenacted the moment we were playing pool and came up with the idea live, and then we presented this video.
Of course, I learned alot that week about screen writing that week. Since I already work in film, it was really helpful to learn this end of it. And as afar as writing scripts, I had never written one before. Also have I ever told you that I never went to film school and as a painter I am self taught? Talk about learning on the fly.
Anyways the week was magic. Surreal. A fever dream of creativity.
But when it ended, I had no plan. No return ticket. Just a drop-off at the train station and a wide-open map. ✨So I picked Bordeaux as my first stop, figuring two nights with proper internet and no distractions might help me figure out my next move.
Let’s Try This & See What Happens
Bordeaux quickly became Bordon’t. Not because the city wasn’t lovely, but because I was coming down from the high of being surrounded by 20+ writers buzzing with creativity—and also because I had no clue what I was doing.
I had options. I had a house sitter for at least six weeks and I had credit cards. There was no way anything was going to stop me.
Maybe I’d hike the Camino, something I’d dreamed of since 2016 right after my husband died. Maybe I’d just wander a bit in France. Maybe I’d just fall off the face of the earth for a hot second. So I tapped in and trusted my default navigation system: inspiration.
I did what made sense: I bought a month long Eurail pass. Train travel in Europe is easy, and even though I’d been there dozens of times, there were still so many places I hadn’t seen. ✨A pass meant freedom—no fixed plan, just being in the moment.
So why not?
Even though I had showed up in France with only a small carry on, I emptied it in the Bordeaux hotel room to pair down. I wound up paying close to hundred dollars just to send some bras, pants and sunscreen home. Whatever, my load was lighter.
The following day I got on the train and well, that’s the next post. But here’s a screen shot or two from the route I took.
And then I…
And now I leave you here until next week! Unless you are paid subscriber. I have a ton of photos for you coming up! Check in on The Compass for subscriber exclusives and The Atlas for a podcast series.
Not a paid subscriber? You can be.