London Edition
In search of setting, characters, and bits of myself
Welcome, new readers!
Dream Big is about my writing journey. Approximately every two weeks, I post about: finding writing in my 40s, embracing a creative life, writing my first novel, and the everyday moments that inspire me as I juggle family life and my dreams of becoming a published author.
I’m so glad you’re here.
Just over a month ago, I rode the Piccadilly Line from South Kensington to Heathrow Airport. I was on my way home to California where, just a week prior, I boarded my flight at LAX in a stressed and anxious state (which had nothing to do with flying). Now calm and content, I noted how much can change in a week.
But first, let me tell you why I was there at all.
A good chunk of my novel takes place in London. Before my trip, I sensed that I was grasping for the setting and, in turn, the characters. Yes, I scrolled every Pretty City London-esque profile I could find on Instagram. While the internet is a good starting point, I knew before I said it out loud that I could write this story better if I could get to London. Although I have visited several times, first in early childhood and then as a student at a girls’ boarding school south of the city, about two years had passed since my last visit. A trip to London would grant fresh perspective. Mostly, I wanted to feel the city.
To be honest, this trip was mostly a gut call, much like my decision to write my novel. Two dear and generous friends who welcomed me into their own busy households made it that much easier, providing comfy beds and perfectly brewed cups of tea (after five school years in the UK, I know it when I taste it). So, on the first day of September, once my boys were settled into the new school year, I boarded an evening flight from Los Angeles bound for London.
Here are the highlights:
Tour of Notting Hill
The day I arrived, my friend was still at work and her lovely husband greeted me at their home. Once I’d freshened up after the long journey, he brewed a delightfully strong cup of coffee, passed it to me and said, “So, tell me about this book. How can I help?”
I have only met this gentleman once, at their wedding two years ago, but for all I could tell, he was genuinely interested in the project that lured me from halfway around the world. I peppered him with questions only a local could answer and then—the best part—he grabbed his car keys and offered to show me around Notting Hill; it was, in his opinion, a suitable neighborhood for one of my characters to live. Off we went! I took a lot of pictures, and am fairly certain I have found where my antagonist lives because of that outing. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to the week and if my book ever makes it into the world, look for Roger in the acknowledgements.
Substack Meetup
Once I knew I’d be in London, I reached out to
one of my favorite Substackers. I have followed her publication, Chez Hanny, from the start, and felt I knew her enough through our Substack interactions to see if she’d like to meet up. Although this was the first time I’d ever arranged an IRL meeting with an online friend, we agreed that it really didn’t seem at all odd! We enjoyed a lovely dinner at the Garden Cafe (at the Garden Museum), chatting easily, and I genuinely hope it’s not the last time we cross paths in person.
Exploration
One of my primary goals was to explore. I walked and wandered, hopping on the Tube here, catching a bus there. Mostly, I wanted to get a feel for different areas and a clearer picture of my characters in their environment. What kinds of shops line the roads and what do they sell? What kinds of houses do people live in? Who lives there and what do their lives look like ?
More Alike Than Different
One unexpected gem of realization: A London life is worlds away from my own, yet small details reminded me that, often, we humans are more alike than different. The surge of school children sometime between 3 and 4 pm, teenagers walking in packs and flooding public transport, reminded me of the outpouring of students from my boys’ high school at dismissal and the liberated gait of a teenager, backpack slung over his shoulder, exiting his last class of the day. I saw my son when a boy in soccer (sorry,“football”) kit scurried across the road and jogged toward the bus, seemingly late for practice. The mother with an infant and two young children, prim in school uniforms, who boarded a bus and signed school forms on the stroller canopy reminded me of the days when my boys were much younger.
Playing the Tourist
While I didn’t go to see the sights, I squeezed in a few treats. High tea and a stroll in front of Buckingham Palace with a stateside friend visiting the same week were delightful. I also decided, spur of the moment, to see the Crown Jewels (no photos permitted).
Solitude
Solitude is all about context. It can serve as punishment or the greatest gift. For various reasons, this solo trip came when I think I needed it most. As my mind relaxed, I absorbed more and delighted in simple experiences that would have felt different with company, such as walking across Westminster Bridge at dusk and finding a seat at the top and front of the bus (thank you,
). I will add that riding at night is especially cool.
Surprise
On the day before I flew home, I’d arranged to have lunch with another school friend. Walking into the restaurant, a group of women I’d gone to school with greeted me, some of whom I hadn’t seen in nearly thirty years. Surprise! Truth be told, I needed a moment to process the flood of emotion I felt when they turned and smiled at me, the same smiles I have held in my heart alongside memories that bubbled to the surface all at once. What followed was an afternoon of catching up, reminiscing, reconnecting, and so much laughter. As I looked around the table, I was struck with immense gratitude. How lucky was I to be there, surrounded by these amazing women with whom I have a shared history? There we were, (slightly) grown-up versions of our teenage selves, all of us now mothers and a bit wiser, gathered together at this special moment in time. It was one of many occasions during my trip that I didn’t realize I came for.
The morning I left, my friend brewed me a perfect cup of tea, served alongside sourdough toast. As she urged me to butter my toast before it grew cold, I smiled to myself. There was something about the way she said it that struck a tender chord. In that moment, she reminded me of her lovely mother, to whom I owe immense gratitude for showing me a home away from home, who probably would not let me leave for the airport without tea and toast either.
My connection to this place and all of these special people revealed itself in full in that tea-and-toast moment. The years I have spent here are not just something that happened to me; they are part of me. I think I will be forever tethered to England in some way, to the people and experiences of such formative years. This is how it is, I think, with the places that shape us, and there is something to be said for friends who have known you a very long time. Each time I visit, I update the version of myself that is rooted there. And by the way, one can have tea and toast anywhere, but both taste different in the UK, I’m certain.
As I rode the Tube to Heathrow, watching the neighborhoods change as they streamed by, it occurred to me that this trip wasn’t about simply about being in London. Yes, I had seen and felt plenty, had gathered fresh material and context for my novel. But there was something else I was in search of, and I didn’t recognize it until I had it in hand.
My story pulled me here because I needed to remind myself what it felt like to return.
After a week away and nearly 24 hours of travel, I emerged into a muggy Sunday afternoon in Los Angeles on the tail end of a heat wave. I should have been exhausted, but all I could do was marvel at what I’d just experienced and at the feeling of arriving home, traffic and all. I was jetlagged, for sure, but I haven’t felt as restored, grateful, and inspired in a long time.
Since I’ve been home, writing feels easier and my story has taken shape in a way that I couldn’t seem to figure out before I left. Also, I have broken 80,000 words! It’s exciting, even if I’m not quite finished. As I’ve said before, it’s a good thing I like to edit.
Thank you, as always, for reading and being here. I’m grateful to each and every one of you supporting me on this journey.
Thank you for reading! One of the best ways to support writing you enjoy is to share it. Please consider sharing Dream Big with a friend who may like it, either by forwarding this post via email or using the “share” button in the app. I’m so grateful for your support of my work.
It was such a joy to meet you in person and I’m also very happy you were able to ride the front seat on the top deck of a London bus! 🧡
Taking yourself on that trip was a gift that you will never regret and an inspiration to us all that it’s important to care for ourselves like this from time to time ✨
Maria, this sounds like a fantastic trip and just what you needed at this point in time. So glad it worked out for you and best of luck as you continue writing. I am putting in my request for a pre-order now when the book releases!