Progress! My First Published Article

I have had an article published on FrenchEntré and I am still pinching myself. A very little article, of 800 words. Now here’s the thing – the piece was written and targeted for this particular online publication as part of my creative writing course. I have yet to receive the feedback from my tutor. I still need to let him know that it has been published…

Isn’t that hilarious? Here it is:

Learn French in style on the Côte d’Azur
By Sheree Rose de Witte Community Contributor

Villefranche sur Mer
Villefranche sur Mer

Immersion in la langue française began from birth. Mother intended to name me Chérie, spelt the French way, but instead went with Sheree penned the Irish way. It means darling, in both. Couple that with Charles Trenet singing ‘La Mer’, Edith Piaf ‘La Vie en Rose’ – et voila! And so the sounds and intonations of the most beautiful of languages permeated my soul.

I discovered French boys on a day trip to Calais, managing to miss the hovercraft home on account of having photographs taken with said boys in a little photo booth. Oh la la!

I dabbled with the language in my working life, and spoke my limited schoolgirl French on numerous holidays to France. I acquired some specialised vocabulary during the building of our chalet in the French Alps, and on account of a two-week stay in hospital, but that is another story…

I was not totally submerged. I longed to go deeper to reach the next level. After some research I found the perfect programme to study; a four-week full immersion course at L’Institut de Français in the south of France.

Landing at Nice airport nestled along the Baie des Anges, a line of small private jets lay casually abandoned; I smelt the lingering parfum of their former occupants. The sky was clear and blue, despite this being November, the arrivals terminal echoing, virtually empty.

Sunday late morning and La Promenade des Anglais is teeming with people on foot or on wheels; casual walkers, serious joggers, young adults on rollerblades, children on scooters all navigating the wide pavements. The journey continued past Hotel Le Negresco, the old marina, skirting around Mont Boron, along the lower road down to Villefranche-sur-Mer, my home for the next month.

L’Institut de Français has an impeccable list of former students, including royalty, lords and ladies, diplomats, doctors, lawyers, teachers and writers. And me.

The school is housed in an imposing Provençal villa perched on the side of a steep hill. The day begins with le petit déjeuner, with baguettes fresh from la boulangerie, croissants, jam, yoghurt, cheese, flasks of coffee and tea. All you hear is the incessant chatter and tinkling of china as new friendships are forged, all in the French language.

Villefranche sur Mer
Villefranche sur Mer

The views through the huge windows are of the bay; sailboats bob gently in the marina below the hillside scattered with red-roofed villas and pastel painted walls typical of Provence. The peninsular of Cap Ferret is visible protruding out in the azure sea.

Day one is spent mainly with domestics, sorting out which class you are best suited to, from debutante to avancé. Names of ‘who’s where’ are announced the following day and off you go with your prof.

Finally the immersion begins. Rules of engagement are made perfectly clear. Everything is spoken in French and if you are caught speaking any other language there is a €2 fine, the money contributing towards the cost of champagne at the final graduation ceremony. The classes are small, on average containing ten people or less.

Our Intermediate IV class started each day with a French song. After studying the lyrics and listening together, we each were invited to contribute our thoughts on said song. Next we would study a particular tense or use of prepositions, with the conversation swinging rhythmically from one side of the room to the other, with the occasional pause, as Stéphane, our prof, went into detail about a particular point of grammar. Over the course of a few days my ear really tuned in, despite having the occasional brain freeze.

Déjeuner is not to be missed, because it is a three-course culinary delight. Nathalie the chef and her team tempt the taste buds with locally sourced produce presented with precision and care. A prof joins each table and expertly engages all of the students in conversation, while serving each in turn.

After lunch it was our turn in the language laboratory – le labo. It began as a love-hate type relationship, which I grew to look forward to. You quickly absorb the melody of the language, the nuances through listening and repeating the answers to questions that you have already been prepped with in class.

The variety of activities and teaching aids is diverse enough to ensure you do not get bored. These include séance-pratique where two classes join up in a role-play session or quiz; a cheese and wine dégustation and cultural excursions. There are short breaks morning and afternoon, with tea and cakes served before everyone sets off home, to attempt their devoirs (homework).

After four weeks total immersion in all manner of things French, I was drenched and sad to leave. My senses were intoxicated with the sound, sights, aromas, tastes and textures of the Côte d’Azur. Parfait!

So please be encouraged by my tiny success. I wrote from the heart about a subject that I am passionate about. I was brave enough to submit the article. Maybe I just got lucky. The thing is the editor has said he would welcome more. Now I am having doubts as to what he wants. Do I ask him, or just submit something else and wait and see? Decisions, decisions…

On reflection I researched the market and compared two similar publications, in terms of readership, style and content. It was a struggle and during the process I wriggled, procrastinated and almost gave up. Once I had written and edited the article there was such a sense of satisfaction, especially after staying up all hours of the night (as seems to be the norm, of late when writing). I sent it off to my tutor. In the ensuing euphoria I visited the website and stumbled upon the community contributions page, had a chat with a sub-editor and had a moment of madness. It paid off. I’m uncertain if I’ll ever have enough imagination to write a fictional novel, but I am stimulated by real people, their lives and my own. I can, and do write about those things that matter to me, especially Human Rights. My last three blog post testify to that.

I have also been participating in a free online course run by the Open University, ‘Start Writing Fiction’. I recommend it highly, if like yours truly, you are just starting your writing journey. The course runs for eight weeks and is varied in how the content is delivered. I find the immediacy of interaction with your fellow peers and tutors stimulating and really encouraging. I share that sense of collaboration with fellow writers at ‘’ and ‘The Writer’s Bureau’. Thanks to each of you who reads, critiques and encourages me every step of the way.

Oh – and if you are a complete Francophile and really want to reach the next level in speaking French, then enrol at L’Institut de Français. For me it was a once in a lifetime experience…


Separating my posts on Human Rights

I am trying to set up a separate menu or category for my posts relating to Human Rights, from those relating to my writing journey, which was the original intention of this blog.

This may turn out to be an epic fail, as I seem to have lost the ‘About Me’ heading and cannot seem to reinstate it. So I am not holding my breath in anticipation of a ‘Human Rights’ one appearing.

If I make an absolute hash of it, I shall delete it fairly pronto. Bear with me…

Who cares what I write? Who dictates what I read?

Is there anyone out there reading this? My last two posts have been about issues that I sincerely believe matter. Rape. Murder. Yet both posts were read by fewer people than previous posts about my writing journey. I don’t understand why and have given it some thought. I am left feeling uncomfortable, because the conclusion that I have reached is that the media is to blame. Blame may offend you, especially if you are a reporter, a journalist or work in the media in whatever form. How about the media being culpable, in that they have such tremendous power about what we read, or maybe more importantly what we don’t get to read, or to watch, or to listen to. Who dictates what you (or I) read in the media? Pause for thought…

I continue to be shocked by news reports from a variety of sources in relation to human rights. A ten year old rape victim refused an abortion in Paraguay. Migrants are drowning daily in the Mediterranean. Nepalese earthquake survivors are targeted by human traffickers. Burundi in a state of unrest, with protesters killed on the streets, and thousands fleeing the country.

In the midst of this suffering there is too much coverage, in my opinion of the General Election in the UK. It is a sorry state of affairs when only 34% of the population vote for the future Prime Minister. Time for change in terms of electoral reform, maybe. Dare I say that the other item covered in the UK, in terms of overkill, was the birth of HRH Princess Charlotte Elizabeth Diana. Don’t get me wrong, I am passionate about our British culture, including our Parliamentary System and the Monarchy. I question the balance in terms of what is being reported and how.

I digress. A big forward step in this my writing journey has been the belief that I can make a difference by writing about those important issues. Sadly I had a reality check knowing that very few people have read those posts. It almost halted my journey, but not quite. I would welcome advice as to how to make this blog more visible and attract more readers. I too, am culpable in not having the expertise in raising my blog’s profile.

I imagine you can sense my frustration. I hope so. That was the intention…
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