How one starts
Somebody, somewhere on here asked the question about how one gets started. Well, I WAS between works and trying to figure out what my next project will be. I doodled the bit about Horned Toads (that are really lizards) which someone kindly commented on and then, did another doodle, a memory from more than 30 years ago when I was stationed at the American embassy in Vienna, Austria. Three days later it has turned into 10k words into a new novel that I don't yet know where it's going with characters I haven't fully developed yet.
Just throwing this into the pot: (It's the book's opening - partially)
The vine-covered gate opened easily, the hinges obviously well-oiled.
The pine bough overhead announced to the world that it was open.
A wondrous variety of aromas filled the air and Bill happily entered, pleased that he'd accepted Franz' invitation. His first visit to a Heuriger promised to be more than promised.
Large wooden tables filled the courtyard, each covered in white tablecloths, surrounded by heavy oaken chairs. Franz led the way to one where a party of Austrian soldiers awaited them, all in mufti, smiling and laughing as they downed glasses of wine produced on the steep slopes just behind the house.
"Willkommen, unser freund!"
Bill smiled and returned the salute in somewhat respectable German. He gladly took the seat and stared at the impressive display of wine bottles, sausage dishes, breads, and a variety of garnishes.
"Try the Zinfandel," Franz urged. "Herr Schmidt is well-known around the Weinstrasse for his Zinfandel grapes."
A band happily played on the small stage, the beat driving one's feet to keep up and the deep sound of the tuba livening the evening air. The accordion player was especially good, fingers flying over the keyboard.
The wine tingled on Bill's pallet and the bread, covered in unsalted butter and marmalade, set it off perfectly. He learned that the sausages were produced locally, making a note to get some to take back to the city with him.
The large courtyard held more than fifty happy people -- and one dour out-of-place individual at a small table by the gate. Vines covered every wall, all heavy with pinkish and dark, purple grapes.
It was Bill's fourth tour of duty in Europe and his first in Austria. That he was there was unusual as neutral Austria did not belong to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. American GIs were limited to personal visits except for the few who worked in the embassy -- and a few other secret instillations that nobody talked about. Bill received his orders to work in the embassy due to his fluency in German.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“This is great! I never found anyplace like this in Germany.”
“And,” he added, “the German people were never as friendly as all of you. I feel right at home here.”
Franz beamed. As the senior Austrian noncom assigned to deal with the Americans, he wanted his new counterpart to feel welcome. Austrians always looked kindly upon Americans, especially as they had been heavily involved with driving the occupying Russian animals out of their country at the end of World War Two.
(i)I better watch myself. These Austrians are weaned on wine and beer and there’s no way in Hell I’m gonna keep up with them. I sure don’t want them to see me falling-down drunk.”
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