Three weeks ago Ian and I took our summer holiday. We joined dear friends for a week sailing in Croatia.  It was our second time there, only a year earlier, just as we’d landed at Dubrovnik airport my phone rang. It was Joshua telling me the terrible news that my father had passed away in his sleep. Of course I would fly straight back to England to be with my mother but, as it took a while to get a flight, I spent two nights on board first. 
   
My memory is sketchy of that time. All I can remember is the pervasive scent of rosemary and collapsing in floods of tears several times a day. According to Ophelia in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, “rosemary’s for remembrance” and the phrase ran in a loop each time I crossed its path.
     
​This year I planned to actually notice Croatia and engage with the experience and so I did. I relaxed into the gentle sway of the boat and watched the sky endlessly as it moved from a buttery sunrise to sunsets streaked with indigo and pink. I tasted every bite of the fresh local seafood and became entranced by the surface of the sea in each of the bays we chose for our berth. I like to focus on the things I hear and see and feel and smell and try to describe what they are like so someone else can imagine it too. Sometimes I use similes, sometimes I just find the right words, so maybe the sea was transparent aquamarine, rippled like fish skin or flat, shiny and thick as an oil slick. I went for a morning swim and focused hard on each of the sounds I could hear, singling them out one by one and naming them: the put put of an outboard motor, the clap of flip flops walking on tarmac, birdsong like a sticky spoke in a bicycle wheel, the squeal and splosh as a young boy leapt from the deck. I was engaged. I was mindful and my mind ran tickertape subtitles as I silently put words to it all. Oh yes, we had a marvellous time. I laughed and I sang and I did not cry. But all the time, at the back of mind, was the thought that I needed to find something inspiring to write about for you this month. And everywhere I turned was that incredible smell of rosemary and whenever it filled my nostrils I was jerked back in time to the previous summer and for a few moments inspiration fled. 
 
It was the last day and we had to be off the boat by 9 am. Bags crowded the deck as we slowly denuded the cabins of all our belongings and the last job was to take the empty bottles and rubbish out to the bins. The task fell to me and the bags bumped against my bare legs as I walked first the gangplank, then the bouncing jetty to the shore. Past the café, the showers and the shop and into the carpark I walked, eventually finding the bins buried halfway down the carpark. There was a huge half-empty silver skip and a range of coloured containers to choose from. But then I heard voices. Three pairs of hands reached through the wire mesh of the fence. I looked up and the whiskery faces of three old women with stringy grey hair called to me. “Here! Here!” they called and their fingers beckoned. They wanted my bags of rubbish. How ridiculous, I thought and moved to look at the signs telling me where to put my plastic, paper and bottles. I pulled the first plastic bottle from my bag and a shriek went up from the one of the fence ladies while the hands waved madly. They wanted my empty bottles! In the end it transpired that they wanted all my recyclable materials and so I gladly passed them through the fence for them to stuff into large sacks as they hollered for the attention of the next customers.
 
As I walked back to the jetty it came to me. In writing, very often, our stories are found not in the obvious places, not in the bright and shiny or blissful moments, but down amongst the grit and the dirt and the sorrow. 
 
I often tell my students that their best writing will be the parts of their text that other people remember the next day. I’ll wager that the parts of this story that will stay with you are not my eulogies and my glossy memories of water and sunsets but of my lingering grief and the whiskery rubbish collectors. ​

I’ve been busy since May creating and trialling a brand new 12-week programme that helps people to start creating and writing their life stories one piece at a time.  I call it the Life Story Jar programme and the first wave is now complete so I’m moving towards a launch late this year. Don’t let your stories and memories die with you. My programme, divided into modules on various themes such as childhood and friendship, teaches you how to leave an important written legacy. 
 
Want to register your interest now to be sure you don’t miss out? Just drop me an email.

WHEN: Friday 25th October, 10:00-12:30 
WHAT: Writers’ Circle
WHERE: Jo’s house, Archipel, The Hague
COST: Free
ENQUIRE: Email Jo

March in Malaysia

WHEN: 16-19 March 2020 on Penang Island and at Tiger Rock, Pangkor Island, Malaysia. 4pm 16 March, Penang – 4pm 19 March, Penang.
WHAT: Immerse yourself in the fascinating heritage of UNESCO World Heritage Site’s George Town for one night and then spend two nights in the exclusive jungle island retreat of Tiger Rock. Perfectly timed to follow the Families in Global Transition conference in Bangkok, 13-15 March.
COST: £750 includes all food, transport and accommodation. Want to go straight to the ferry to Tiger Rock on 17th? Pay £600.
ENQUIRE: Email Jo

April in Holland
​
WHEN: 17-19 April, The Hague, Netherlands. 3pm-7pm 17 April, 9.30am-7pm 18 April, 10am-7pm 19 April.
WHAT: Come be inspired by art and flowers in the delightful city, seat of the Dutch parliament. Visit the stunning Keukenhof Gardens when the bulbs are at their peak and the Mauritshuis, home of The Girl With a Pearl Earring. You will also have a few hours on Sunday 19th to explore at your own pace.
COST: £390 includes excursions, cocktails and canapés. Does not include accommodation or meals.
ENQUIRE: Email Jo

​I’ve just emerged from the cinema, my cheeks and Ian’s damp from tears. At one point most of the audience could be heard choking back sobs, squeaking gently in their attempt to stay quiet. The film was Ramen Shop. It was in Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese, English and Singlish (that’s what they call the way Singaporeans speak English – and yes, the Singaporeans call it that too) and told the story of a Japanese-Singapore Chinese Cross-Cultural young man called Masato who, at the start, was helping out in his widowed father’s ramen shop in Japan. It was not long before we understood the reason his very talented father continued to make the same broth and the same soup every day was because it was his way of keeping the memory of his wife, Mei Lan, alive. Masato travels to Singapore, where he was born and where he lived for the first ten years of his life, in search of the memory of his mother who had passed away not long after the family moved to Japan. As he moved from one unpretentious street-side family-run soup joint to another he found the tastes of his childhood wherein lay the essence of his beloved mother. Food had led him home. His uncle taught him how to make bak kut teh, the pork rib soup of his childhood, and the act of creating it was infused with intense spices and emotions. The more he learned, the more he cooked, the more his heart was infused with love and loss. There were moments in the film when no words were spoken but we could see in the way Masato held his chopsticks or gazed into his spoon that his heart was both full and breaking at the same time. As his eyes locked onto his grandmother’s and tears rolled down his face, they rolled down ours too. It was some of the most intense cinema I have ever seen.
 
I shan’t spoil the film and urge you to see it for yourself but there are two reasons why I feel so compelled to share this with you. Mei Lan had kept a journal, written to her son for the first years of his life in her native Mandarin, which was unfamiliar to her son. In it she had shared her deepest most private feelings, pressed petals from Japanese cherry blossom, sketches and, importantly, recipes. Recipes that were filled with culture, tradition, family values, heritage and nutrition. We watched enthralled as Miki, a Singapore-based Japanese food blogger who Masato had befriended online, turned the pages of the journal and translated it for him. Now Masato could connect with his mother again. Masato’s mother had preserved precious truths in those pages. She wrote about her life so that her son could find the places where she had lived, worked and had fun and could walk in her shoes. He could learn about what mattered to her, deep inside. Though his mother had passed away when he was only ten, he was at last able to keep his relationship with her alive. Mei Lan knew the value of keeping her stories and her truth, sacred not secret. This is why I created my Life Story Jar programme, so that people like Masato can get to meet beloved relatives who have passed, and through those pages, written with such love and feeling, they can stay connected.
 
Food transcends cultures and generation. At its core it is filled with nutrition and culture but, when made with love, that love is a powerful thing. I urge you to write to your own families and as you do so relive the intense emotions that were present at the time of your defining moments and be sure to include the recipes that matter.
 
Ian and I left the cinema that day and made a beeline for an Asian supermarket so we could buy soup noodles, Chinese cabbage and pork ribs. The broth bubbled on the stove for five hours just as it had for Masato and his father.
 
It was such an inspiring film. Go and see it if you can and please make sure you start writing a diary so that your family can come to know who you really are.

​Getting a book published can be an expensive process. Having helped 200 new authors to write, edit, design and publish their books over the last 17 years I know what it can cost. Many authors decide to go for crowdfunding in order to raise the cash required. So, last month I was delighted to hear about a company called Unbound. As publishers they consider a book for publication and then, if they like it, they help you to crowdfund to pay for it. As a result, they have raised over £7 million to fund 470 projects since they began. They are British and based in London. It’s a cool idea, right?

​While we’re on the subject of soup, did you know I’d written a novel called Sunshine Soup? Yeah, right, marketing isn’t my strong suit. It had been my lifelong dream to write and publish a novel and so in 2011 I did just that and it was easily the hardest thing I have ever written. It was very loosely based on some of my experiences in Dubai and tells the story of mum Maya, in her 40’s, married to Rich, a pilot and expat for the first time.  Blind-sided by a stamp in her passport that said she was not able to work Maya had to be creative to come up with something that would give her life meaning. It’s a parable of sorts and includes some of the stuff I put in my book, A Career in Your Suitcase.

I’ve been busy since May creating and trialling a brand new 12-week programme that helps people to start creating and writing their life stories one piece at a time. I call it the Life Story Jar programme and the first wave is now complete so I’m moving towards a launch later this year. Don’t let your stories and memories die with you. My programme, divided into modules on various themes such as childhood and friendship, teaches you how to leave an important written legacy. More news to follow in the next Monthly Inspirer. Want to register your interest now to be sure you don’t miss out? Just drop me an email at jo@joparfitt.com.

​September is all about Mariam Ottimofiore… She has a punishing schedule of talks taking place in The Hague from 24th – 27th September. You can see the full list here, but I am happy to host the one below.

​When: Friday 27th September, 10:00-12:30
​Where: Jo's house, Archipel, The Hague
​Cost: Free including lunch
​Book: Email at jo@joparfitt.com

​When: Friday 27th September, 12:30-14:00
Where: Jo's house, Archipel, The Hague
Cost: Free
Book: Email Jo at ​ jo@joparfitt.com

​Earlier this year, after 12 months’ mentoring from me, Jack and I  were delighted to publish This Messy Mobile Life by Mariam Ottimofiore. We are very lucky that she is visiting The Hague in late September and can come to talk to us about her move from blogger to writer to author.

When: 16th - 19th March, 2020
What: Immerse yourself in the fascinating heritage of UNESCO World Heritage Site’s George Town for one night and then spend two nights in the exclusive jungle island retreat of Tiger Rock. Perfectly timed to follow the Families in Global Transition conference in Bangkok, 13-15 March
Cost: £750 includes accommodation and all food. ​Want to go straight to Tiger Rock on 17th? Pay £600
​Enquire: ​Email at jo@joparfitt.com

When:  17th - 19th April, 2020, The Hague
What: Come be inspired by art and flowers in the delightful city, seat of the Dutch parliament. Visit the stunning Keukenhof Gardens when the bulbs are at their peak and the Mauritshuis, home of The Girl With a Pearl Earring. You will also have a few hours on Sunday 19th to explore at your own pace
Cost: £390 includes excursions, cocktails and canapés. Does not include accommodation or meals
​Enquire: Email at jo@joparfitt.com

When: 9th - 16th May, 2020 - 7 nights
What: Write Life Stories fully inclusive residential retreat hosted by Bill and Lois Breckon. This will be my fifth time at the mill. Come and learn how to write about your life in an exquisite setting. Includes 30 hours of lessons
Cost: Approx £1,800, depending on your choice of room
​Enquire: More details and how to book on watermill.net

• I wrote an inspiring column about writing, running a home-based business or living abroad. That’s The Inspiring Bit.
• I added some connections to some cool websites, authors, courses, conferences or companies I thought would be useful to you. That’s The Connecting Bit.
• I told you the dates of any upcoming speaking or teaching engagements. That’s The Parting Piece. 

​Well, I am delighted to announce that The Monthly Inspirer is BACK and this time it is all about writing.
 
That’s it. That’s all it is. Past subscribers told me they loved it and it was the one email newsletter they would save and read with a cup of coffee. They bemoaned its demise. In my infinite wisdom I decided to stop producing it and move over to blogging. It didn’t work. I went from 3,000 subscribers to an embarrassingly small number overnight.
 
If you want a taste of what was in a decade of Inspirers, then feel free to download a free PDF you can read on your iPad or Kindle Fire called The Inspirer Collection.*

We were experiencing a European heatwave when I wrote this…
 
It is currently 33 degrees inside my office and that’s with two fans on and the blinds drawn. I’m stifled – but my creative inspiration is certainly not on a slowdown. As it was only (only!) 28 degrees at 8 am I decided to head for a walk in the woods and deliberately left my phone behind.
 
A walk in the woods is what I do whenever I need to mull something over and for several months now I have had a massive project to mull over. It’s called the Life Story Jar and is the largest, most multi-faceted, scariest project I have ever created and is taking over my life. It’s a bit of a foray into a new area while putting all the things I have learned and taught over the years into a programme I consider to be my legacy. But that’s for another time. For now, suffice it to say that my head is all over the place.
 
So, I headed off in the shade of my wide-brimmed hat, up Bankastraat towards the Bosjes, which means ‘woods’. Out there in the cool of a leafy pathway it came to me. My mind was so full of ideas that it felt soupy, thick and hot. But now and again a rather good idea would emerge from the gloop and I’d take notice. I’d try my best to look at it in isolation and examine it long enough for it to not have disappeared back into the soup by the time I got home.  How I wished my mind were as transparent and uncluttered as a consommé; a rich, tasty, nutritious bone broth that, like my thinking, was crystal clear. The perfect consommé were I to ever achieve such a state of mind would have one single exquisitely formed idea floating in the centre, like a truffle raviolo or a soft quail’s egg. But no, my mind was a permanent minestrone and I realised that I had to accept and embrace it for what it was – a muddle, but a good muddle in which there really were some good ideas.
 
As I walked more ideas flew in, some stayed awhile, some disappeared but still the soup metaphor remained. Like the best minestrone soup, made with a perfectly chopped mirepoix of vegetables that swim in a delicious, see-through broth. And like a minestrone, some ideas float while others sink. All have the potential to be great someday, but I don’t know about you, the ones that float on the top get taken first. Just as this post today persisted for the length of my wander and was still floating on the surface by the time I’d switched on the fans and sat down at my desk.