One day Jim, my husband, said to me that we should go and live in another country.  To learn another language, he explained in answer to the surprised and puzzled look I gave him.  So we set ourselves the task of picking a country in which to settle for a while.

Italy was where we landed, specifically in Naples. We explored ruins and dabbled in history so that we could understand what we were seeing.  We wanted to know what had happened here, what peoples had been here before.  We dabbled in language.  We studied Italian and I began to read a literature previously unavailable.  

Italy was where I began to write.   At first I wrote “newsletters” to friends, attempting to describe what it was like living in a different place.  Then I began to write short fiction in a New York Writers Coalition workshop I attended after our return.  I often found myself writing about Italy, particularly Naples.  I continued to study Italian.  So, to me, writing and Italy are intertwined.

Love and loss, these two oppositions encompass the meaning of being alive, especially in Naples.  Joy and Sorrow abound, while underlying the contrasts evident in this city is a passion for life.  Naples has been beset by contradictions – deep caring and profound loss.  Life here is ruled by circumstance and fate.  But one always meets sympathetic souls who will do what they can to help you along the way.  Naples is a special place for those who take the time to explore and to attempt to learn this mysterious city.  My husband Jim and I have spent much time in Naples, and still, we do not know everything there is to know.  Each time we visit we discover something new.  

“The Guardian Demon” itself was inspired by a prompt in the writing workshop.  I forget the specific wording, but it about watching over someone.  I set it in Naples because the street life is so vivid.  Statues abound.  Italians seem to love lions and gargoyles.  Then too, there is the nicchia, or niche.  Neapolitans honor their family who have passed on by placing candles, flowers, or other mementos in recesses in building walls.  The streets of the Centro Storico or Historic Center seem to hold secrets and harbor all sorts of life.  I imagined a demon falling in love with a mortal woman.