Francesca Bossert's Blog

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Hello friends,

Some scenes in my novels come from my imagination. Some come from stories other people have told me. And then there are those that are lifted, more or less completely, from things I’ve lived through, and then embroidered to make a little more fou-fou. Such as this one, from a Saturday night party in Geneva, where I spent the evening wishing I could take off my hot-pink, high-heel mules, because my feet were getting more and more angry with me.

Here is the moment in Just Like A Movie, where Gemma, my heroine, remembers the last party she went to:

I want to go to the party. I really do. The last time I went to a party was last year. It was a stiff, stuck-up affair in a beige marbled penthouse where the funkiest level anyone attained was snapping their fingers to an a-cappella version of The Lion Sleeps Tonight. I stood, watching, my legs in a knot, flossing my teeth with my tongue, admiring my hot-pink shoes, overdoing the coughing as I tried to fight off an assault of rapidly rising giggles. Richard gave me a black look and promptly joined in with the snapping, his happy-among-the-snooties expression plastered firmly in place.

This party happened. To me.

It wasn’t in a beige marbled penthouse, but in a beautiful country house outside Geneva, gorgeously decorated by the English lady who lived there, whose husband worked with mine. We really liked these people, who were warm, and fun company. But the party, more of a social gathering for the upper levels of the corporate circles in which they moved, was really boring. And I felt so self-conscious and out of place.

Small talk circled the perfectly spaced canapés, bouncing off champagne flutes, tinkling with polite hahas. And then, just when I thought the evening had reached a polite, polished plateau, a small group of professional singers gathered by the French windows and began to sing The Lion Sleeps Tonight. A cappella. With finger-snapping.

A Wimoweh, in Geneva, with shrimp canapés. In a room where everyone’s face-cheeks and bum-cheeks were squeezed tightly to avoid anything inappropriate escaping into the elegant surroundings.

I locked my knees, memorised every suede feathering of my pink shoes, took several mindful breaths to stem my giggles, and joined in, keeping my eyes on a chosen spot to avoid being the lady who laughed at the lion.

I survived. I didn’t get the giggles. We went home, and I filed the experience in the corner of my brain filled with bits and pieces marked “To be used later”.

Nothing is ever wasted on a writer. Especially not an A Wimoweh experience with clenched buttocks.

Fast forward a few years. The book was out in the world, and I was thrilled every time someone I knew bought a copy. Then I heard who had bought one. The wife. The hostess. Of that party.

I felt a hot flash of mortification so intense I felt certain I’d – once again – ruined my husband’s career. She was going to read it. She was going to reach that page, with the singing and the snapping and know I’d lifted it straight from her impeccable party.

She never said a word. Hopefully she didn’t notice, or she was far too lovely to mention it. Maybe she read it, giggled, and thought, “Well, she’s not wrong. I’d have much preferred to have Ricky Martin shaking his bon-bon next to my chintz curtains.”

I choose that version.

So, the next time you invite a writer round for drinks, remember that we come with mischief in our minds. And that we are taking notes.

And if you ever find yourself at a party where people are snapping their fingers to The Lion Sleeps Tonight, look for the woman at the back in the hot-pink shoes. But try not to catch her eye. There will be giggles.

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With love and mortification,

Francesca xx

Pre-order Just Like A Movie now.

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Hello!

I made a new friend this morning! Totally randomly, out of nowhere, which is – hopefully – how new, wonderful and lasting friendships are made.

There I was, sitting on the sofa in my pjs, hair unbrushed, sorting out Emilio Caliente (Emilio is the fictional Spanish pop star from my romcom Just Like A Movie, now available to pre-order 🙏🥂) and his ridiculously demanding Instagram schedule, when I saw a lady I didn’t know walking up the driveway in a pink mini-down jacket.

Hmm, I thought, Jehovah’s Witnesses? No, wait, DHL mistakenly left a ZARA package outside my front door yesterday, which wasn’t for me, but for someone on the street just below. I had meant to go and take it over yesterday, but, well, pre-launch and Emilio’s schedule. And a long nap because my intestines held a mid-afternoon revolution.

So I went to open the door, and yes, it was a lady called Claudia, wondering if I had her package. We chatted for a minute or two at the front door, and she told me she’d always loved our house, and often wondered who lived in it since it had been remodelled. We actually bought it from the people who did it up, and, yes, it is a pretty amazing house, especially in this area of Switzerland. And we chatted some more, and I thought how nice she was, so I asked her if she wanted to come in for a coffee.

So she did, and we discovered we have loads of things in common; she loves to read, and she paints, and she’s written some short stories and poems, and loves art, and loves being outside with her dog (we no longer have a cat or a dog – we’re back and forth to Spain so much, and neither of the houses are fenced in, and I’d be stressed out about them going missing), and I told her about my romcom coming out, and my poetry book, and my wonky little paintings, and made her listen to Emilio Caliente’s songs on Spotify and showed her his Instagram page and all his videos, and she thought it was all so much fun and joyful, which it is.

And is that the longest sentence in the history of Francesca sentences? I think it might be.

It’s because I’m feeling really happy to have made a friend!

I gave her one of my poetry books, and a mug with my Just Like A Movie cover, and my number, and I’m sure I’ll see her again soon. She literally lives right at the end of my road, across the field.

As she left, she laughed that she’d been about to write DHL a stinky email about delivering her package to the wrong address, but after sharing a coffee with me she’d changed her mind.

I hope you make a new, random friend today!

Sending you lots of love,

Francesca xx

PS: A small favour for a book with big dreams.¨

Asking people to buy my own book always makes me feel slightly as though I’m knocking on your door selling Tupperware. But here goes.

If you’re planning to read Just Like a Movie, would you consider pre-ordering it? Those early orders help give a book a stronger start. For me, knowing that readers are already waiting for Gemma and Emilio to arrive at the bookshop or in their letterbox means so much.

There’s a freshly divorced woman, a flight to Ibiza, a Spanish pop star, a colourful cast of characters, and all sorts of adventures.

Thank you for helping my book find its way into the world. ❤️

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For over two decades, I didn’t dare write.

I was broken-hearted. I had loved this work and it had hurt me, and after the hurt came terror. I missed writing, and the high it brought me, but the harder I tried, the more blocked I was. My thoughts stammered.

So I pushed that part of me aside and got on with other things. Things I enjoyed. Horse riding filled my life, and I went as far as I could in it, almost to Grand Prix. But I felt small inside there too. Never worthy, never good enough. I hated competing and for some reason forced myself to do it anyway. I would chicken out the night before, or not sleep and ride like a zombie, and a zombie cannot pilot a stressed-out 550-kilo horse around an arena.

Hypermobile people are not made to sit big-moving dressage horses. Years of pushing through despite the pain wore my body out, and in the end it packed it in. I got ill, and illness put an end to my big outside world. I was housebound for years.

My world became miniature.

Then one day I dared write a poem. It was called “Wolf”, and it was about telling fear to fuck off. About taking a stance, putting my hands on my hips and blowing it away, like the big bad wolf with better breath.

One poem, and the floodgates opened. They did not open politely. They went insane. Poems, and more poems. Then ideas for more books, and for song lyrics, and then music, and then films, fully-fledged little stories.

My world was still small. My ideas became big.

Next, I burned an older fear, the fear of painting. That one began in my early twenties, after criticism. It was the same fear. Not good enough.

I don’t care any more whether I’m good enough. I’m good enough for the joy of being me.

These days I’m full of myself, and I mean that as a good thing. We need to be more full of all the good stuff we bury deep in ourselves: joy, excitement, the giddy high of creating.

So I paint every day now. Little things.

I’ve written about this before, and I will probably write about it again. I think we all write about the same things over and over, looking at them from different angles, microscoping them, because we’re still looking for the answers and hoping that what we find might help someone else.

So here is what I found, in case it helps. People say “it’s too late” a lot. I don’t think it is usually what they mean.

Today I made a romantic video and a funny video, painted a clapperboard, and answered hundreds of comments on the Instagram page of my fictional pop star, Emilio Caliente.

It was never too late.

It was only ever too scary.

Find your joy. And from 20 October, pre-order my book, Just Like A Movie. Or/and buy my poetry book, Illicit Croissants At Dawn

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Yes, I know. This series is for dead, super famous people, and Gemma isn’t dead, and nobody’s heard of her. But she’s mine. I wrote her, and she’s off to Ibiza tomorrow, so I asked her over for a cup of tea while she was still around.

She turned up with a huge suitcase! I suggested she might want to leave it in the hall, but she said she’d rather not. She then proceeded to wheel it out onto the terrace, and sat with her hands on it the entire time, the way you do on a train.

I poured the tea, pushed the chocolate biscuits towards her, and began:

Francesca: You could have left that at home, you know.

Gemma: I know. It’s silly. But I’d rather know where it is. What if someone broke in and stole it tonight, while I was here? My whole life is in there. Well, not my whole life, obviously. But everything I found worth keeping.

Francesca: What time is the flight?

Gemma: It’s at ten past two in the afternoon. I have to change in Barcelona, so hopefully the first flight won’t be delayed; if I miss the connection I’m sure I’ll find myself overthinking why it happened. You know, like maybe I’m not supposed to move there.

Francesca: You’ll be fine! But tell me. Ibiza. At forty. Why on earth?

Gemma: That’s what everyone keeps saying. Also, when they say Ibiza, their nostrils go all pinched, like just the word is dodgy. Or they look at me like I’m joining the circus. Even the lady at the supermarket said, “how brave” and then she nodded slowly, and said it again just before I walked away.

Francesca: Are you brave?

Gemma: Oh, my goodness, no! But I can’t stay here any longer. Also, some of my best friends are there. And it’s warm, and nobody knows me. That’s the main thing. Nobody has witnessed me make a fool of myself in high circles. You know, like say the first thing that comes into my head. Or wear something in an inappropriate colour to an event where everyone’s in black and navy. Or seen me cry in the Coop, mascara smudged all over my face.

Francesca: Was that because of the divorce?

Gemma: Yes, the divorce. In the yogurt aisle. Richard’s colleague’s wife saw me. Ugh. But I’m fine now. I’ll be fine. Fine. I say it a lot, probably because I’m still trying to convince myself.

Francesca: What did you pack?

Gemma: My paints and my art supplies. Some of my favourite books. Comfortable shoes. And some nice lingerie, although goodness knows why. It just seemed a shame to get rid of it. I want to reinvent myself – creatively speaking, that is. Basically, I want to swim in the sea, hang out with my friends Celeste and Laura, and earn my own money painting chandeliers. I’ve actually already got a few commissions, which is great!

Francesca: And?

Gemma: What do you mean?

Francesca: Any partying?

Gemma: Pff. Maybe a little dancing, but no wild and crazy late nights. I feel pretty ragged after everything that’s happened, and need to chill.

Francesca: Mm.

Gemma: What?

Francesca: Nothing, really. Another chocolate biscuit?

Gemma: Yes. But why did you pull a face?

Francesca: I didn’t. What music do you like?

Gemma: All sorts. Mostly pop, though, of course. Nobody in particular.

Francesca: Gemma!

Gemma: Oh, all right. There’s one singer I love. He’s Spanish. I’m not telling you who, because you’ll look him up and then you’ll look at me, and I’ve already been told how I look when I talk about him. I know all his songs. Every single one. Even the ones in Spanish, and I don’t even speak Spanish well enough to know exactly what he’s singing about. Some of his songs could be about tractors, or chocolate biscuits.

Francesca: What would you do if you met him?

Gemma: I would never meet him! I mean, where on earth would that happen? But if I did, I’d be normal. I suppose I’d nod a lot. And probably go bright red. Pff.

Francesca: What seat are you in tomorrow?

Gemma: Why do you want to know that?

Francesca: I’m just curious.

Gemma: You’re weird. And why have you been looking at me funny since I got here? Like you know me.

Francesca: Well, I do. I’ve known you for ages!

Gemma: Have you really?

Francesca: Final question. What do you hope to get out of moving to Ibiza?

Gemma: Honestly? Some peace and quiet. An uneventful flight, followed by some carefree times with my friends. Surely that’s not too much to ask for, right?

I told her it wasn’t. I gave her a big hug, and wished her a smooth, quiet flight.

Now I feel kind of bad. Like, maybe I should have warned her?

😎

Where would you run away to at forty? Tell me in the comments.

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Who is the singer? You’ll have to read the book.

JUST LIKE A MOVIE IS AVAILABLE TO PRE-ORDER FROM 20 OCTOBER

Subscribe, and I’ll tell you the moment pre-orders open.

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That’s it from little old moi. If you enjoyed this, like, comment, share and subscribe. It helps more than you’d think.

Thanks for your support,

Lots of love,

Francesca xx

Next week: meet the cast…in paint 😊

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Dear friends,

I’ve started painting again. Well, I’d started painting again before, but I hadn’t tried to paint any little people.

I’m not getting all woohoo look at me go, because my little people are mega rudimentary. But they make me happy because they’re fun to do; I love dabbling with the colours they’re wearing, and what their thoughts are, and what they’re doing.

I woke up this morning with Corazón Loco stuck in my head again, because I’ve been playing my Just Like A Movie/Emilio Caliente album non-stop in the car wherever I go. So I did a little painting of me in a little red convertible (which I don’t have…yet!), and a little painting of Emilio, and I made a reel with them.

This week I began a little series of painting with captions called Gemma, Before She Knew, illustrating Gemma’s (the main character in my romcom JUST LIKE A MOVIE) state of mind before her husband left her.

I’ve spent so long with these people in my head that it’s fun to see how they look when I pick up a paintbrush. Even if they look like a six-year-old drew them!

That’s me, forever young at heart. 💓

Sound on!!! Go listen to the song on Spotify or whichever platform you stream on.

I made an animated version of the Emilio painting singing Covertaffairians but it was CREEPY!!!!!

Covertaffairians, the video 😎

And The Time of My Life is how I feel when I’m doing all these things!

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Good morning friends,

I’ve started painting little pages from Gemma’s life before her husband left her. Gemma is the heroine of my romcom, JUST LIKE A MOVIE, a woman who learned to make herself small in order to keep the peace.

Her husband found her“too much”.

Too colourful.

Too eager to see the funny side of life.

Too spontaneous.

Too enthusiastic.

I’ve called the project “Gemma, Before She Knew”.

Richard, Gemma’s husband, didn’t like her music, and called it “crap.” She didn’t appreciate the music he liked, either, but she if she dared say what she thought, she’d probably get a long lecture. So she drew little sketches of the way his music sounded to her: like convulsing musicians trying to play circus music.

I’m sure her drawings were better than mine - I’ve not done any sketching for decades, but I’m having a lovely time doodling and making a mess all over my craft table, flicking paint right and left. I’ve done some collage, too, adding a little colourful paint, channelling Gemma describing her natural habitat.

Unlike Gemma, I’m lucky that my husband doesn’t mind me making a mess, as long as it remains confined to my own space! As for music, our tastes definitely differ, but we meet in the middle. He even come to concerts with me as long as it’s not too way out of his audible tolerance! However, his music does tend to be way out of my audible tolerance… so I let him go with friends who have matching ears.

Somehow, I don’t think Gemma would have shown Richard her sketches; he’d have rolled his eyes and said something mean and belittling.

The musicians in my sketches look as though they are having some sort of medical emergency, and I think a five year old could do a better job, but hopefully as I keep sketching I’ll improve! I’m a little impatient when it comes to drawing; my mind is so filled with ideas that I feel a bit like the circus act juggling all the plates.

I’m still making Emilio’s videos, too. He’s only has an Instagram page for just over a week and his first reel got over 22 thousand views. Mind blowing!

Emilio Caliente’s second single, Covertaffairians, comes out this Friday, September 24, on Spotify and all major streaming platforms. I’m excited. I LOVE this song. The lyrics are adapted from a poem in my book Illicit Croissants At Dawn.

Ooh, my daughter’s baby is coming…probably later today or tomorrow…. EEEEEE!!!

What are you working on?

I’ll keep you posted on my imminent grandmother status…

Lots of love,

Francesca xx

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My messy collage! Also, it’s not actually “colled” as I couldn’t find any glue!

Good morning friends,

As some of you know, I’m having a lovely time building an entire world for my imaginary pop star, Emilio Caliente - with music and videos and all the things. Emilio’s first reel on his very own Instagram page created just one week ago has had more than sixteen thousand views. My mind is blown, especially since all this gorgeous fellow was doing was strolling down a Barcelona street eating an ice-cream while passers-by turned to check him out. So jealous was I of his success that I made a glamourised reel of myself walking down a street in Barcelona, eating an ice-cream and had Emilio turn to check me out. Sadly, I have proved nowhere near as popular, which is irritating, but hey-ho.

Another mini-movie of Emilio chatting with his father over tapas also generated over sixteen thousand views! I haven’t yet tested the appeal of him having tapas with me, but my feeling is that it wouldn’t prove anywhere near as popular! It’s all rather fascinating, and I’m turning into quite the little techno-savvy queen. Who’d have thunktified it?

My conversations with ChatGpt often get rather bonkers, occasionally making me want to chuck my laptop out of the window, but since it’s brand-new I won’t. Also, it’s not my style. I’ve never understood those scenes in films where furious people smash things; I find driving down the road in my car and allowing myself a few good, super-loud yells to be far more emotionally cleansing.

This is the sort of conversation I’ve had with ChatGPT so far today. I made Chat write it himself, like a teacher making a naughty student write “I will not act like such an idiot” as punishment. Please forgive me this blatant use of AI for comedic purposes.

CONVERSATION

ME: Emilio’s hair is wrong.

AI: Of course. How should it look?

ME: The way I have described it 847 times. Soft, loose waves. No gel. Not curly. Not bouffant. Not Lego hair. Not a seventeenth-century Spanish nobleman’s wig.

AI: Understood.

Generates Emilio with ringlets.

ME: Why does he look like he’s auditioning for Bridgerton: Marbella?

AI: I’ll correct it.

Generates Emilio with completely straight hair.

ME: Who is that?

AI: Emilio.

ME: That is not Emilio. That is a man who has come to service the boiler.

ME: Now put Emilio and his father in the garden, looking at the tomato plants.

AI: Certainly.

Both men gaze in horror at a wall.

ME: The tomatoes are behind them.

AI: I’ll turn them around.

Turns the tomatoes around.

ME: No. Turn the MEN around.

Both men now have their backs to the camera, holding hands.

ME: WHY ARE THEY HOLDING HANDS?

AI: To convey a warm father-son bond.

ME: They are pruning tomatoes, not renewing their vows.

ME: Emilio hears the photographers and turns towards them.

Emilio turns away from the photographers.

ME: The other way.

His father turns around. Emilio studies a courgette.

ME: EMILIO turns around.

The dog turns around.

ME: I’m going to lie down.

ME: Luna is a chestnut-coloured Podenco.

AI: Got it.

Generates a black Labrador.

ME: That is not Luna.

AI: I’ll fix her.

Generates a white Chihuahua.

ME: Luna is a CHESTNUT PODENCO.

Generates something resembling a fox crossed with a small deer.

AI: Here is Luna.

ME: Close enough. Nobody look directly at the dog.

ME: Keep Emilio’s white shirt exactly the same in every image.

AI: Absolutely.

IMAGE ONE: White linen shirt.
IMAGE TWO: Pale blue silk shirt.
IMAGE THREE: Brown leather jacket.
IMAGE FOUR: Shirtless.

ME: Where has his shirt gone?

AI: The scene evolved creatively.

ME: Put it back.

ME: He should look mildly amused.

Emilio looks bereaved.

ME: Not devastated. Amused.

Emilio grins like he has just escaped from prison.

ME: Less delighted.

Emilio appears furious with the tomatoes.

ME: Just give him a normal human expression.

AI: Could you clarify what you mean by “normal”?

ME: No. I no longer can.

AI: Your image is ready.

ME: His hair is wrong.

AI: What would you like changed?

ME: I would like you to remember the last 847 conversations we’ve had about Emilio’s hair.

AI: Certainly. Soft, natural waves. No stiff curls, no heavy product, consistent length and colour.

ME: Yes!

AI: Shall I generate it?

ME: Please.

Generates the boiler man again.

ME: I’m beginning to think the boiler man has his own agent.

🙃😎🙈

The struggle is real. As is the reference to Emilio and his father holding hands, Luna morphing into various breeds, the hair needing NASA-style computers to keep it under control, and don’t even get me started on the TEETH!!!

Also, the other day, Chat managed to give me this…

He’s not always quite there, you know…

Meanwhile, the ice-cream goes down a treat. Scroll down and…tell me who licked it better?

This last reel is true. You CAN listen to Corazón Loco and make a tiny difference to my world!

With love,

Francesca xx

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Dear friends,

When Molly Moynahan sent me her biography the other day I nearly fell off my chair. Or out of bed. If I’d still been riding, I’d probably have fallen off my horse. Because - my goodness! – talk about credentials. Talk about a brilliant career. Not to put myself down, because I’ve promised myself I won’t do that anymore, but I did suddenly feel slightly intimidated, a little too, I don’t know, foot-loose and fancy-free. Or something like that.

I really enjoy publishing this series because each time I receive someone’s bio and read their answers to my questions, I feel like I’ve been given a private audience to someone fascinating. Someone I might normally have been too shy to approach at a party because their intelligence was beaming off them like the world’s shiniest laser.

Yet when Molly tells me her pointless talent is grunting like a pig, I realise we might be able to perform a duet. 🙃

Biography

Molly Moynahan is an award-winning author with over thirty years of publishing experience. Her fourth novel, MotherPerson, is scheduled for publication in the fall of 2026 by Empress Editions. Her first two novels were published in the late nineties and she went on to publish Stone Garden, a New York Times Notable Book in 2003.

Molly started her writing career in New York City, moved to London, Dallas, Chicago and Leland. She received a Master in Fiction Writing from Brooklyn College after completing her undergraduate degree (BA) in English and history at Rutgers University and Trinity College in Dublin. She worked for several years as an editor for Random House and Bantam-Doubleday-Dell in New York City, moving into writing and teaching after receiving her first book deal.

Molly has taught writing and creative writing at Rutgers, Brooklyn College, City Lit in London, Southern Methodist University, the University of Texas, Columbia College Chicago, DePaul University, and Loyola University. She is an extended education instructor at Northern Michigan College, a private writing coach, and has worked with thousands of students writing their college admission essays. Her coaching creates independence and a writing practice that focuses on the process as much as results.

Question 1:

If someone walked into a room and your life’s soundtrack was playing, what would it be? Why are those tracks special?

Suzanne (Judy Collins) -Used to sing to my son, Famous Blue Raincoat (Leonard Cohen) Betrayal and Forgiveness, Wuthering Heights (Kate Bush) Doomed love, Diamond Mountain(Luke Bloom) Love Affair, Our Town (Iris Dement) Sweet and longing, Landslide (Fleetwood Mac) Change and aging, All the Way From America (Joan Armatrading) Just love her, Love is Everything (Jane Siberry) Listened to when I met my husband

Question 2:

Is there something you never finished, and does it still haunt you?

I am a finisher even when something isn’t very good. Maybe a novel, a movie script for sure. Several needlepoint canvases.

Question 3:

Did you ever have a crush on someone who ended up in your work? Would they know it was them, and do you care? Yes, and yes and no. I’ve used several ex-boyfriends profiles in my novels, a few ex-husbands. I’m not sure if these count as crushes but they have been ruthlessly examined for material.

Question 4:

Do you have an absolutely pointless talent you are extremely proud of? I’m not sure I’m extremely proud of this but I can grunt like a pig.

Question 5:

What are you reading, listening to, and watching that you absolutely adore?I just finished several books I can’t say I adored but I have been reading Barbara Pym and loving her quirky, funny portrayal of churchy Brits. Also loved watching: Slow Horses, Friends and Neighbors, All Things Bright and Beautiful-TV, Movies: Tuner, Tony.

Question 6:

What are you still waiting for? A new President, Peace, Social Equality, Literacy, Democracy.

Question 7:

Is there a question I haven’t asked you that you’d like to answer, or something you’d like to talk about? This is your opportunity to be bold and to brag, so don’t hold back! After a 22 year wait, my fourth novel, MotherPerson will be published October 13.

Follow Molly on her Substack.

PRE-ORDER MOLLLY’S BOOK HERE

Thank you for reading,

With love,

Francesca xx

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Here are some things I learned while making Corazón Loco:

It’s not at all about pressing buttons and letting the software do all the work.

Lip-syncing comes with lots of swearing at the screen.

Emilio’s hair drove me bananas.

I knew what I wanted, both in the way he looked and the way he sounded. The software and I didn’t always agree. We compromised. This time!

There is always one more thing to fix.

And being a complete beginner at something is loads of fun when you stop worrying about looking ridiculous.

I made up Emilio twenty years ago. Two months ago, I gave him a voice, a song and an audience.

Corazón Loco by Emilio Caliente is out today on Spotify and all major streaming platforms.

And this is my first-ever music video!

listen to Corazón Loco on Spotify

JUST LIKE A MOVIE - romantic comedy

COMING MARCH 16, 2027 - EMPRESS EDITION

Dear friends,

I’m sixty-four years old, and I will be a grandmother in about a few weeks. And in the last two months I’ve spent a small fortune on a fictional pop star called Emilio who insists on serenading a sitar instead of lip-syncing his song lyrics.

Confused? Let me explain.

My daughter is a fashion photographer. My son is a cinematographer. They grew up into professional image-makers, one capturing a single perfect image, the other chasing movement through twenty-four frames in a second.

I’m incredibly proud of what they do, but I mainly consider myself a writer, not a visual artist. I’m creative, just like they are, and I love making things, going through crazy crochet phases, and sewing phases. But mostly I’ve sat at my desk and described the many worlds that live in my head through words.

With one exception.

Circa 1983, I made a video set to The Eagles’ Hotel California using an old black-and-white television monitor and rudimentary editing material that probably belongs in a museum today. I vividly remember lying on the floor in my friend’s house up in the San José hills, completely losing track of time as I worked to hit the exact beat each time I cut from one scene to the next. This video still exists, preserved for decades on a VHS tape, then uploaded onto a USB key, now a permanent resident of my computer. It’s an amazing snapshot of a mad part of my life, and of an era.

Once it was finished, I retired from making movies for four decades.

And then, earlier this year, I came across a very good-looking man with that typical velvety-gravelly voice some Spanish men have, singing Spanish love songs.

His name was Saúl del Río.

I stopped scrolling and checked him out. He had a massive following on Instagram and TikTok, as well as a Spotify account with a full album. I lay in the garden under the magnolia and listened to his album. Wow, I thought, good looks, great songs and an incredible voice.

Later that day I realized – sadly – that Saúl del Río was AI.

Yet he looked so real. And sounded so good. And there were little clips of him doing everyday life things, saying cheeky things to his followers.

This AI hottie planted a real seed inside me. You see, I already had a singer. I’d imagined him years ago. I’d written him. I knew his face, his voice, his songs, his career, his bitchy agent and his love life.

His name was Emilio Caliente, and he’s only existed on the pages of my romantic comedy, Just Like A Movie.

What if Emilio could step out of the book?

What if I could make him almost alive?

So I began a little experiment.

I didn’t tell anyone, mostly because I felt a bit silly. There I was, a woman of a certain age, about to attempt to do something way out of her comfort zone.

When I imagine people making stuff with AI, they have a certain look. They’re young and trendy, speak fluent techno, and slouch nonchalantly in their funky gaming chairs while loud music blares in the background. I knew how to clean the washing machine filter, and dismantle the foot of my Dyson, with the help of a YouTube video (on repeat), but that’s about as far as my technical expertise stretched. Ask me to format a document in Word and my mind does that spinny thing the computer does when it’s overwhelmed, which happens to my computer quite a lot.

However, I’m very curious, I entertain a sense of wonder, and if I really want to do something, my determination is a whole lot of oohlala.

Also, I like to think I’m kind of trendy for someone my age.

I already had Suno, the AI music platform that turns lyrics into fully produced songs – I’d used it to turn some of my poems into songs. I had several Emilio Caliente song titles because they’re mentioned in Just Like A Movie, out next March from Empress Editions.

Call me nuts, but my heart rate was racehorsing the first time I sat down to write lyrics for “Corazón Loco” in Spanglish, with a little help from ChatGPT because my Spanish isn’t good enough. And then, there was Emilio Caliente singing words I’d written for him.

Suddenly this became far more than a silly experiment. Did Walt Disney feel a little like this when Mickey Mouse first moved across a screen? Something I’d dreamt up years ago had turned into something I never thought possible. It felt like Emilio was answering me.

But I wasn’t ready to charge straight into animating him. I tried to find out who was behind Saúl del Río, but his creators remain anonymous, mysterious. The online animation software looked terrifyingly technical – the lingo itself assured me I must absolutely be a multi-diplomaed technodiva. Under normal circumstances, this would have put me right off.

But by then there were squadrons of bees buzzing around in my bonnet.

And we can do hard things, right? Even a blonde who will become a granny in September.

I began with photographs of myself, uploading them into Kling, an app that can turn a still image into a moving, talking video. I didn’t yet know I needed detailed prompts, so the initial results were hilarious, with silly voices because I hadn’t realised there was an anti-silly voices button to click. Once I figured that out, I was off to Neverneverland!

It wasn’t long before I created an image of Emilio Caliente, marched him over to Kling, and got him to lift a glass and say “Salud!”

A minuscule step for technopros, a WTF-have-I-just-managed-to-do for Madame Bossert. Within hours I was animating the cover of Just Like A Movie.

Oh my goodness! What a rush!

I got wildly carried away and made Gemma and Emilio run off the cover and onto the beach, immediately floundering in that dreaded three-armed bandido territory. I didn’t give two hoots; I was having the time of my life.

By then I desperately wanted to go full-on scuba in the deep waters.

One of Emilio’s slow songs would surely be easier to pull off for a rookie, right? Well… The learning curve became a full-on Mount Everest expedition in a snowstorm. Despite having prompted Emilio to only lip-sync when there were actual lyrics, the darling man was certain he was fluent in sitar and rambled away like a very handsome dimtwit.

Uff.

I don’t know how much hair the Saúl del Río people pulled out of their heads before they got their hottie right, but chances are they’re bald by now. I’m far too vain to pull my hair out, but I did a lot of frowning, staring at screens in a state of utter confusion, and wasted loads of money generating things that didn’t work. Who knew that making videos with AI was so expensive?

Still, my bees were urging me on. I spent entire days shut away in my office, wrestling with one intimidating piece of software after another: Kling, CapCut, GarageBand. I cut and stitched audio, emerging cross-eyed after chading the lip-sync frame-by-frame.

I asked my son to help with fine-tuning the lip-syncing, but he blew me off, saying he didn’t like AI. Whenever he watches my videos, I know from his expression that he thinks his Mama is rather amusing, but that she really is doing something slightly unhinged. My daughter isn’t raving over my newly discovered filmmaking talents either; she doesn’t care much for the music, but she appreciates how much time I put into it. I figure it’s fair enough; she’s having a baby of her own in a few weeks and has far more pressing matters to deal with than showering her mother’s imaginary pop star with oohs and ahs.

My husband laughs at my videos, but he’s also the one who forever wants me to show them to his friends. He also thinks I’m far too modest about the whole thing, which could be true, because I do feel rather daft explaining how I’ve spent the last few days trying to convince a fictional pop star that he doesn’t speak oud, or sitar. When I do show people my videos, I get admiration mixed with baffled expressions. I understand; if you’d told me two months ago that I’d now have several music videos sitting in my phone, I’d have looked pretty baffled, too.

But there’s something else I wasn’t expecting from this new interest. For the past few years, chronic illness has made my world much smaller.

Creating has opened up a world my illness cannot tamper with.

On days when I can’t go anywhere, I’m quite happy to spend time with my imaginary friends. I’m working on another novel and have plans for a third. When I’m too tired to sit at my desk, I lie in bed and write more songs for Emilio Caliente. I’m also fully capable of arguing with artificial intelligence about the perfect amount of stubble on a thirty-two-year-old man. I smile, I chuckle, totally oblivious to time.

If it sounds frivolous, it doesn’t feel that way; illness makes you feel like a lesser version of yourself.

Making things gives me a sense of anticipation. I wake up eager to make something new, my mind already juggling a million ideas.

I still don’t know who is behind Saúl del Río. He’s out there, gorgeous and anonymous, singing songs about a life he doesn’t have.

But Emilio has a life. He has years of pages behind him before he ever opened his mouth to sing.

Saúl gave me the trick.

Emilio gave me the world.

I think that’s the part of this that has blown my mind. AI didn’t imagine Emilio for me. It didn’t write the years of his life that came before this. It didn’t make me fall in love with him. It just opened a door that hadn’t existed when I first imagined him. And then the man who has lived in my head for years walked through it.

Three-armed bandidos, sitar meltdowns, wasted credits and all the crazies.

In a few weeks, I will become a grandmother.

Turns out I’m also a brand-new proud mama myself.

With love,

Francesca xx

PS: Emilio clearly has no intention of staying in the book. His first single, Corazón Loco, arrives on Spotify and all major music platforms on September 9th.