Felicia Marie's First Novel

I had just finished reading a historical fiction book when I started thinking about my nonna and her story as a war bride. I get writing inspiration when I travel, especially when I’m on a plane. For some reason, I find plots coming together, with a flow of ideas being typed into my phone’s notepad without it being premeditated.

I knew little scraps of a story passed down in family conversations: a young girl who had planned to be a nun until she met an American soldier.

She was from a small village in Italy, Lucera. I know, I know, you’ve never heard of it. Well, if you’re ever in the Puglia region, it’s definitely worth a detour. It’s a small village older than Rome, and, well, it’s my nonna’s home.

So, between the flight attendant giving me my ginger ale mixed with orange juice and me having to wake the guy next to me so I could go to the bathroom, I realized that there were so many details I was missing. Things I didn’t know and probably should know before I have grandkids and they start asking questions. But I’ll admit, it was an intimidating puzzle. I’m talking more than 1,000 pieces, and truth be told, I only have the patience for a large 100-piece puzzle that most toddlers do.

Anyway, when I got back to LA, I started reaching out to family members and asking questions. Every answer led to another question: What do you mean about his plane crash? She hid him? How did they communicate? Some questions were answered; others were not.

I had officially become obsessed.

I then turned to books, then to films, anything to get more of a WWII fix. If I was behind a history teacher in line at the supermarket, I would offer to carry their groceries to their car and bombard them with questions. But none of it was enough. I needed to see where the story happened.

So, I booked a ticket to Italy. Alone. In January. And I didn’t know a single word of Italian.

And, ladies and gentlemen, let me first tell you that January is not when most people decide to visit Southern Italy. There are no golden beaches waiting, but that was part of the draw. I didn’t want a postcard version of Italy. I wanted the raw one. The Italy my nonna would have known.

And so I was off to Lucera, tucked in the heart of Puglia, in the heel of Italy’s boot. And when I arrived in Italy, let me just confirm that it’s as magical as the movies make it out to be. Yes, you’re missing out! What are you doing with your life? You should book a flight before you read the next sentence.

I flew into Rome, and after several days there, I took the journey south to Lucera. It was snowing, it was cold, and it was quiet. I was alone in every sense of the word. And, as weird and cliché as it sounds, I felt I was returning home. That’s when I started writing The Village.