Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 7
June 4, 2025
AN EXTRAORDINARY EXHIBITION IN GIRONA: Women Botanical Illustrators
Today, my daughter, her friend and I saw an extraordinary art exhibition in Girona. Running until September 14 this year, Women Botanical Illustrators is well worth a visit if you happen to be in the Girona or Barcelona area in the coming months.
The exhibition features some stunning paintings, drawings and cyanotype impressions by women over the last few hundred years, all of them different and really special. The attention to detail is incredible – there is a whole section devoted to mushrooms that is absolutely gorgeous, but sadly I was a twit and didn’t jot down or take photos of the name of the artist.
And the cyanotypes! My goodness, they were done in the early 1800s, and yet look so modern! I was so enamoured that I took a photograph of the information about the artist, but it’s in Catalan so I won’t insert it in here. Her name was Anna Atkins, and she was an English botanist and photographer. According to Wikipedia, some think she might be the very first person to create photographs and even publish books with photographic images. Her work is beautiful, and I took a photo, but the light was harsh and so I had to take it from the side to avoid shadows. But aren’t they amazing? So striking and modern!
It's a small exhibition, but there’s much to enjoy, and the fact that many of the images were created by women who lived so long ago made me quite emotional, because it seems that most artists celebrated centuries ago were all men, apart from possibly embroidery, or tapestry.
I may have to go back again to have another look. The exhibition is in a tiny little square in the old part of Girona, on the way up to the cathedral where I’ve been told some episodes of Game of Thrones were filmed. Girona old town is gorgeous, so do go and have a wander around the narrow, cobbled streets if you’re close-by. I love it! It’s one of my favourite towns in the world, with such a lovely vibe.
I’ll leave you with my not very good photographs, but at least you’ll get an idea of what we saw.
Also, by the time we got back home, I was exhausted, as it was my first proper long outing in six months (really! Doesn’t that sounds crazy?!) and – as always – I’m never one to do things by half. We walked 4 kms, which isn’t all that much, but when you’ve not walked anywhere for such a long time, it’s a considerable distance. I promptly fell asleep for a few hours, failed to record my poem reading of the day, so may have to do two tomorrow. But it was great to be out! And to see people, and buy a few things, and talk to some of the ladies in the boutiques who know me by my name, and are always so friendly, and remember about my illness and ask how I am. And I natter away in my wonky Spanish and it’s just wonderful.
Can you tell it made me happy? What did you do today?
Lots of love,
Cesca
My new poetry book, Illicit Croissants At Dawn is available on Amazon, as is my romcom, Just Like A Movie
June 2, 2025
THE EMPRESS AND I: imposter syndrome be damned, I am entering my empress era!
Initially, I thought it was a case of mistaken identity. I’ve followed Alisa Kennedy Jones, of The Empress newsletter, for quite a while. I’ve read many of her interviews of amazing, massively accomplished women. I’m also aware that she’s in charge of Empress Editions, a publishing company - or rather, “a curator of literary treasures.”
And then, out of the blue, Alisa asked me if I wanted to be featured.
Huh? Surely not. Surely, she thought she was addressing somebody else, someone with impeccable credentials, phenomenal corporate or literary achievements? I replied, on tiptoe, to give her enough reverse wiggling room. I didn’t put myself down – I’m trying not to do that anymore. I simply, well, sidled in.
Also, I’m beyond midlife! Unless I live to be 126.
Anyway, Alisa replied, there hadn’t been any oopsies. We were doing this. She sent me the questions, and I answered them truthfully, and here we are, two weeks later.
I’m featured in The Empress! What an honour.
I hope you’ll follow the link and read about… well, all my wonderful achievements!
https://substack.com/home/post/p-164911339
Thank you again, Alisa!
Love,
Cesca
My poetry book, Illicit Croissants At Dawn, is available on Amazon.
May 31, 2025
THE NIGHTINGALE’S FIRST SONG: a lesson in patience, courage, and finding your voice
When night falls
The Scops Owl wakes.
He fluffs his grey feathers,
Blinks his big golden eyes three times
And starts the slow, steady beat
Known to forest creatures as “the heartbeat”.
When night falls,
The Scops Owl wonders,
Steadfast in his rhythm,
Watching the puddle of light
On the famous branch overhanging the lake,
Hoping the new star of the forest
Will find the courage
To share his voice.
When night falls
And the heartbeat begins,
The young nightingale
Shivers in the darkness,
Watching the puddle of light
On the famous branch overhanging the lake
Where young birds sing their first song,
And thinks,
“Maybe tomorrow.”
One day, when night falls,
And the heartbeat begins,
The nightingale takes a tiny breath
And tiptoes towards the puddle of light
On the famous branch overhanging the lake.
He fluffs his downy feathers,
Closes his eyes,
Opens his beak and sings
A song so clear, so bright
It whirls through the forest,
Rising high in the air
Where it swings from star to star.
And the Scope Owl
Blinks three times and smiles,
Because he knew
The song was always there,
Just waiting to be heard.
Illicit Croissants At Dawn is available on Amazon.
May 30, 2025
THE FINE ART OF LOITERING: take me to Shenaniganland
Professional swayer, hypnotist, mind-guru, aka The Willow Tree. Highly recommend.
Today, I simply sway,Mind-loitering back and forth in time.Mischievous thoughtsTickling my wanderlust.I meander, hammock-held,Drifting safely through the coliseumOf ancient blunders,The acropolis of what-on-earth-was-I-thinking,And the discos of yesteryearWhere shenanigans sparkledBeneath the disco-ballAnd the Bee-GeesShrill-trilled in tight-trousers.Staying aliveHave you discovered my new poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn?
“If you’ve ever stared into your coffee and asked it philosophical questions, this book will get you. It doesn’t answer them, but it’ll sit beside you in a vintage kimono and recite something haunting about rain.
Would I recommend it? Absolutely. But don’t read it on an empty stomach or during a romantic crisis. Side effects may include sighing at clouds, spontaneous journaling, and whispering “illicit” under your breath for no reason”
Malin Emara
May 26, 2025
YOU’RE NOT CRAZY, YOU’RE JUST ADVENTUROUS
(I think a reckless idea just struck my Papa!!)
When a reckless idea strikes,
freeze!
Assume hunting dog pose.
Stretch your ears skywards,
lean in, listen.
Wait for the chest tickle
to smile,
For the eye-twinkle
to squeal.
If the bubbles rise,
and the gasp tingles,
A soupçon of collateral madness
must be smouldering,
eager for
a big bold
YES!
Praise for my new poetry book, Illicit Croissants At Dawn:
· A grown-up, bohemian Shel Silverstein..."
· “Mischief and meaning in equal measure.”
· “Poetry that wears its cleverness lightly.”
· " Not fussed about poetry? This book might just win you over."
And of course, my book is available on Amazon (Amazon.de or Amazon.fr if ordering from Switzerland). Please leave me a review!!!
THE QUIET COURAGE OF SAYING : I MADE THIS, or thoughts from a shy writer learning to speak up
I devoted yesterday to doing promo. I hadn’t decided to do this, it happened organically, because I wanted to make a little video of myself talking to a group of young women in California who are reading my romantic comedy, Just Like A Movie, for their book club.
Knowing that they’re reading my book out of the gazillions of romantic comedies on the market -not to mention all the big names (hello, Emily Henry! Hi there, Marian Keyes!) writing great stories - made me really happy. Admittedly, I know the mother of one of the girls. She’s an old friend and editor who, decades ago, was the first person to ever truly believe in my writing (apart from my mama, obviously!). But nevertheless, having this group of young women read my romcom is still a big deal to little old invisible me.
I also completely surprised myself by recording a coherent video in one take, where I told them how excited I am that they’re reading it, introduced the book, and then read a page and a half of Chapter One!
Afterwards, I figured that since the light was pretty good under the sunblind in the patio, maybe I’d do some promo. I went through Illicit Croissants at Dawn, my poetry book, and chose a poem to read. This took a few more takes. Reading aloud is hard, don’t you think? I so admire authors who can narrate their entire books in a vivacious manner! Marian Keyes is brilliant at it, but I’ve bought other books on Audible, expecting the voice to be as bubbly as the writing, and had to stop listening because, well, bleh.
Also, I always think I sound about six. But I believe few of us enjoy hearing ourselves, right?
But it’s all very well recording yourself reading a poem, or a chapter of your book. Then you’ve got to find cool, snappy words to explain what your book is about and make it sound amazing for, say, a post on Threads or Instagram. And that’s really hard! Because that’s what marketing specialists do in big publishing houses, isn’t it? Not the person who wrote the book. As an indie writer, I guess it might help if you’ve got a background in advertising or copywriting or whatever job is involved in writing these things. And although I know it’s controversial - and by the end of this sentence there might be people clutching at their beaded necklaces and gasping - ChatGPT is really good at this. As in, amazingly good. Sure, it gets it wrong a lot of the time, suggesting things so way off that it can be quite entertaining. But once it’s close, all you need to do is take what it gives you and adapt it to whatever it is you want. You fiddle, change words until you’re happy. AI is a tool. It’s here. It’s not going anywhere, so we may as well use it to our advantage.
I don’t use AI to write my poems (which hopefully should be obvious, as they’re all “mega me”). I’ll sometimes ask ChatGPT for a spell check on a long piece, or if I’m writing something and a word I want to use only comes to me in French, I’ll ask it for the word in English. I’ll ask it to translate an email to my Spanish gastroenterologist. I often ask it for information on how to bake a cake I make all the time (a Santiago cake) and have forgotten whether the oven temperature should be 160 or 170 (it’s 170 if it’s a fan oven, in case you’re wondering, because I asked the question yesterday). I ask it for directions, or for information about a city. I ask it about what might grow in a shady, dry spot in my garden. I’ve used it to translate some of my longer non-rhyming poems into French, and some turned out quite well—once I went in afterwards and had a fiddle! My French-speaking friends were happy to also be able to enjoy How to Tame Your Tulips. I asked it to translate this poem into Spanish too, but I’m not fluent enough to go in and edit afterwards, and I didn’t want to look like a total twit.
Anyway, this brings me to what I intended to write about: promo. Or bragging, as it feels like to me. OMG, bragging. I hate bragging. I hate hyping myself (hello, Lucy Werner!). I’m shy. I’ve always lacked confidence, so reading a poem and sharing it feels like a big LOOK AT ME! LOOK HOW CLEVER I AM! Far more so than just hitting publish, which is weird really, don’t you think? Because it’s the same. I’ve never considered myself particularly clever. I’ve never worked in a corporate environment, at least not in any sort of decision-making role. I have to psych myself up to say boo to a sparrow, let alone a goose. As I mentioned above, I don’t have too much of a problem hitting publish once I’m happy with a poem, or whatever it is I’ve written. But I can start hyperventilating in the middle of the night because I’m scared something I wrote as a comment to someone else might be misinterpreted and I sounded like a brat (hello, Patricia Cusack!). I’m insecure like that.
I’m currently working on an interview. It’s nearly done, but my goodness it took me ages to sit up straight, pull my shoulder blades back and stick my boobs out. Writing about myself in an elevated way doesn’t come naturally. And while I don’t think my husband would have a problem writing about himself and his achievements (he was highly successful in the corporate world), I also think it’s more of a personality thing than a woman-or-man thing, because my son would probably feel queasy about showing his six-pack (and he actually has one because, apart from being an amazing filmmaker, he’s a phenomenal snowboarder and skateboarder too), whereas my daughter has been promoting her brand for so long that showcasing her talents has become second nature. She will, however, occasionally have a little-tiny-turtle-retreating-into-its-shell moment when she’s feeling particularly attacked and vulnerable. People can be so mean and ridiculous (like the “lady” in the poem I read yesterday!).
Come to think of it, even posting good reviews of my books kind of gives me the ick. But I do it anyway.
How do you feel about putting yourself forward, showcasing your talents? Does promo give you the heebie-jeebies? And what are your thoughts on using AI to help with wording promotional material or anything else? Has it been useful to you? Or are you a die-hard never-in-a-million-years, Sauvage? (That’s a line from the film Johnny English, by the way, which is a classic in our family)
I look forward to hearing your thoughts. And I’m going to leave you with the reading of my poem, She Means Well, in case Notes hasn’t plonked it beneath your spectacles yet.
Love,
Francesca
May 25, 2025
A READING (because I’m a very serious poet, as you know…) And then lots and lots of praise!!!
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 19 May 2025
This is a witty and heartfelt poetry collection. Blending humor, romance, and introspection, Francesca's playful rhymes and sharp observations make for an engaging and accessible read. A fantastic exploration of life’s quirks with both levity and depth. I love every single poem. I also love the beautiful book cover and illustrations by her incredibly gifted daughter Olivia. What a fabulous duo!
Bonnie Solomon
5.0 out of 5 stars A Bohemian Burst of Wit, Wisdom, and WonderReviewed in the United States on 21 May 2025
Francesca Bossert’s poetry collection took me by surprise—in the best way. I don’t usually gravitate toward poetry, but this book is such a refreshing exception. With a voice that feels like a grown-up, bohemian Shel Silverstein, Bossert blends humor and heartache, mischief and meaning, in equal measure. Her poems bubble off the page, sometimes with a wink, sometimes with a sigh, always with truth.
This isn’t poetry that tries too hard to be clever or profound. It is clever. It is profound. But it wears both qualities lightly, inviting the reader into moments that feel lived-in, lush, and oddly familiar. Whether she’s laughing through heartbreak or marveling at everyday beauty, Bossert never loses her playful edge—or her emotional honesty.
The book is made even more special by the gorgeous illustrations from her daughter, Olivia Bossert—a mother-daughter collaboration that adds warmth and intimacy to every page.
In short: it’s funny, poignant, and full of life’s beautiful mess. If poetry usually leaves you cold, give this one a try. It just might win you over.
Stephen D. Forman
Reviewed in the United States on 9 May 2025
I wouldn't want to write a review of Francesca Bossert's poetry without speaking to Olivia Bossert's multimedia art which delineates the sections of the book. Each piece speaks in a language that's both complementary and wholly unique, and it's a joy to see mother and daughter make art in sync.
The poems themselves are a frolic. They're accessible and authentic. They are bookmarkable and re-readable. My hunch and my hope is that Illicit Croissants at Dawn is just the *first* poetry book by Francesca Bossert.
A. Dixon
Reviewed in the United States on 28 April 2025
This book of poetry by the talented Francesca is an absolute delight to read and unlike any other book of poetry I’ve read. It approaches modern life with verve, humor and sparkle. The light tone of many poems belies the truth of the human experience at the heart of Francesca’s poetry. This was such a delightful and touching read. I ended up gifting copies to my best girlfriends too.
Buy it here or on any other Amazon. If you are in Switzerland, you need to buy from French or German Amazon. Brexit….
May 23, 2025
DATE NIGHT WITH MONICA BELLUCCI (cancelled due to alien invasion)
Monica…
Never a dull moment with me! Living with an IBD ensures I am a Kinder Surprise. But for the past three years my surprises have been pretty crappy. Sometimes I’m surprised he hasn’t made a dash for freedom, away from all my drama.
Take last night: 2 a.m. He was out for the count, having been beeped to sleep by the owl we both thought was a Hoopoe bird, probably enjoying a lovely dream about a date with Monica Bellucci - he likes brunettes; go figure - when I appeared by his bedside, a ghostly figure reeking of vomit, with a stomach so bloated I’m surprised I fit through the door.
“Cedric,” I cooed - I’d brushed my teeth. About six times in six hours due to blehhhh. “I think we need to go to the hospital. There’s an alien trying to climb through the space beneath my ribcage.”
“Uhhhh”.
“Cedric, I re-cooed, louder now. “I’ve been vomiting for six hours. I don’t know what to do. I think we need to go. I’m sorry…”
Bless him. He got up, got dressed, and off we went to the Clinica de Girona, where I was immediately taken to a cubicle with horribly bright lights. A nurse stuck a catheter in my left arm and ran some magic liquid into my body. It wasn’t quite magic enough, so after a while she switched it to something else which my husband later told me probably wasn’t a good idea seeing as I’m half English and of Irish descent, and that Spain is one of the few countries in the world to still use this painkiller on a regular basis. Apparently, it has some sort of effect on your white blood cells, especially on people from northern European countries, some of whom have died… And there are guidelines telling them not to use it on foreigners from northern countries. I guess they missed the memo.
Anyway, I’m still here. Still rather distended, but at least the alien has gone. Maybe he was from a northern European country…
Jokes aside, it was horrible. I’ve had plenty of pain in my life, but this was more of a mega acute discomfort that would not shift no matter what I did. I tried peppermint tea, gas-relieving yoga poses, walking around the room, a small amount of fizzy water. Nada, nothing, zilch.
By the time we got back from the clinic it was 4 a.m. (I was amazed it all went so fast; when you go to the ER in Switzerland you know you’re going to wait a minimum of one hour, usually more), and we were both zombies. I felt slightly less uncomfortable and managed to fall asleep. And I’ve more or less slept all day.
Poetry wise, I’m on a diet today. Too knackered. But I’ve managed to produce a little Haiku, which isn’t bad considering the state of my, well, everything.
I think the flower I wrote about is some sort of Verbena. We have loads of it, and it is a trooper.
The Purple Princess : a Haiku
Ambitious, she climbs.
Easy to please and barefoot,
Proud to be purple.
Have you bought your copy of Illicit Croissants at Dawn? It’s getting wonderful reviews, but I need more! If you’re on the fence, consider this snippet of my latest review!
“A grown-up, bohemian Shel Silverstein... funny, poignant, and full of life’s beautiful mess.” Bonnie Solomon
May 22, 2025
STRENGTH YOU CANNOT SEE
Artwork by www.oliviabossert.com
Good morning,
After an oasis of hope over the weekend when a new medication briefly hinted at carefree days on the horizon (and I mean this literally, because I've still barely left the house since January), sadly that oasis vaporized and I'm more or less back to square one on the IBD front since Tuesday. But I battle on. I've written to my Spanish doctor and awaiting instructions. You know you're going a bit bonkers when you're excited to hear what fun drug your doctor might prescribe next!
Jokes (sort of) aside, while this time last week I was slipping off the tip of my liana and straight into the doldrums, I've rallied again, mostly due to the support of my Spanish gastroenterologist who doesn't just say, "sorry, I can't suggest anything other than stopping your SSRI," (antidepressant). This didn't exactly come across as common sense seeing as I probably wasn't giving her whoopdeedoo vibes. Also, if she'd bothered to check, the antidepressant I take isn't even in the SSRI category. But whatever. Doctors are just people, and the more doctors I see, the more this fact lights up. And while it's complicated to navigate the egos of several specialist doctors at the same time, they're not the ones suffering, and I'm sick of treading on eggshells around those who don't listen to what I'm telling them, especially when their only suggestion might be disastrous if I were feeling ultra vulnerable.
Anyway, I've now removed my grumpy pants and replaced them with my favourite bright pink bohemian floaties, and I shall leave you with a poem dedicated to all the chronic illness warriors out there. Onwards.
Ooh, and before you read my poem, yesterday I got a stunning review for my poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn , from @Bonnie Solomon! It's on Amazon and it's phenomenal! Such great feedback does wonders for my mindset during these trying times, so if you've read my book and still haven't reviewed it, please PLEASE do (unless of course you think it's abysmal, in which case please refrain). Once I get enough reviews, the algorithm is sure to shoot me into the stratosphere of celebrity poets, which is certain to heal my IBD once and for all! Stranger things have happened. You know, while there's life and all that...
STRENGTH YOU CANNOT SEE
An illness that’s invisible
Is seriously not fun.
It’s people saying, “You look so well,”
While inside you’re undone.
And while it’s nice to know that
You don’t look like absolute crap,
You hate that they might think
That you’re a hypochondriac.
So you explain to them again
Why you can’t do fun stuff,
That simply getting through the day
Is often quite enough.
And when the eye-roll questions come,
You keep your cool and smile.
(But if someone suggests yoga again
You might commit a crime!)
So if you cannot see our pain
Please be assured it's there.
Invisible does not mean gone;
We're brave - but tread with care.
