#Extract from Trobairitz the Storyteller by Celia Micklefield | @CMicklefield

Today I’m delighted to be sharing an extract from Trobairitz the Storyteller by Celia Micklefield. When Celia first contacted me, I was unaware of the term trobairitz, which I have since discovered is the name used for a female troubadour, a storyteller of old.

“Trobairitz were 12th century female troubadours. They sang and told stories about romantic love, traditions, current affairs and the place of women in society. My 21st century Trobairitz is Weed, a 42 year old truck driver. At an overnight truck stop deep in the heart of Languedoc she tells a story. Her themes are those of the original Trobairitz but these are the very subjects which cause problems in her personal life”

Trobairitz the Storyteller (Book 1) was published in 2014 and now, Trobairitz: her story continues (Book 2) has been published on November 12th 2023 and is described as having ‘a mesmerising dual narrative, fascinating characters and memorable storylines’.

I do hope you enjoy!

[ About the Trobairitz Series ]

French Canadian expat Fleur, 42, who prefers the nickname Weed drives long distance haulage, a nomadic lifestyle that suits her avoidance of close relationships. Raised by her late mother’s wider family she’s developed a hard-nosed attitude to life’s ups and downs. Her only real friends are Quentin and Rose, the Irish couple in their sixties who run the mobile home park where she rents a static van. To deflect unwanted attention at an overnight truck stop in southern France she begins the telling of a story. Her audience returns to hear more and, as the story grows, new relationships form. A Christmas landslide sees Weed and Jimi working as team drivers in a rescue mission but further development between them is interrupted.

Book One begins Weed’s story about 76 year old Catherine Joubert, a former high-society sex worker who owns the grandest house in a French village and her ongoing conflict with the young mayor, Henri-Claude Noilly regarding a proposed waste to energy plant. Historically ostracised by the village women Catherine nevertheless forms a small group to fight Noilly ambitions.

Book Two continues Weed’s life and her stories. Changes at the TransAngelus haulage company mean even more work for Weed and longer time spent away from the places she loves. In the French village of her story old rivalries come to a head and new characters bring more conflict, scandal, a wedding and a funeral.

There may be a hint of romance for Weed if only Jimi didn’t annoy her so much.

[ Extract from Trobairitz the Storyteller ]

One of the drivers invited me to join them. He was the oldest of the group, tidy, stocky, grey short hair and old-fashioned polite. Told me his name was Raymond. He briefly introduced the other two. They didn’t look too pleased but he ignored them and started asking me the usual questions. Why would a woman be interested in long-distance haulage? What did I do before? Where did I come from?

I don’t answer that kind of question. I refuse to give personal details. They never ask outright about my age but I know they wonder. Why do they need to know I’m forty-two? I wear size 12 U.S. 14 UK. That translates to something like a 44 in European sizing but I don’t buy much here. Take one look at the petite average woman in this part of France and you can see why I get most of my stuff online. My hair is naturally curly, still dark brown. I wear it loose or stuffed under a baker-boy cap when I’m driving. I like Dire Straits and Rachmaninov. I speak French, English, Spanish and Italian. I play guitar and I’m teaching myself mandolin. I’m a passable Mezzo. I read everything and I’m blessed with a good memory. But I don’t tell truckers any of this. It’s nobody’s business but mine.

All I said in response to Raymond’s questions was ‘I like driving.’

Raymond got up to fill his water glass at the cooler. At the same time another driver came in from the parking bays to join the group. He looked freshly showered and he smelled of the garrigue heathland, green and herby. His damp hair curled around his ears. Maybe a few years younger than me, his skin had a healthy outdoors glow. He filled his T-shirt very nicely. He greeted everybody except me and I know the reason for that. Drivers assume that any female present is somebody’s bit on the side, along for the ride. They wait to be introduced. He hurried through the handshakes and seemed anxious to tell them something.

‘Just parked next to a new Volvo FH16,’ he said, searching the drivers’ faces for a reaction, ignoring me. ‘Classy, black livery. Somebody gone over to Trans-Angelus? Anybody we know? Who got lucky?’

‘That’ll be me,’ I said, keeping my eyes on my plate of faux filet.

You could taste the testosterone around the table. Without looking up I knew that hackles were raised, muscles clenched, jaws stiffened.

‘French trucks not good enough for you?’ the newcomer taunted.

Very slowly I put down my knife and fork and leaned back in my seat. Then I lifted my head to look him square in the eyes. Deep dark brown ones, I noted. I smiled.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Nice to meet you too.’ I kept the smile beaming bright, eyes and teeth like a chorus line showgirl.

He didn’t know where to go after that so he gave a little grunt and pulled up his chair. Raymond came back with his fresh glass of water. He greeted the fourth man.

‘Jimi, my friend,’ he said. ‘I thought we might see you tonight. Family okay? How’s the Renault?’

I couldn’t let that go, couldn’t miss out on this perfectly timed gift.

‘Renault Trucks,’ I said quietly, scratching the back of my neck and screwing up my eyes as if I’d only just remembered. ‘Bought out by Volvo in 2001.’

One of the others sniggered. I’d made my point. I don’t like to come across as a clever bitch but Jimi had asked for it.

But I like men. I really do. Wasn’t it Dorothy Parker who said there’s nothing quite so much fun as a man? And I’ve had my share of fun. I’m no angel. I just never saw the attraction of getting into that permanent couple thing.

Purchase Links – Trobairitz

[ Bio by Celia Micklefield ]

“I was inspired to begin writing Trobairitz when I lived in Hérault, Languedoc before it changed its name to Occitanie. I like to use settings I know well in all my books: Yorkshire where I’m from and other places I’ve lived. I can conjure up the sights, sounds and smells as I’m writing.

I used to write short stories for women’s magazines but I always longed to delve into more complex themes. I still love the craft of short story writing where every single word has to earn its place and there’s a third collection of shorter reads on the back burner for next year.

I live in Norfolk now. I’m at the age where I enjoy a quiet life so the surrounding countryside, the Broads and my garden are enough. I have a neurological condition called CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome) which developed after I was hit and knocked down by a careless driver. My bones mended but nerve damage causes constant pain. It’s why I’m slow at most things which unfortunately includes writing. On bad pain days I have to take medication and then I wouldn’t be able to write a shopping list never mind the next chapter.

I use my maiden name Celia Micklefield as my author name and if I’d known how difficult it can be to fit it on the front cover I’d have stuck with Smith. I write in various genres. All my books are character led and involve often emotional problems for them to confront.” 

Website – www.celiamicklefield.com
X(Twitter) – @CMicklefield