Writing a book is a cruel and unusual, yet beautifully rewarding, journey. I suffered greatly while writing my new book, The French Ingredient, a memoir about opening a cooking school in France. My suffering was amplified because I had to write the damn thing in Paris.
In theory, who wouldn’t want to write a book in Paris? How romantic to write in one of the most inspirational cities in the world, where writers like Oscar Wilde and Ernest Hemingway flocked to. I was seduced by the idea. The creative muses of Paris—the beautiful buildings and people—were to be my inspiration. I expected they’d dance for me like they have done for so many great writers.
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