When you first think of this word, it is with a slippery slope in mind.
I’ve been on a few of those in my time.
And while we’re on the subject, those inclines measured in degrees are very important if you want a train to get up and down the side of a mountain.
For the train, that’s an incline plane, the point where traction alone won’t get the iron horse up the hill.
Did I say ‘Iron Horse’? Sorry, regressed there, back to the mid-1800s in the American West for a moment.
It’s not that important when it comes to trucks and cars, and less so if you like four-wheel driving; getting up near-vertical mountainsides often present a welcome challenge to the true enthusiast
But for the rest of us, not so much if you find yourself sliding in reverse uncontrollably into the bay. I’m sure it’s happened more than once.
Then…
Are you inclined to go?
A very different sort of incline, ie to be disposed towards an attitude or desire.
An inclination, maybe, not to go four-wheel driving?
There is another, probably more obscure use of the word incline, and that relates to an elevated geological formation. Not the sort of reference that crops up in everyday conversation at the coffee shop.
But, you never know. Try it next time you have coffee and see what happens.
Hang about. Didn’t I read somewhere you need to plan your novel, create an outline setting the plot points, and flesh out the characters?
I’m sure it didn’t say, sit down and start writing!
Time to find a writing pad, and put my thinking cap on.
I make a list, what’s the story going to be about? Who’s going to be in it, at least at the start?
Like a newspaper story, I need a who, what, when, where, and how.
Right now.
I pick up the pen.
Character number one:
Computer nerd, ok, that’s a little close to the bone, a computer manager who is trying to be everything at once, and failing. Still me, but with a twist. Now, add a little mystery to him, and give him a secret, one that will only be revealed after a specific set of circumstance. Yes, I like that.
We’ll call him Bill, ex-regular army, a badly injured and repatriated soldier who was sent to fight a war in Vietnam, the result of which had made him, at times, unfit to live with.
He had a wife, which brings us to,
Character number two:
Ellen, Bill’s ex-wife, an army brat and a General’s daughter, and the result of one of those romances that met disapproval for so many reasons. It worked until Bill came back from the war, and from there it slowly disintegrated. There are two daughters, both by the time the novel begins, old enough to understand the ramifications of a divorce.
Character number three:
The man who is Bill’s immediate superior, the Services Department manager, a rather officious man who blindly follows orders, a man who takes pleasure in making others feel small and insignificant, and worst of all, takes the credit where none is due.
Oops, too much, that is my old boss. He’ll know immediately I’m parodying him. Tone it down, just a little, but more or less that’s him. Last name Benton. He will play a small role in the story.
Character number four:
Jennifer, the IT Department’s assistant manager, a woman who arrives in a shroud of mystery, and then, in time, to provide Bill with a shoulder to cry on when he and Ellen finally split, and perhaps something else later on.
More on her later as the story unfolds.
So far so good.
What’s the plot?
Huge corporation plotting to take over the world using computers? No, that’s been done to death.
Huge corporation, OK, let’s stop blaming the corporate world for everything wrong in the world. Corporations are not bad people, people are the bad people. That’s a rip off cliché, from guns don’t kill people, people kill people! There will be guns, and there will be dead people.
There will be people hiding behind a huge corporation, using a part of their computer network to move billions of illegally gained money around. That’s better.
Now, having got that, our ‘hero’ has to ‘discover’ this network, and the people behind it.
All we need now is to set the ball rolling, a single event that ‘throws a cat among the pigeons’.
Yes, Bill is on holidays, a welcome relief from the problems of work. He dreams of what he’s going to do for the next two weeks. The phone rings. Benton calling, the world is coming to an end, the network is down. He’s needed. A few terse words, but he relents.
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
Timbertown is based on a timber getters township between 1880 and 1910. All the buildings are based on original plans and sit among Tallowwoods and Blackbutts. Most of the red cedar has been cut down.
it might have made a bigger impact if there were people dressed in period costumes enacting roles in the various buildings.
Only one was used being used as a General Store.
The stables where the carriages are kept
There was a horse-drawn carriage, which does a circuit of the town.
It would not be a comfortable ride these days with independent suspension and solid steel wheels, giving bone-jarring passing through the potholes.
And a ride in a stagecoach from city to city, you would have to think long and hard before you travel.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Talent Is Insignificant – It’s Discipline, Love, Luck …and Most of All Endurance That Wins
“Talent hits a target, but only discipline hits the bull’s‑eye every single time.”
If you’ve ever cheered a prodigy at the piano, a gymnast who seemed to glide, or a coder who writes flawless algorithms in a flash, you’ve felt the magnetic pull of talent. It dazzles, it excites, and it often convinces us that “natural ability” is the holy grail of success.
But the more closely we watch the stories that truly endure—athletes who out‑last their rivals, entrepreneurs who bounce back after failure, artists whose work still moves people decades later—the clearer a different truth emerges: talent alone is a weak foundation. What builds a lasting legacy are the quieter, less glamorous forces that sit just beyond the spotlight: discipline, love, luck, and, above all, endurance.
In this post we’ll unpack each of those ingredients, explore how they interact, and give you practical ways to turn the “insignificant” talent you may have into a resilient engine for achievement.
1. Talent: The Spark, Not the Engine
Why Talent Feels Overrated
One‑time brilliance vs. sustained performance. A single moment of brilliance (a perfect shot, a viral video, a breakthrough idea) can jump‑start attention, but without a system behind it the spark fizzles.
The “gifted” trap. Research in psychology shows that people who are labelled “gifted” often develop a fixed‑mindset: they attribute success to innate ability and avoid challenges that might expose weakness.
Statistical reality. A 2016 meta‑analysis of 75 studies on expertise (Ericsson et al.) concluded that deliberate practice accounts for roughly 10 % of performance variance; talent accounts for less than 2 %.
Talent as a Starting Line, Not a Finish Line
Think of talent as the starting line in a marathon. It decides who can line up first, but it says nothing about who will cross the finish line. The race is run on the road, not the lane.
2. Discipline: The Daily Blueprint
What Discipline Looks Like
Discipline Element
Real‑World Example
Consistent practice
A violinist who rehearses 2 hours daily, 365 days a year
Structured feedback loops
A software engineer who writes unit tests after every feature
Goal‑oriented routines
A writer who writes 500 words before checking email
Self‑monitoring
A runner who logs mileage, heart‑rate, and recovery data
The Science of Habit Formation
James Clear, author of Atomic Habits, points out that identity‑based habits (e.g., “I am a disciplined athlete”) outperform outcome‑based habits (“I will run 5 km”). When discipline becomes part of who you are, it no longer feels like a chore; it feels inevitable.
Actionable tip: Choose one micro‑habit that aligns with your larger goal and repeat it for 30 consecutive days. The habit loop (cue → routine → reward) will start wiring the neural pathways that make discipline feel natural.
3. Love: The Emotional Fuel
Why Passion Isn’t Enough
Passion is often touted as the driver of success, yet passion without purpose can become burnout. Love, in the context of achievement, is a deeper, more sustainable affection for the process—the learning, the challenge, the incremental improvement.
The Role of Love in Resilience
Intrinsic Motivation. When you love the work itself, you’re less dependent on external validation.
Stress Buffer. Studies in positive psychology show that people who report “loving” their work have lower cortisol levels during high‑pressure periods.
Community Magnet. Love attracts like-minded people, creating a support network that can catch you when you stumble.
Actionable tip: Write a “Why I love this?” statement for your main pursuit. Keep it on your desk and read it each morning. When the grind feels heavy, that line reminds you why you’re in the arena.
4. Luck: The Uncontrollable Variable
Luck Is Not Pure Chance
Luck is the intersection of opportunity and preparedness. As the old adage goes, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.”
Exposure. The more you put yourself out there (networking events, conferences, open‑source contributions), the higher the probability that a serendipitous chance will arise.
Timing. Being ready to pivot when a market shift occurs—think of Netflix transitioning from DVD rentals to streaming—turns “luck” into strategic advantage.
How to Engineer Luck
Expand your horizons. Learn a new skill unrelated to your core field.
Cultivate diverse relationships. Cross‑industry friendships often surface unexpected collaborations.
Stay alert. Keep a journal of ideas and revisit it weekly; the seed of a lucky breakthrough may be hidden there.
5. Endurance: The Long‑Term Engine
Endurance vs. Stamina
Stamina is the ability to sustain effort in the short term (a 10‑km race).
Endurance is the capacity to keep moving over years, decades, or even a lifetime.
Endurance is the only factor that consistently predicts long‑term success. A 2021 longitudinal study of 2,500 professionals across 12 industries found that endurance (measured by years of continuous effort despite setbacks) explained 45 % of career advancement variance, dwarfing talent (2 %) and even discipline (15 %).
What Builds Endurance?
Component
Practical Habit
Physical health
30 minutes of moderate exercise, 5 days a week
Mental recovery
10‑minute mindfulness meditation after each work block
Strategic rest
Schedule “no‑work” days once per month to reboot creativity
Adaptive mindset
Reframe failures as data points, not verdicts
Real‑World Illustrations
Serena Williams (tennis) – Not just a natural athlete; she trained relentlessly, loved the grind, leveraged every lucky draw for sponsorship, and persisted through injuries for over 25 years.
Elon Musk (entrepreneurship) – While his vision seems “gifted,” his schedule of 100‑hour weeks, love for solving engineering puzzles, strategic bets (SpaceX, Tesla), and willingness to endure public ridicule illustrate endurance at scale.
How to Cultivate Endurance in Your Life
Set “anchor goals.” Choose a lifelong purpose (“becoming a master storyteller”) rather than a fleeting target (“finish a novel this year”).
Build a “failure portfolio.” Keep a list of setbacks, what you learned, and the next step. Seeing failure as a collection of data points removes the fear of the next stumble.
Create rituals of renewal. Whether it’s a yearly retreat, a quarterly “skill‑audit,” or a weekly “wins‑and‑losses” meeting with a mentor, rituals remind you that the marathon has checkpoints, not just a distant finish line.
6. The Synergy: How the Four Elements Feed Endurance
Element
How It Reinforces Endurance
Discipline
Turns daily effort into muscle memory, reducing decision fatigue over the long haul.
Love
Provides emotional fuel that keeps you returning to the grind when motivation dips.
Luck
Supplies the occasional boost that keeps the journey exciting and opens new pathways, preventing stagnation.
Endurance
The overarching framework that integrates the other three into a sustainable, lifelong practice.
Think of the relationship as a four‑legged stool: remove any leg and the whole structure wobbles. Talent may be the decorative cushion, but the stool can’t stand without its sturdy legs.
7. A Blueprint for Turning “Insignificant Talent” Into Lasting Impact
Audit Your Starting Point – List your natural abilities, then rate your current discipline, love, luck, and endurance on a 1‑10 scale.
Identify the Weakest Leg – If discipline scores a 4 while love is an 8, focus on building consistent habits first.
Create a 90‑Day “Endurance Sprint” –
Week 1–2: Establish one micro‑habit (e.g., 20‑minute focused work session each morning).
Week 3–4: Add a love‑reinforcement ritual (e.g., a weekly reflection on why the work matters).
Month 2: Seek one new “luck‑engine” (a networking event, a side‑project).
Month 3: Review progress, adjust, and lock in recovery practices (sleep, movement).
Iterate Forever – After each 90‑day cycle, increase the difficulty slightly. Over a year, you’ll have built a compound endurance system that eclipses any initial talent.
8. Closing Thoughts
Talent is the spark that may ignite curiosity, but it’s the quiet, persistent fire of discipline, the warm glow of love, the occasional gust of luck, and the unyielding heat of endurance that keeps the flame alive.
When you stop measuring success by how quickly you can light a match and start measuring it by how long you can keep the fire burning, you shift from a short‑term performer to a long‑term creator.
So, the next time you hear “You’re so talented,” thank the comment, smile, and then ask yourself: “What will I do today that my future self will thank me for?”
Because the answer, more often than not, will be found not in talent, but in the relentless, disciplined, loving, lucky, and enduring steps you take—one day at a time.
Ready to build endurance? Start now: choose one tiny habit, write a love‑statement for your craft, reach out to a new contact, and schedule a recovery day next week. Your future self will already be cheering you on.
Stay disciplined. Stay loving. Stay open to luck. Stay enduring.
Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?
…
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
The cover, at the moment, looks like this:
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
Yes, when you are going at it like a bat out of hell, it might be an idea to take a pause and regroup.
That being a pause as an interruption to an activity.
In music, it’s a mark over a note.
Perhaps it’s a good idea to pause recording a TV show while the ads are on. Networks don’t like it, but it makes the show make more sense without the distractions of advertisements, sometimes quite inane, or annoying.
What I just said, might give pause to my opposite number in this debate.
Have you been in a conversation, someone says something quite odd, and there’s a pregnant pause?
How did the word pregnant get into the conversation? That, of course, usually means something significant will follow, but rarely does. But it can also be a conversation killer where no one says anything.
Is that a wide eye in awe moment? You did WHAT?
Then there is the word pours, sounds the same but is completely different.
In this case, the man pours water from the bucket on the plants.
Or my brother pours cold water on my plans. Not literally, but figuratively, making me think twice about whether it would work or not. Usually not.
Or a confession pours out of a man with a guilty conscience. AKA sings like a bird. Don’t you just love these quaint expressions? It reminded me of a gangster film back in Humphrey Bogart’s day.
It never rains but it pours? Another expression, when everything goes wrong. A bit like home renovations really.
Really, it means to flow quickly and in large quantities, ie. rain pours down.
And if that isn’t bad enough, what about paws?
Sounds the same again, but, yes it’s what an animal has as feet, especially cats, dogs, and bears.
One use of it, out of context, of course, is ‘get your paws off me!’
And one rabbit paw might be good luck, but having two rabbit pows, I might win the lottery.
Investigation of crimes doesn’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.
That was particularly true in my case. The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.
At one stage, the police thought I had murdered my own wife, though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me. I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.
The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters. She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbours reckon there were heated discussions the day before.
Routine was the word she used.
Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible. I could sense the raging violence within him. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.
Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.
After three months, the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.
But it was not the last time I saw Gabrielle.
The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact that she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.
For months, I was barely functioning, to the extent that I had all but lost my job and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.
They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts. Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.
No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.
She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy. Her story varied only in that she had been made to witness his execution. Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.
It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down. I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess. Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.
What happened became our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again. It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.
And it had.
Since then, we saw each other about once a month in a cafe. I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.
We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee. It took a while for me to realise that all she had was her work; personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.
She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.
I wondered if this text message was in that category. I was certain it would interest the police, and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.
I reached for the phone, then put it back down again. I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.
“We’re being hailed,” the communications officer said in her matter-of-fact tone.
“Not an alien then?”
The moment I said it, it sounded inappropriate.
“Definitely human, with an accent.”
I was not sure what I was expected to make of that.
“On screen.”
A bridge, not dissimilar to ours appeared, with the captain, or the person I assumed to be captain, standing in front of his chair.
“Whom am I addressing?” He asked.
I gave him my name, the ship, who we were, standard name, rank, and serial number stuff as per regulations.
“Where is the previous Captain?”
He seemed to have information about us, if not recent.
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
OK, I didn’t think he was coming just to make small talk.
“Ship slowing, no signs of weapons charging,” I saw pop up on the screen. In situations like this, best not to communicate when there’s an open communication session.
Then, a new notice, “second ship following the first, moving at the same spot, arrival time 18 minutes.”
I looked at the inset on the master screen, and even at that distance and low-quality magnification, it definitely didn’t look like anything in our fleet.
It begged the question, were they running away?
“Are you alone?”
“No. But it’s not one of our ships.”
Not very helpful.
“I suggest you turn around and go back,” he added.
I saw him turn, as if someone beside him had spoken, or gestured.
“Sorry. We have to go. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
“Who are they?”
“People you don’t want to meet.”
The screen went back to being a window, and the vessel we’d just been in communication with came clearly into view, then vanished.
It was larger than our ship, but more streamlined, my first thought, like a sleek racing car.
“It seems we’re about to have our first encounter. Number one, stay on the highest alert, the rest of the crew, battle stations, quick as you can.”
To the navigator, “Did we get anything on that ship, scans, personnel, weapons, engines, anything?”
“A little. We can go through it later. If we’re still in one piece.”
If the oncoming ship was alien, it was an unknown quantity, and the navigator could be forgiven for thinking we might not be able to defend ourselves. Questions we should have asked the other ship were plentiful, and the surprise it caused caught us all offside when I should have been the exception.
There would be time later to analyze everything we did wrong, what I did wrong
Hopefully.
The alien ship was no longer a blurry blob in the distance, but an oddly shaped ship that bore similarities to our own.
I could only guess at the lifeforms aboard if there were any. It was a moment of thrill, fear, and intense expectation.
Those last few minutes of waiting disappeared as though they were seconds, and suddenly it was opposite us, in space, on station maintaining its distance. I had us brought to a stop after the other ship left, but in a state of instant readiness to depart just in case we were fired upon.
I was banking on the fact the aliens might be as curious about us as we were about them.
“Can we communicate with that vessel,” I asked, turning the senior communications officer, now on the bridge at the comms station.
“You can speak to them; we have all means of external communication open.”
He didn’t add that they might not understand what I said.
I shrugged. “We are from the planet Earth on a voyage of exploration and discovery with no other agenda other than to meet and talk to other civilizations.”
It sounded quite strange listening to a somewhat stumbling and unrehearsed greeting that was to be our first words to an alien species. I hoped that our credibility didn’t rest of those words.”
Silence.
“Any detectable activity aboard their ship?”
“Our scanners can’t penetrate their hull. Nothing noteworthy outside the hull, but, then, if we don’t know what we’re looking for…”
“We know where you are from and who you are.”
It was a crackling rendition, the sort of sounds I’d expect from a vintage radio broadcast.”
I looked at the comms officer.
“An ancient radio frequency once associated with AM radio, sir, 812 megahertz.”
Did that mean we were more advanced than them? I didn’t think so.
“Who am I addressing?”
This time the silence was broken by crackling, and what sounded like a tape recorder fast-forwarding. This went on for about five minutes.
Then, much stronger, and clearer, “Who I am is irrelevant. If you have similar intentions as the vessel before you, I strongly suggest you turn around and go back to your own galaxy.”
“They’ve moved to FM sir, not sure why they’re using such old technology”, the comms officer said quietly.
Two things popped into my head; from that proverbial left field, I once heard a language professor once pontificate on. The first, was from a scientist at the space training facility on what an alien race mighttry to communicate with us on, and that in his opinion would be the band waves we had been sending out into space for years. AM and FM in that context made perfect sense.
The second: how did an alien speak such good English?
“We have not, though I suspect that will not allay your fears. All humans, which is what we call ourselves, are not the same.”
“Yet your ship carries weapons.”
“For defense. If we are attacked, we will respond. I would expect no less from you.”
There was a minute or so of silence, time I was guessing for my counterpart to formulate his next move.
It came sooner than I expected.
A humanoid form appeared, not exactly like us, but much the same as the early humanoid robots we created at the start of our foray into robotics and for that matter AI.
“We have had much interaction with your kind, one way or another, and it has always ended badly. If you have no ill intentions towards up, will you accompany me back to my ship? I assure you, and your crew I have no ill intentions.”
It would be a huge leap of faith.
Number one, you have the ship. I’m going to take a short trip to the other vessel.”
“You should take a crew member, as per protocol.”
Yes, the instruction. If we were to were to meet an alien, it was not to go with them without one or more crew members.
“Unfortunately, he’s a stickler for regulations. I must go with another crew member, just in case.”
I didn’t add the ‘harm cones to me, and retribution will be meted out.’ I didn’t think at this delicate stage that would fly.
“No weapons then.”
“No weapons. Nancy Woolmer to the bridge immediately.”
She arrived within five minutes, and the moment she was in proximity, we were, I assumed, beamed aboard his ship.
While in reality, this is just an ordinary lake at a resort we stayed at a while back and can be used for canoeing.
During summer the surrounding undergrowth is a haven for snakes, and it is not a good idea to wander too close.
Hardly the place to spur the imagination…
Unless, of course, you start thinking about the ethereal aspects it could possess. For instance, it might be the place where the ghosts of those who drowned come out to play at night.
It might be a lake in the middle of what was once an experimental site that needed a lot of water, and that tainted water might be the haven for mysterious creatures.
Ot it just might be part of a disused government secret site, long abandoned, with buildings and infrastructure just waiting for the right explorer to visit. Again, the ghosts of those who once were there could just be the reason why no one goes near the place.
And, what if there was an extensive, and invisible network of underground rooms. Above ground, just a pond and surrounding overgrown gardens, underneath, well, that’s up to you.
The stage is set for the big finale, though I’m not quite sure how ‘big’ it’s going to be.
Jack is ready to go having been given the green light by the girl with the gun. It seems collateral damage is not on the agenda for her, though he does admit to himself she is between that proverbial rock and a hard place.
The storekeeper still has a plan, shaky at best, to regain hold of the situation, once the customer is out of the shop. Nervy or not, he doesn’t think she had the capability to pull the trigger. He knows what sort of person it takes to do that, and she isn’t one of them.
The policewoman is not sure what to expect but thinks that surprise is on her side, and whatever is going on, she will be able to resolve it. She has her weapon drawn and ready to use. She had yet to shoot anyone with it
The girl is at the point of no return, that point where she had nothing left to lose. Anything she had before was gone, destroyed by the choices she’d made. No one ever handed out a manual on how you should live your life, or provide a list of people you should avoid, and her father’s prophetic words the last time they men came home with a thud, ‘your life is defined by the choices you make’.
She was not going to jail so it was going to be death or glory.
Now read on:
Jack had heard there were moments where, in a split second, your whole life flashes before your eyes. He did, and what he saw he didn’t like.
But, then, neither was he very happy about the fact he was nearly out the door before the policewoman on the other side crashed into him and sent him sprawling to the floor.
That was about the same fraction of a second he heard the gun go off, twice, or so he thought and knew he was a dead man, waiting for the bullet.
Another fraction of a second passed as the policewoman tried to unravel the mess they’d become, and at that moment in time felt the tugging at his sleeve and then, as if in slow motion, the sound of the glass door disintegrating behind him.
Annalisa was quite prepared to let the customer go.
She kept one eye on the shopkeeper and one on the customer, sidling towards the door. The gun was ready to shoot the first person who made a wrong move.
Or so she told herself. It was getting heavy in her hand, she was shaking almost uncontrollably now, and was getting more and more frightened of the consequences. She didn’t think, if she aimed, she could hit the side of a barn let alone a person standing ten feet away from her.
The customer reached the door.
At exactly the moment he put his hand 0on the door handle to open the door, another person was pushing the door, trying to make their way in.
With force.
She saw the blue cap, guess it was the police, though she hadn’t heard the siren, but also guessed the shopkeeper might have a silent alarm.
Damn.
A single shot, instantly in the direction of the door, not necessarily aimed at the two people now collapsing to the floor in a tangled mess, but at the door itself.
The impact, yet another guess, might shatter the glass and make it easier to escape.
After one more job.
The hell with Simmo. He’d dragged her down the rabbit hole far enough. Simmo knew her first name, that she had rich parents, but nothing else. Besides, he was in such bad shape she didn’t think he’d recover.
The shopkeeper had no idea who she was, it was the first time she’d been to his shop, and now, after a few weeks with Simmo, not ever her mother would recognize her.
She swiveled the gun and aimed it at the shopkeeper and pulled the trigger., One less dealer in the city was good news not bad.
She saw it hit, not exactly where, but it caused him to twist and start falling to the ground, at the same time letting out a very loud scream. Panic or anger?
She wasn’t waiting to find out.
A last glance at Simmo, now down for the count, she ran for the door, past the two on the floor, what she could now see was a policewoman with her weapon drawn, but unable to use it.
She crashed through the remainder of the glass shards put into the street and ran.
In the distance she could hear a police car coming, siren blaring. A warning if there was ever one to run harder, up the road, down an alley, out into another street, then down into the subway.
Gone.
It took fifteen seconds to disentangle herself from the customer, pushing him away, and getting to her feet, weapon aimed.
At nothing but air.
The girl had gone, and then she had the vague recollection of a shadow passing her as she was facing the other way getting to her feet.
And running out the door.
Five more valuable seconds as her brain processed this piece of information before it issued the command to go out the door and see which way she went.
Another ten seconds to get out the door, and see the police car coming from the same direction she had earlier, screeching to a halt outside the shop, a car door opening, and an officer getting out.
Margaret was guessing at the driver to drive down the road where she guessed the girl had run, managing to yell breathlessly at the office getting out, “She’s gone that way,” and pointing.
The officer relayed the message and closed the door as the car sped off.
“What happened?”
“Shots fired by a woman, more a girl, in the process of a robbery.”
She ran back inside the officer following.
The customer had moved to a corner and was standing, testing his limbs, with an expression that said he was amazed he was still alive.
“Over behind the counter. She shopkeeper. He was standing there.”
The policeman rounded the end of the counter and looked down. “He’s here. It’s not looking good.”
Margaret didn’t hear him. She was calling an ambulance.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 