Month: March 2019

Those moments of depression are seeping into my writing

Nothing I write makes any sense, it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t progress the story, they are just words on a piece of paper.  Perhaps it’s those moments of despair that are holding me back, those thoughts that begin to swirl in your head when the dream you had in your head becomes very different from what happens in reality.

And this is the problem, there are so many people out there that say, ‘dare to dream’, or ‘today its a dream tomorrow it is reality’.

Is it?

For some, those with the state of mind, the drive, and the confidence to pull it off, it might be, but for the rest of us, and that’s a lot of people trying to head down that same path f success, it’s a lot harder.

And you can bet those seminar or conference speakers have pocked the thousands of dollars they got for the gig, and have moved on to the next group of … well, let’s not give them a name.

I wish I could stand up in front of 200 budding authors and tell them, in the same bright breezy manner that they are on the way to success, just follow the ten proven steps, but I can’t.  I know how hard that road is.

Like starting a farm, you don’t just walk onto the land, say you’re going to be a farmer, and magically everything happens.  It doesn’t.  It’s bloody hard work, and a lot of it, with heartbreak, and setbacks, and sometimes even a disaster.

It’s the same with writing.

You don’t sit at the typewriter, in front of a notebook, or computer screen, and it all just comes together.  It doesn’t.

For some, it might, but for the rest of us, it’s a long hard road, just to get some form of recognition.  And even then, like in the movies, fame can be fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye.

You have to produce, trying to produce creates pressure, pressure creates depression, and well. you get the picture, it’s a bit like the cycle of life.

OK, whinge over.

Time to get back to work.

 

I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Part 5

My mind will not rest.

Down here, it is summer, and the last few days have been rather hot, well, it is summer after all, but tonight it is particularly hot.

So, as I can’t sleep, I’m lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, otherwise known as the cinema of my dreams.

Where am I?

Well, the location is in keeping with the weather, hot, humid, and cold drinks are mandatory.

I’ve got one now!

 

A sleepless night did nothing to make the idea of going on a treasure hunt and more palatable. I couldn’t say I didn’t see it coming, because Boggs had been hinting he’d found something of his father’s when poking through his old stuff.

I was hoping it was money.

And visiting the bar, I thought that he had found a lead in his quest to find some information about his parents, two people he realized now, he knew very little about.

In that quest, I was only too willing to help.

When he finally told me about the treasure, I didn’t think he was the sort to believe in fairy tales, because everyone knew it was little more than that.

I didn’t flat out debunk the myth, but I could see I was going to have to carefully get him off this track.  Real or not, \we were hardly equipped, mentally or physically, to deal with whatever this quest might throw up.

Yes, in my mind’s eye I had a Raiders of the Lost Ark scenario running through my head, from large rolling stones, through to a snake pit.  I hated snakes too.

In fact, with the addition of Boggs uncle Rico in the mix, it seemed to me we would be better off spending our time looking for work rather than using any excuse to not, but that was the problem with our neighborhood, too many people looking for work and not enough jobs.  Prosperity seemed to be everywhere else.

“No lounging around in bed, Sam.”  My mother’s voice came from the kitchen where she would be throwing food into a container for her lunch.

She was suffering from the lack of employment too, being a qualified accounts clerk, but for the time being, working check out at the local supermarket.

A job was a job, but it barely paid the bills.

I made it to the kitchen just as she was about to leave.

“You need to try harder,” she said.  “Walter said they’re looking for people in the warehouse again.  Promise me you’ll go see them.”

I could see the strain of the odd shifts she worked, the fact she didn’t want to be there, but unlike my father, she accepted responsibility, no matter what it cost.

“I promise.”

A kiss on the forehead and she was gone.

The jobs at the warehouse were little more than slave labor, minimum pay, very hard work, and ungratefully supervisors.  Most of those like Boggs and I lasted a week, or less because that way they didn’t have to pay you for the few days you worked.

But it was a job, and it was time I stepped up.

The treasure hunt would have to wait.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Location, location, location

And, no, I’m not talking about the television show.

I imagine when considering making a film, a group of people sit around a table and look at the places where a story can be told.  Quite often the story has the locations, and for those seeking to make the film, they have a head start.

Provided there is enough money in the budget to do so.

As a writer, I use travel to find new locations for my stories, but unlike the movie makers, I don’t have any place in mind before I go.

So it that a chicken and egg thing?

When away, I’m always typing little notes into my smartphone in an app called Somnote.  It’s very handy and even allows you to write larger pieces as well.  It’s where most of my blog posts originate because the ideas for these often come out of left field.

And while I’m out., sometimes at very inconvenient moments.

But I digress…again…

I like old world hotels, probably not for their aesthetic value, but because it gives me an idea of what it was like in the past.

And maybe a ghost or two as well, just to liven up things at night.

Dining rooms, particular that of one at Raffles in Singapore, are just dripping with atmosphere, and the time we went, I was waiting for the ghost of the last big cat to come and visit us.

Other than that my imagination ran wild that day.

Other hotels such as one in Lucerne Switzerland, and Kamloops in Canada, were a number of buildings cobbled together with a myriad of passageways and small sets of stairs where presumably the joins of the buildings were.

It was not the first time I was looking for secret passageways.

And small lifts, one that holds two people or one person and two suitcases, are another highlight and are ripe for use in storytelling.  These sorts of elevators exist in smaller hotels, and one in particular, we found in Paris.

It was only four floors, but having to walk instead of us=ing the elevator, was only useful for those who love exercise.

Elevators, old or new are always are a thing of interest, from a writers point of view, such as one in the Paris Opera house, where my granddaughters believed there was a ghost, and looking at it, they may have been right.

They would not get in it.

Another elevator, and perhaps there are a lot more like it, was in an old building in Brisbane, where the stairs wrapped around the elevator shaft and you could see the elevator going up and down,  I guess before they updated it, the old elevator had sides you could look out (and those on the stairs look ib).

Excellent inspiration for all manner of plotlines and that’s just using an elevator.

Try this for size, outrunning the elevator to the top.  Not so hard as old elevators were not the fastest means of getting to your floor.

If you want a fast elevator, go to the empire state building and head to the lookout.  THose elevators are fast.

Love the ones with the iron foldable doors that require you to do a few months pumping iron, just so you can open and close that heavy and sometimes miscreant door.

And just to get your imagination jumping, think about the walkways at some of London underground railways.   If you know what I’m talking about, how many chase scenes can you write just from one walk?

It’s good, it’s bad, and at times it can be very, very ugly

It was as if Microsoft Word was sent down from that place in the universe where a group of torturers sit around a table to find new ways of making our lives just that little bit more difficult.

I mean, most of the time it works really well and behaves itself.

But…

Then there are the times, usually when you are stressed about a deadline, or you are nearly at the end of what you believe to be the most brilliant writing you have ever put on paper.

Then…

Disaster strikes.

It could be the power goes off, even for just a few seconds, but it’s enough to kill the computer.  It could be that you have reached the end and closed Word down, thinking that it had autosaved, all the while ignoring that little pop up that says, ‘do you want to save your work’?

It’s been a long day, night, or session.  You’re tired and your mind is elsewhere, as it always is at the end.

You always assume that autosave is on.  It was the last time, it has been since the day you installed it however long ago that was.

So…

When the power comes back on, you start the computer, go into Word, and it brings back all the windows you had open when the power failed, and the one with the brilliant piece you just wrote, it’s just a blank sheet.

Or up to where it last autosaved, which is nowhere near the end.

Or it didn’t save at all.

You forget the software updated recently and that always brings changes.  Usually unwanted changes.

By which time you have that sinking feeling that all is lost, deadline missed, brilliant work lost, it’s the end of the world.

You promise yourself you’re going to get Scrivener, or something else, where this doesn’t happen.

Or if you’re like me, you put the cat on the keyboard and tell him to sort the mess out.

My opinions are my own

It’s always a good thing to get that across especially if you work for an organization that could misinterpret what that opinion is, or generally have an opposing opinion.  Of course, by saying your opinions are your own, you’re covering yourself from becoming unemployed, but is this a futile act?

Perhaps it’s better to not say anything because everything you say and do eventually find its way to those you want most not to hear about it, perhaps one of the big negatives of the internet and social media.

And…

It seems odd to me that you can’t have an opinion of your own, even if it is contrary to that of the organization you work for, and especially if their opinion has changed over time.  An opposing opinion, not delivered in a derogatory manner, would have the expectation of sparking healthy debate, but it doesn’t always end up like that.

I’m sure there are others out there that will disagree, and use the overused word, loyalty’.   Perhaps their mantra will be ‘keep your opinions to yourself’.

This, too, often crops up in personal relationships, and adds weight to the statement, ‘you can pick your friends but not your relatives’.

I’m told I have an opinion on everything, a statement delivered in a manner that suggests sarcasm.  Whether it’s true or not, isn’t the essence of free speech, working within the parameters of not inciting hate, bigotry, racism or sexism, a fundamental right of anyone in a democracy?

Seems not.

There’s always someone out there, higher up the food chain, with an opinion of their own, obviously the right one, and who will not hesitate to silence yours.  But, isn’t it strange that in order to silence you, they have to use leverage, like your job, to get theirs across.

Well, my opinions are in my writing, and whether you agree with them or not, I’m sure you will let me know.  In a robust but respectful manner.

Unlike some, my door is always open.

Is it Friday … Again?

It’s amazing just how fast the weeks are slipping by.

And how I don’t seem to be getting much done.  It’s like looking at a big circle that charts your times for the week.

Staring into space looking for inspiration, 85%

Getting distracted, 13%

Writing, 1%

Undecided, 1%

But I guess I am getting a lot of the preparatory work done, like setting up the next 5 Being Inspired posts – adding the photographs to be used as inspiration

See an example:  http://bit.ly/2NLIcqX

Adding the next 5 episodes of PI Walthenson’s first case, and re-writing as the second draft progresses in episodic form prior to posting them

See an example:  http://bit.ly/2EzV9zM

Then I had to create Twitter ads for the last 15 or so blog entries, which I’ve been putting off

See an example:  http://bit.ly/2XDEBzO

What I didn’t get done, and is probably the most important job, was fix my author website.  Perhaps next week.

Did I get to read?  No.  Unless you count a number of blog posts from bloggers I follow.

Did I get to work on any of the WIP books?  No.  Unless you count thinking about them while I’m asleep.

So, perhaps it will happen next week.

Tune in to find out!

 

Travel is part of the story – Paris, there are so many stories that could be told

We have been to Paris a number of times over the years.

The first was at the end of a whirlwind bus tour, seven countries in seven days or something like that.  It was a relief to get to Paris and stay two nights if only to catch our breath.

I remember three events from that tour, the visit to the Eiffel Tower, the tour of the night lights, not that we were able to take much in from the inside of the bus, and the farewell dinner in one of the tour guides specially selected restaurants.  The food and atmosphere were incredible.  It was also notable for introducing us to a crepe restaurant in Montmartre, another of the tour guide’s favorite places.

On that trip to Paris, we also spent an afternoon exploring the Palace of Versailles.

The next time we visited Paris we flew in from London.  OK, it was a short flight, but it took all day.  From the hotel to the airport, the wait at the airport, departure, flying through time zones, arrival at Charles De Gaulle airport, now there’s an experience, and waiting for a transfer that never arrived, but that’s another story.

I can’t remember where we stayed the first time, it was somewhere out in the suburbs, but the second time we stayed at the Hilton near both the Eiffel Tower and the Australian Embassy, notable only because the concierge was dating an Australian girl working in the Embassy.  That was our ticket for special treatment, which at times you need to get around in Paris.

It was the year before 2000 and the Eiffel Tower was covered in lights, and every hour or so it looked like a bubbling bottle of champagne.  It was the first time we went to Level 3 of the Tower, and it was well worth it.  The previous tour only included Level 2.  This time we were acquainted with the fries available on the second level, and down below under the tower.

This time we acquainted ourselves with the Metro, the underground railway system, to navigate our way around to the various tourist spots, such as Notre Dame de Paris, The Louvre, Sacre-Coeur Basilica, and Les Invalides, and, of course, the trip to the crepe restaurant.

We also went to the Louvre for the express purpose of seeing the Mona Lisa, and I came away slightly disappointed.  I had thought it to be a much larger painting.  We then went to see the statue of Venus de Milo and spent some time trying to get a photo of it without stray visitors walking in front of us.  Aside from that, we spent the rest of the day looking at the vast number of paintings, and Egyptian artifacts in the Museum.

We also visited the Opera House which was architecturally magnificent.

The third time we visited Paris we took our daughter, who was on her first international holiday.  This time we stayed in a quaint Parisian hotel called Hotel Claude Bernard Saint Germain, (43 Rue Des Ecoles, Paris, 75005, France),  recommended to us by a relation who’d stayed there the year before.  It was small, and the elevator could only fit two people or one person and a suitcase.  Our rooms were on the 4th floor, so climbing the stairs with luggage was out of the question.

It included breakfast and wifi, and it was quite reasonable for the four days we stayed there.

It was close to everything you could want, down the hill to the railway station, and a square where on some days there was a market, and for those days when we were hungry after a day’s exploring, a baguette shop where rolls and salad were very inexpensive and very delicious.

To our daughter we appeared to be experienced travelers, going on the Metro, visiting the Louvre, going, yes once again, to the crepe restaurant and the Basilica at Montmartre, Notre Dame, and this time by boat to the Eiffel Tower.  We were going to do a boat rode on the Seine the last time but ran out of time.

We have some magnificent photos of the Tower from the boat.

Lunch on one of the days was at a restaurant not far from the Arc de Triomphe, where our daughter had a bucket of mussels.  I was not as daring and had a hamburger and fries.  Then we went to the center of the Arch and watched the traffic.

Our first time in Paris the bus driver got into the roundabout just to show us the dangers of driving in an unpredictable situation where drivers seem to take huge risks to get out at their exit.  Needless to say, we survived that experience, though we did make a number of circuits.

The next time we visited Paris we brought the two eldest grandchildren.   We took the Eurostar train from St Pancras station direct to Disneyland, then took the free bus from the station to the hotel.  The train station was directly outside Disneyland.

We stayed at the Dream Castle Hotel, rather than Disneyland itself as it was a cheaper option and we had a family room that was quite large and breakfast was included every morning.  Then it was a matter of getting the free bus to Disneyland.

We spent three days, time which seem to pass far too quickly, and we didn’t get to see everything.  They did, however, find the time to buy two princess dresses, and then spent the rest of the time playing dress-ups whenever they could.

In Paris, we stayed at the Crown Plaza at Republique Square and took the children to the Eiffel Tower where the fries, and the carousel at the bottom of the tower, seemed to be more memorable than the tower itself.  The day we visited the third level was closed.  The day was cold and windy so that probably accounted for the less than memorable visit.

We travelled on the Metro where it was pointed out to me that the trains actually ran on rubber tires, something I had not noticed before.  It was a first for both children to travel on a double-decker train.

When we went to the Louvre where, when we took the girls to the Mona Lisa, one said, “and we walked all this way to see this small painting”.  It quickly became obvious their idea of paintings were the much larger ones hanging in other galleries.  We took them to the Arc de Triomphe, the Disney shop, which I’m still wondering why after spending a small fortune at Disneyland itself, the Opera House, where one of the children thought she saw the ghost and refused to travel in one of the elevators, and lastly Notre Dame.

Sadly, I don’t think they were all that interested in architecture, but at the Opera House, they did actually get to see some ballet stars from the Russian Bolshoi ballet company practicing.  As we were leaving the next day we could not go and see a performance.

All in all, traveling with children and experiencing Paris through their eyes made it a more memorable experience.

Conversations with my cat – 20

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This is Chester.  He’s about as bored a cat can get.

Why?

I’m reading a section of one of my stories that I know is terrible, and I’m using him as a measure of how boring.

I think both you and I would agree.

This story needs re-writing.

In fact, just as I reached the end, I saw some movement.

Is it a mouse, or is it relief?

Reading time over, it’s time for some classical music.

At least I know he likes that!

 

 

 

“Sunday in New York”, it’s a bumpy road to love

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

Sunday In New York

In a word: Spark

So, as far as I’m concerned the word ‘spark’ is something that is created by a fire, and can create havoc.

But…

Another meaning is that a ‘spark’ is created by a ‘spark plug’ in order to force the pistons of an engine to drive the crankshaft

This leads to…

There is no spark in this relationship, so perhaps it’s going nowhere.  No, we’re not looking for a fiery spark, but a small amount of very intense feeling

Spark?

I was watching God Friended Me last night and I’m sure like many others we were waiting to see that spark that would change their relationship from the friend zone, to something else.

And…

I think it was there.  Of course, we’ll have to wait till next week to find out.

As for the word spark, well there several different meanings, one of which I am familiar with when I was young.

Being called a ‘bright spark’

Depending on who used that remark, it could either mean you were clever or you were a smart ass, which I suspect was the reference to me.

Then, moving on

Saying something inflammatory ‘sparked’ the crowd into action.  A single remark can be equated to a literal ‘spark’ that can ignite a reaction.

A lynching perhaps?

And what about, once upon a time, a ship’s radio officer, he was called ‘sparks’ or ‘sparkie’, also a name that sometimes refers to an electrician.

I can see plenty of uses for this word in a story.