If there is one thing I cannot resist is walking into a book store wherever it might be.
It usually elicits a groan from everyone I’m with because for them, watching grass grow is a more fascinating exercise.
But…
The best bookshops are the pop-up ones that appear in various shopping centres where there are empty spaces, and these have a wide variety of books for just $7 each.
And there are lots of bargains…
As you can see, I have been on a few bargain hunts lately and like any writer’s room, tucked away with the boxes of drinks, gardening equipment and everything else that just doesn’t fit in the house, are the piles of books awaiting being put into the shelves
As you can see, the shelves are almost full so it’s going to be an uphill battle to find spaces for them.
By the way, there are eight such book cases on the surrounding walls, as well as a new one, recently discarded from the lounge room, to house the reference books
Along with a few stuffed bears.
The job of putting books on shelves falls to the grandchildren, whom I am trying to convince that when they get older, they should too embrace the idea of having a reading room, which my writing room will also be when I eventually get to throw out the accumulation of years of discarded homewares.
The only things moving on this upcoming voyage out into the unknown, is the planets on our screen.
When we were last on the bridge, the chief engineer, yes, we still have them in the 24th century, was telling us it was a no go.
When you’re standing on a ship that cost more money than you can imagine, then double that unimaginable amount, and realise it would normally build two other smaller ships, then you can be assured that someone very high up in the chain of command, sitting in an office somewhere safe back on the planet, who may or may not be wishing they were in your place, would be anything but happy.
I was lucky that I didn’t meet that someone during the recruitment process, only later on an inspection of the ship just before the handover from the builder to Space Command.
This was not the first, but the first of a new class. Bigger, better, faster, more suitable to space travel than those that came before.
And, having several junior officers with a passion for history, one of them came up with a simile for our predicament. When new cars were created, way back in the 20th century, the first of the series always had teething problems. That’s why you wouldn’t buy the first of a series.
We didn’t have that luxury, but here’s the thing, it was based on an earlier model with a few new enhancements. It was one of those enhancements that was the problem.
A few minutes after the captain went to his quarters, his voice came over the speaker system. “Number One?”
Ok, I have a name, but trying to get the captain to use it might be difficult, what with regulations, and his rather stiff manner, each of which might get in the way.
“Sir?”
“Go down to engineering and get a report on progress.”
I could do that over the internal comms. What was going on? Belay that thought, I was not going to question an order.
“Yes sir.”
I glanced in the direction of the second officer, and he nodded, getting out of his seat. He would take charge of the bridge, even though we were going nowhere.
He walked over to my position, and I headed for the lift.
Automatic doors. It was not an innovation, but when I came aboard a week ago, they were not working properly, so using the lift to me was a leap of faith.
A few seconds later and what might have been from the top to the bottom in a skyscraper, the lift slowed, then stopped. The doors didn’t open.
Don’t panic. Just wait and breathe. There you go. The doors opened…
This book has been written for some time and the manuscript was sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.
And so it begins…
…
Reworking the synopsis
…
Yes, it’s that time, nearly three weeks in, and writing a story sequentially from start to finish has some perils involved with it.
Like the plotting, and like any good actor given a bit part in a movie, the objective is to make it their own.
I think it’s called, grabbing hold of your fifteen minutes of fame and using it.
Characters do this us, they force themselves out of their restrictive cacoon. One of mine has taken her bit part and is now the frontrunner for the villain.
How do you make such personable people drip with evil?
After another exhausting walk, by now the heat was beginning to take its toll on everyone, we arrived at the pagoda forest.
A little history first:
The pagoda forest is located west of the Shaolin Temple and the foot of a hill. As the largest pagoda forest in China, it covers approximately 20,000 square meters and has about 230 pagodas build from the Tang Dynasty (618-907) to the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911).
Each pagoda is the tomb of an eminent monk from the Shaolin Temple. Graceful and exquisite, they belong to different eras and constructed in different styles. The first pagoda was thought to be built in 791.
It is now a world heritage site.
No, it’s not a forest with trees it’s a collection of over 200 pagodas, each a tribute to a head monk at the temple and it goes back a long time. The tribute can have one, three, five, or a maximum of seven layers. The ashes of the individual are buried under the base of the pagoda.
The size, height, and story of the pagoda indicate its accomplishments, prestige, merits, and virtues. Each pagoda was carved with the exact date of construction and brief inscriptions and has its own style with various shapes such as a polygonal, cylindrical, vase, conical and monolithic.
This is one of the more recently constructed pagodas
There are pagodas for eminent foreign monks also in the forest.
From there we get a ride back on the back of a large electric wagon
to the front entrance courtyard where drinks and ice creams can be bought, and a visit to the all-important happy place.
You would think, being one of a dozen colours that pip onto your head when asked, name a dozen colours, that it would be easy to find almost anything.
Wrong.
We are on a quest to find bridesmaid dresses in, you guessed it, any shade of purple.
We might as well be looking for gold nuggets. In fact, we’d have a better chance of finding gold than a purple dress.
And, seven stores later, five of which are specialty fashion boutiques, sorry, no one is doing purple. Maybe a dash here or there, but it’s lost in the overall dress that may have flowers or a Picasso abstract.
OK, so the dresses are for a 15-year-old and a 12-year-old, you would think you could go to a Target, or K Mart, or Cotton On, or perhaps the Guess type of store that caters to that 13 to 25 market.
Think again.
Purple, mauve, lilac, or any shade in between just isn’t on the rack.
I suddenly consider the notion of phoning a supermodel and then convincing her to wear every shade of purple every waking hour in public, thus setting a new trend.
I’m betting that within a week, every store on the planet will have purple clothes in stock.
Of course, there is only one flaw in the master plan. I don’t know any supermodels.
So, this search is going to have a bad ending. I’m guessing the bride’s decision for purple and white as the signature color scheme was made before discovering that practically nothing comes in purple.
No the way, it was originally lilac, but that is impossible, not unless there are about 3 years before the wedding and you can get to Hong Kong to have the dresses specially made.
We’ve got about three weeks.
Yes, there’s another thing about this wedding. From announcement to the big day, is six weeks. Logistically, it can’t be done. Practically, there’s going to be a ward in the mental hospital for the wedding party, even if they pull it off.
Meanwhile, it’s back on the trail. There’s one more level to trawl, in what is a very large shopping mall.
And for the first day after the easing of many of the drastic Covid restrictions, it seems everyone for miles around has descended on this very place.
Sigh!
Then, majestically appearing through the mist…
No, not sunshine! A purple dress.
I am all astonishment. And, it’s not just one, there are several.
Hold that thought…
Alas, we find the dress, but not the colour, well, not in that store. Now it’s a matter of phoning other stores to see if they have any purple stock.
I’d been on the starship for almost three hours when…
…
The captain was coming up from the earth station by transport, not wanting to trust the transporters, and I’d just finished the orientation of the ship by the second officer, and had arrived on the bridge to see various crew members hunched over their consoles.
The captain had told me, before stepping onto the transport, that we would be leaving the dock shortly after he arrived.
Nothing I’d seen so far had led me to believe it would be going anywhere, anytime soon.
Nevertheless, the crew briefing had run smoothly, the second officer assigned to correlate the complaints/problems list, and everyone else had taken their assigned positions.
I was waiting for the captain, standing beside the ‘chair’, ready to hand over. In any other situation, we would be off to an illustrious start.
Until the dulcet tones of the Chief Engineer rang through the bridge, uttering those fateful words, “the warp coil has had a catastrophic failure”.
This was at odds with another statement he had made earlier when I was in Engineering, and given I was told the Chief Engineer was prone to hyperbole; his statement ‘they just don’t make warp coils like they used to’ hadn’t exactly filled me with confidence, but I had been expecting we would be ready to depart.
I had been looking at the screen, an overlay of the window that looked out over space, or at this moment, the space dock, where there was a representation of the planets that were ‘out there’.
I had been curious about M75, but the helmsman, a rather taciturn chap who seemed to resent the fact he was assigned to this ship, just shrugged and said, “it’s something, somewhere, but not of much interest,” then went back to his console.
If this was Star Trek, we’d be ejecting the warp coil by now, but in the space dock, that didn’t seem to me to be a viable option.
“How long before we can get this bucket of bolts moving,” I ask the Chief.
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
Yes, words ripped right out of the script of a Star Trek episode, I thought. A sad case of life imitating art.
A strange whistling sound emanated from the speakers, then the whoosh of the elevator just before the doors opened. OK, new ship, squeaky doors, another item to be put on the ‘look at’ list after the shakedown cruise.
The Captain had arrived.
“Why are dock workers still on the ship, Number One.”
For a moment there, I thought I was talking to John Luc Picard.
“Faulty warp coil. You know how it goes, save a billion by outsourcing to the cheapest supplier.”
The captain didn’t appreciate my sardonic humour, or my apparent disdain in outsourcing what we had once built ourselves.
He gave me a frown, a slight shake of his head, then said, “I’ll be in my quarters. Let me know when we’re about to leave.”
He didn’t wait for acknowledgement and disappeared through another squeaky door. More repairs.
The Chief’s voice then came over the speaker. “I can give you impulse speed, warp speed will take a little longer.”
“Doesn’t that refer to miracles over the impossible,” I ask.
“Perhaps. But in the meantime, I need a specific spanner and the replicators are down. So, now we have to fix them first, before moving on. Might take a while.”
I look around the crew, seeing their expectant faces drop with disappointment.
Outer space was going to have to wait a little longer.
This book has been written for some time and the manuscript was sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.
And so it begins…
…
Finally, we’ve got the internet back
…
After two days in the technological wilderness, we are back, which must say something about the human condition.
I’m sure, one day, the internet will collapse and billions of us will go through the same withdrawal symptoms I just did, and there’ll be a lot of clean rooms around.
Even so, there are those two items that were very prevalent when I went to school, pencils. HB or 2B, or coloured, and lined paper in what was called an exercise book, 48 pages, 64 pages, 96 pages or 128 pages.
I am yet to equate words to an exercise book page, but that’s the least of my problems.
Still working on the new killer, and a perfect match for the hero. Yes, I’m hoping we can have a happy ending for at least two characters.
We walked another umpteen miles from the exhibition to a Chinese restaurant that is going to serve us Chinese food again with a beer and a rather potent pomegranate wine that has a real kick. It was definitely value for money at 60 yuan per person.
But perhaps the biggest thrill, if it could be called that, was discovering downstairs, the man who discovered the original pieces of a terracotta soldier when digging a well. He was signing books bought in the souvenir store, but not those that had been bought elsewhere.
Some of is even got photographed with him. Fifteen minutes of fame moment? Maybe.
After lunch, it was off to the station for another high-speed train ride, this time for about two and a half hours, from X’ian to Zhangzhou dong.
It’s the standard high-speed train ride and the usual seat switching because of weird allocation issues, so a little confusion reigns until the train departs at 5:59.
Once we were underway it didn’t take long before we hit the maximum speed
Twenty minutes before arrival, and knowing we only have three minutes to get off everyone is heading for the exit clogging up the passageway. It wasn’t panic but with the three-minute limit, perhaps organized panic would be a better description.
As it turned out, with all the cases near the door, the moment to door opened one of our group got off, and the other just started putting cases on the platform, and in doing so we were all off in 42 seconds with time to spare.
And this was despite the fact there were about twenty passengers just about up against the door trying to get in. I don’t think they expected to have cases flying off the train in their direction.
We find our way to the exit and our tour guide Dannie. It was another long walk to the bus, somewhat shabbier from the previous day, no leg room, no pocket, no USB charging point like the day before. Disappointing.
On the way from the station to the hotel, the tour guide usually gives us a short spiel on the next day’s activities, but instead, I think we got her life history and a song, delivered in high pitched and rapid Chinglish that was hard to understand.
Not at this hour of the night to an almost exhausted busload of people who’d had enough from the train. Oh, did I forgot the singing, no, it was an interesting rendition of ‘you are my sunshine’.
The drive was interesting in that it mostly in the dark. There was no street lighting and in comparison to X’ian which was very bright and cheerful, this was dark and gloomy.
Then close to the hotel our guide said that if we had any problems with the room, she would be in the lobby for half an hour.
That spoke volumes about the hotel they put us in.
With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction. He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.
That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.
He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.
I kept my eyes down. He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup. I stepped to the other side and so did he. It was one of those situations. Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.
Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic. I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone. I shrugged and looked at my watch. It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.
Wait, or walk? I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station. What the hell, I needed the exercise.
At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’. I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light. As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.
A yellow car stopped inches from me.
It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini. I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.
Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car. It was that sort of car. I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on. The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.
My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter. Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.
At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure. I was no longer in a hurry.
At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring. I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road. I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.
At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar. It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.
I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did. There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me. It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.
Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me. As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.
Now my imagination was playing tricks.
It could not be the same man. He was going in a different direction.
In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter. I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.
I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in. I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.
This book has been written for some time and the manuscript was sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.
And so it begins…
…
Still No Internet
…
More time to stretch out on the newly cleared sofa in my writing room to consider the direction the work in progress is taking.
We’ve reached a point where the guilty now have to make a move. I’m not quite sure how I want to do this, but the questioning of suspects has made it quite clear, the person in charge has covered their tracks carefully.
Will it be the case that like all people who think they have all the bases covered, make one tiny mistake that will lead to their undoing.
Fortunately, I’m not up to that part of the story but it is occupying a large part of my thoughts.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 