Month: August 2023

Mistaken Identity – The Editor’s Draft – Day 29

I have been working on the story, the editor is asking for a second draft after making suggested changes – and I’m now working on it

…

I know it’s premature, but I have begin thinking about the next adventure Jack is to embark on.

Six months down the track, the relationship with Rosalie founders, he is looking for something, anything, to lift him out of the sea of self pity.

Is it a case of ‘be careful what you wish for’.

It’s a hell of a title for the story, too.

Maryanne is going to come out of left field and drag him down the rabbit hole of adventure because her latest assignment, and the one that will eventually determine whether she stays or goes, requires a boyfriend as cover.

How is she going to convince Jack? Well, I’m glad you asked, that’s a very interesting story.

…

Back in the other story, the one that should be finished but isn’t….

Jack finds himself in the seedier part of London looking for McCallister and Jacob, and finds more than he bargained for.

Yes, that blockbuster cinematic ending I’ve been promising…

…

Today’s effort amounts to 2,587 words, for a total, so far, of 68,918.

More tomorrow.

Coming soon – “Strangers We’ve Become”, the sequel to “What Sets Us Apart”

Stranger’s We’ve Become, a sequel to What Sets Us Apart.

The blurb:

Is she or isn’t she, that is the question!

Susan has returned to David, but he is having difficulty dealing with the changes. Her time in captivity has changed her markedly, so much so that David decides to give her some time and space to re-adjust back into normal life.

But doubts about whether he chose the real Susan remain.

In the meantime, David has to deal with Susan’s new security chief, the discovery of her rebuilding a palace in Russia, evidence of an affair, and several attempts on his life. And, once again, David is drawn into another of Predergast’s games, one that could ultimately prove fatal.

From being reunited with the enigmatic Alisha, a strange visit to Susan’s country estate, to Russia and back, to a rescue mission in Nigeria, David soon discovers those whom he thought he could trust each has their own agenda, one that apparently doesn’t include him.

The Cover:

strangerscover9

Coming soon

In a word: Brevity

Now, brevity is something that I have not been able to fully wrap my head around.

The dictionary explains Brevity as

‘concise and exact use of words in writing and speech’

So…

I remember working with a writer a long time ago who explained certain authors styles, and for James A Michener of Hawaii fame, he said Michener wrote sentences instead of words, paragraphs instead of sentences, pages instead of paragraphs and chapters instead of pages.

It was a little harsh considering I’d just read the book and had liked it, despite its length and the time it took.

But some time later I realized he was not criticizing Michener, but trying to tell me, in his, what I came to discover, interesting way, that I should strive to write more compactly.

I then came across a book by Brian Callison which was exactly that, the concise version, a story that fitted into about 200 pages.

That too was a good book and it took me a day to read it, and by his use of that economy of words, it read quickly.

Of course, I have tried over the years to emulate both styles, and to a certain degree, failing, because I think I have created my own style which is somewhere in between.

Still, when editing, it is always in the back of my mind that I should be

Using words instead of sentences

Using sentences instead of paragraphs

Using paragraphs instead of pages, and

Using pages instead of chapters.

The chapters, he said, with an air of amusement, will always take care of themselves.

 

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

 

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

 

Writing about writing a book – Day 6 continues – will it ever end?

Having finished a first draft of the words to fit the last plotline, while this is still bouncing around in my head, I need to keep the plot going.

That means I have to find a way to make Bill more interesting.  I’m not saying getting shot is just another ordinary event on another boring day at the office, but it needs something to lift into the reader’s consciousness, and want to see where he’s going to go with it.

Revenge is not on the cards because he has no idea who was shooting at him, or the fact at this time, it seems they, whoever they are, were out to assassinate Aitchison.

Why you ask.

There will be a reason, so sit back and relax, we’re not there yet.

 

Bill wakes up in the hospital and finds Jennifer there.  He remembers what has happened and realizes how lucky he is to survive.

After a period of recovery, Bill is questioned by Gator, the detective also now in charge of the shooting investigation, as, he tells Bill, there seems to be a connection between the two (obviously because it concerns the company Bill works for).

Bill cannot remember much of the detail of the earlier network outage and situation, but the import of Gator’s investigation is centered on the deaths of Halligan, Aitchison, and the attempts of both him and Jennifer.  I think we can safely say Jennifer was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Gator also reveals there are still problems with the computer systems at Transworld, a question of missing files, and a security breach.  He also advises Bill of Wiesenthal’s arrival and temporary management role.

(OK, a new character, Wiesenthal, he needs to be slightly sinister, and there for reasons that are not explained straight away.)

On the mend, and with time on his hands, Bill will have two new events to think about.

Firstly, and certainly not unwelcome, but a bit of a surprise is the continual presence of Jennifer.  He discovers that Jennifer has the same feelings for him and he has for her.

Secondly, and probably the more important of the two, and cause for concern, is the return of some of his memories in relation to service in the army during various engagements overseas, and one in particular.  Worse, he cannot understand why now, of all times, these particular memories should be returning.

He knew something bad had happened to him back then but was thankful that his mind had managed to keep it at bay for as long as it had.

But the nightmares become real, and the first of many plays out in his mind like a movie, where everything and everyone is in a surreal theatre production.  There he finally remembers what his mind has blocked for so long – that he was in a camp of sorts as a prisoner, and its something to do with his days in the Army.

In light of these memories returning, a Brigadier General pays a visit and explains the missing parts of his service life.  Why he did so Bill couldn’t immediately understand but didn’t question it.  Then Ellen conveniently visits him, laments his misfortune, and goes over the reasons for not telling him about his past (now that he’s remembered it) and wished him well for the future.

Before he leaves the hospital, Gator returns to tie up loose ends, that all that appeared to be sinister was not, and could be explained rationally.  It marked the end of his investigation, albeit a little too convenient Bill thinks but again says nothing.

He finally goes home with Jennifer.

Another dream – of the beginning of a lifelong friendship with ‘Brainless’ a fellow soldier, and someone he has known off and on since Army days, but who also had not alerted him to what he now remembered, also no doubt for a very good reason.

And the remembrance of the word Starburst – but he has no idea of its significance.

Well, that’s a lot to deal with, and will keep me writing long into the night.

And more people.

This story is starting to have a list of credits as long as the end of a movie!

Memories blur over time

I was reading an article about the bible the other day, and what I gathered to be the writers intent was that the end result was an accumulation of many time retold and translated stories.

It sort of relates to another story I read years ago and reenacted with a few friends to check its veracity. What happens is the first person is given the correct story, then having memorised it, relates it to the second and then so on along a chain of ten people.

The end story related by the tenth person, when compared to the original, had only part’s of the original story and for some reason new elements that somehow were misinterpretations of original story elements.

This perhaps could be put down to the individuals upbringing and background, which always gets used in the interpretation of what they are told. We all use different methods to remember things and this will always impact how we interpret and relate information.

It’s also the same when three different eyewitnesses to an accident will rarely agree on the details. Certain elements will be the same, but others will not.

When family’s recall events involving all of them, each will remember seminal events differently, and usually from their perspective it will revolve around where they perceive they fit in the family hierarchy. A stronger brother of sister will always see it differently from a weaker one.

My childhood memories are basically different to my brothers, and I suspect those events that he fails to recall are deliberately cast away because either they didn’t affect him, or there were so horrible, he deliberately cast them out.

We all tend to do that. Some members ok tries he has of the so called old days I have no recollection of.

Memories are a choice. We choose to remember the good ones and cast out the bad. Was that the case of when it came to put the biblical story down on paper (or stone as the case may be).

However we look at it, remember it, or relate it, the old days, the days of yesteryear, will always be different. For me, the 60’s and 70’s were horrible, for everyone else, well that’s another story.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 38

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

…

It didn’t surprise Johannesen there were about twenty prisoners down in the dungeons, though he was surprised to find that the dungeon area was quite large, and in several sections. The fact they smelled of wine told him that once, the cells were used at storage areas for bottles of wine.

Several of the cells that were furthest from the downstairs entrance, and recently boarded over caused several overzealous resistance fighters of Leonardo’s to start smashing walls looking for it.

Johannsen tried not to think about Leonardo. He was the very worst of men, a pig even by German standards.

Martina had been put in a cell not far from Leonardo’s wine cache. There was purpose in that, he could get drunk and then take it out of the woman who had made him look stupid. Come to think of it, he thought, it wouldn’t be too hard for a ten-year-old to do that.

The cell door was locked, but Johannsen had a key. He had meticulously gone through all the keyrings and loose keys that had been found and those that didn’t have an immediate use had been stored in the dungeon guardroom.

Matching keys to locks had been one of his secret tasks, under the disguise of being given the job by Wallace to match keys to locks for them. There were a few short in the end, keys to rooms, and cells that seem to serve no purpose. One had become Johannessen’s hideaway.

It was part of a plan he had been formulating, one where he could take prisoners and hide them. Of course, it wouldn’t work for the moment because the prisoners had to be moved on as soon as possible, and staying in the castle, even if the others didn’t know where they were, would invite a microscopic search. It would need Atherton’s knowledge of the castle, and whether there was another escape route they could use.

It was another of his works in progress, one that was highly likely to fail.

He stood back from the door and looked at the crumpled heap on the floor that was once the leader of the resistance. Leonardo had interrogated her before bringing her back, half-dead, to the castle, and in doing so had made it impossible for anyone to interrogate her further. Had that been the reason why Leonardo had bashed her senseless?

He saw a hand move by her side, and a low groan.

He spoke quietly, in English, “Are you able to come closer to the door?” He knelt down, trying to get a better look at her injuries. Abrasions, and bruising. Swollen eyes, possible broken nose, blood spatter everywhere on her clothing which remarkably was relatively intact. He had suspected Leonardo of doing a lot worse and may still have.

She lifted her head slightly, “Who are you?”

“I could be a friend.”

She laughed, then coughed, and blood came out of her mouth. Broken ribs possibly, and a punctured lung. She might be too injured to move.

“There are no friends in this place, just Tedeschi.” She lowered her head and closed her eyes. Her breathing was irregular and shallow. Definitely broken ribs, he thought. And not likely to survive another interrogation. Not if Jackerby was going to conduct it.

“I’d like to help you if I can.”

“Everyone in here, we’re beyond help. You know that because you’re one of them.”

“Some of us care what happens to people.”

She pushed hard to move around slightly to face him, laying her head on the side to face him. “Which one are you?”

“Johannsen.”

“Yes, Johannesen. Atherton mentioned you. As untrustworthy as the rest. But for me, I’m all but dead, but I’ll humor you. Get me out of here and away from that bastardo Leonardo, and I might believe you.”

Atherton. This might be an opportunity to find out how he could get in contact with him, knowing of course, she wasn’t going to tell him where Atherton was.

“If you want to get away from here, we need Atherton. He’s the only one who knows this place inside out.”

He could see her shaking her head, as painful as that might be.

“He’s not.”

“Then is there anyone who does?”

“There is.”

“Who?”

Again she laughed and it sounded like the death rattle of her last breath. “You think I’m that far gone that I would tell you anything?”

“If you want to escape, I can only get you so far.”

“There is no escape. Believe me. If there was, I would be gone. Save your trickery and lies for someone who might be gullible enough to believe you. I’m quite prepared to die, the fact I’ve lived this long is what some would call a miracle.”

With that she turned away, coughed, and went silent. She wasn’t dead, but death wasn’t far away.

When Johannesen reluctantly left the cell, he only made it to the turn towards the steps up when he ran into Jackerby.

Had Jackerby been somewhere near and overheard their conversation.

“You have a rather interesting interrogation technique,” Jackerby said.

Johannesen groaned inwardly. He had heard.

“Sometimes it’s better to try and infuse hope in the subject rather than resignation. I was trying to get her to tell me where Atherton is.”

“And did she?”

“What do you think. After what Leonardo did, she’s not likely to tell us anything. I’m sure if we had taken a different approach…”

“Yes, softly softly. Doesn’t work. Just leave the heavy lifting to us, and don’t bother coming down to revisit the prisoners. Otherwise, I might believe you really are trying to help them escape.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

“The Document” – a thirty-day revision – Day 1

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…

…

I thought I had this under control.

After all, for the first time, I had a title, a plan, and a synopsis, and was ready to go. I’ve never tried to write a novel this way before.

Of course, it was originally a NANOWRIMO project, and to write 50,000 words in a month you need a plan. Ad-hoc writing just doesn’t get it done.

Even though for the previous two years, it has.

So, I start writing.

Then, damn it, I get another idea, and off I go on that tangent.

The plan’s now looking like it needs an update.

Didn’t plan for that, did I?

Oh, well, day 1 down, 29 more to go, perhaps tomorrow will be better.

Searching for locations: Murano, Italy

The first time we visited Venice, there was not enough time left to visit the glass-blowing factories on Murano.  We saved this for the next visit, and now more comfortable with taking the Vaporetto, boarded at San Marco for the short journey.

The view looking towards the cemetery:

The view looking down what I think was the equivalent to the main street, or where several of the glass-blowing factories and display shops were located:

Looking towards a workshop, this one costs us each a Euro to go in and observe a demonstration of glass blowing, and it still surprises me that some people would not pay

The oven where the glass is heated

And the finished product, the retail version of the horse that the glassblower created during the demonstration:

Then we bought some other glassware from the retail storefront, a candle holder

and a turtle.

Why don’t we sit down and talk about it?

An invitation that sounds so innocuous, doesn’t it?

As accomplished as we can be at putting words on paper, what is it that makes it so difficult to sit in a chair with a camera on you, and saying words rather than writing them?

Er and um seem to crop up a lot in verbal speech.

OK, it was a simple question; “What motivates you to write?”

Damn.

My brain just turned to mush, and the words come out sounding like a drunken sailor after a night out on the town.

The written answer to the question is simple; “The idea that someone will read what I have written, and quite possibly enjoy it; that is motivation enough.”

It highlights the difficulties of the novice author.

Not only are there the constant demands of creating a ‘brand’ and building a ‘following’, but there is also the need to market oneself, and the interview is one of the more effective ways of doing this.

If only I can settle the nerves.

I mean, really, it is only my granddaughter who is conducting the interview, and the questions are relatively simple.

The trouble is, I’ve never had to do it before, well, perhaps in an interview for a job, but that is less daunting.  Those usually stick to a predefined format.

Here the narrative can go in any direction.  There are set questions, but the interviewer, in her inimitable manner, can sometimes slide a question in out of left field.

For instance, “Your character Zoe the assassin, is she based on someone you know, or an amalgam of other characters you’ve read about or seen in movies?”

That was an interesting question, and one that has several answers, but the one most relevant was; “It was the secret alter ego of one of the women I used to work with.  I asked her one day if she wasn’t doing what she was, what she would like to do.  And, surprisingly, I thought she would have made an excellent assassin, the last person you would expect.”

Of course, the next question was about what I wanted to be in an alter ego.

Maybe I’ll tell you next time.