Or, more to the point, we all want to use words that will emphasise the description or the point we want to make.
The trick is not to make it so obscure that we send the readers to the Thesaurus too many times before they get bored.
Then there is that other problem of using the same word over and over and that too gets boring.
Such a word is said. But you have to be careful not to use too flowery a description of what is being said, or the manner in which is being imparted.
Gushed – I mean, who gushes these days?
Snapped – that’s what alligators do, and they don’t speak.
Quietly, whispered, demanding, spitefully, angrily. Try to think of how you would impart the words if you were in the place of your character.
How would you feel on the other end of a verbal barrage?
Perhaps therein lies a possible solution to the problem of describing conversations, arguments, heated exchanges, or what do they call them these day, robust discussions.
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 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.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
…
I had hoped we’d land in daylight, but I could see the benefits of arriving at the landing strip after darkness had fallen, and a more primitive form of landing lights had been used.
Less interest from the local people and no bright lights lighting up the runway.
The only lights I could see from the air were the primitive landing lights, fires burning in used fuel drums, and a glimmer of light emanating from two of the buildings set back from the airstrip.
It did worry me, probably more than it should, that the pilots would be landing a plane of this size in virtually a paddock, flying by the seat of their pants, and all credit to them if they got the plane on the ground. I guessed they’d flown into more than one hot spot around the world, and at least at this one, they were not being shot at.
Their turn around would be quick, just enough time to take on a small amount of fuel and then leave. No one had said if it would be a fuel tanker or by drums and hand pumps.
The plane had a short distance to go from the end of the runway to what might be called terminal buildings. The moment the engines were cut, there was a flurry of movement, and after the fuselage door was quickly opened by the co-pilot, then the rear access ramp lowered and standing at the end, once it hit the ground, I could see a tanker and a Land Rover heading towards the rear of the plane, with only small headlamps on.
Monroe had joined me. Behind me was a hive of activity as the team moved the crates of camera equipment to the end of the ramp, and then the individual packs. Jacobi was escorted down on the ground by his two-man guard.
“Is this necessary,” he asked as he passed by me
I ignored him.
The Range Rover stopped just by the bottom of the ramp, and two men got out, one I assumed was Colonel Chiswick, former British Army, came over to train the local soldiers, and didn’t go home, and the other a Ugandan soldier with Sergeant stripes. Perhaps this was one of their airfields feeding supplies and troops for border patrol duties.
Monroe went down first, and I followed.
Chiswick came up to me, holding out a hand. “James, I presume?” I shook it.
I nodded towards Jill, “And Monroe.”
“Welcome to nowhere in particular.”
In the distance, another three Range Rovers were heading towards the plane and then stopped within easy distance of the ramp to easily facilitate the moving of the camera equipment into the rear. Drivers of the cars ushered them, taking their packs and putting them in the back.
I saw a meaningful look pass between Jacobi and Chiswick. They knew each other. No surprises there. If Chiswick was running this base, then he’d have to know about Jacobi whom we knew had friends in all the high places on every side of the fence.
Another car pulled up, a jeep. “For your man to get to the base. I gather he has his instructions?”
Mobley nodded, threw his pack in the back, and the jeep drove off.
“Nice night,” Chiswick said, finally, “Glad it’s not raining, or it would have been a rather sticky landing.”
“How long before the plane leave?”
“About an hour. Don’t worry. Planes come and go here all the time, so no one really cares much.”
The crates, packs and other men were loaded and taken away. Monroe had a final word to the pilot, now down on the ground and supervising the fuel loading, then joined me in the Colonel’s car.
“You’ll be leaving just before first light. Best to get away before the villagers stir. There will be one or two curious souls, but they’re harmless. The soldiers here have been informed that you are here for a training exercise, nothing unusual as we get squads from all over from time to time. As I said, your arrival will have caused little interest.”
From the locals. It was anyone else other than the locals I was worried about.
“Excellent.”
There was not much else to talk about in the few minutes it took to get to the compound at the back of the so-called terminal buildings. It consisted of about ten large barracks, an administration building, and what looked to be a mess.
Pale lights were showing from one of the barracks, and seeing the cars parked out the front, I assumed this was where we would stay until we departed.
The Colonel didn’t get out of the car. “We’ll be leaving at 04:00 tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re ready to go.”
“You’re coming too?”
“Bamfield asked me. Wants to make sure you had someone who knows the lie of the land.”
“I thought you’d delegate that to a few of the soldiers.”
“No. Can’t have them involved in an incursion or there will be trouble. This is an off the book’s operation. Looking forward to it, actually. There are a few people over there I’d like to have a talk to if we get the time.”
I shrugged. Just one more problem to deal with. The Colonel didn’t strike me as being a talker, but a man who let actions define who he was. And just because Bamfield vouched for him didn’t mean he might be not be working on his own retirement fund.
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…
We gathered up what food there was to take with us. There were no weapons left behind. Leonardo had assumed correctly we would have used them if they’d been left there.
Carlo had changed slowly into an automaton, and I guess if I could read his mind, I’d know exactly what he was thinking. Enrico had attached himself to Carlo, and I knew Carlo would look after him.
When I said that the burials would have to wait, Carlo agreed.
We had a short discussion on what we would be doing next, and in the first instance, we would be going back to the other soldiers and the church. There, with both of our knowledge of the castle, its entrances, secret or otherwise, and the internal passageways which I knew Wallace and the others there were not too familiar with, we would formulate a plan to go in and pick them off one by one.
It seemed a good plan when we first talked about it, but on the way back to the church, and I had time to consider how it would work, it seemed we would only get an advantage once, and we would have to kill or capture as many as we could in the first raid.
Then it was going to be difficult.
Unless Carlo knew of more places we could enter the castle without being seen or heard.
I only knew of three.
And the first post we had to hit, and silence, the radio room.
My war had not been as start or as terrifying as most of those whom I’d known or worked with. My part was more selective, finding and eliminating spies, informers, and enemy cells on home territory.
Sometimes that would extend into enemy territory, particularly France where, as one who could speak French fluently, I found myself working with the resistance, using intelligence gathered by a network of spies we had, not only in France but in all parts of enemy territory. That also meant, sometimes, accompanying weapons and other supplies into enemy territory.
It hadn’t included anything like what I’d just seen back at the underground cavern.
I’d been told, often, about the enemy executing whole villages, and large groups as retaliation for resistance operations that killed German soldiers, and particularly officers, but I’d not seen it first-hand.
Now I had.
I’d been told, along with the others who had been at the training camp way back at the start of the war, that we would inevitably see atrocities. Those instructors, men who had survived the first war, were speaking from experience. We were told it would make us angry. It had. I had this immediate thought of doing as much damage as I could to the perpetrators of that massacre.
But we had also been told that we had to harness that anger, and use it to drive our actions, bot in a reckless manner, but with a measured calm and with planning. Blind rage, which had been predicted, would only get us killed.
I had left the cavern at the blind rage stage, but the walk to the church wore some of that off, and I began to piece together the seeds of a plan to get our revenge. We were only a small group, but even so, we could work more efficiently than those at the castle.
Leonardo was not going to tell Wallace that he hadn’t captured or killed me in his ambush, but it might make Wallace think that my ability to retaliate would be weakened. Leonardo would know that Carlo and I were still alive. He would not know about Blinky and his men.
It would be interesting to see if Wallace would commit any of his men to hunt us down, send Leonardo back out to finish the job, or just wait until Meyer turned up. His contact in Gaole would know about the castle’s change of allegiance, but he would not know that Martina was not going to be there to greet them when they arrived in the village.
That was several days away. We would have to be there, but it was going to be dangerous unless we found a way to neutralize the castle. So far, in my head, we’d neutralized the radio and got as far as the dungeons before meeting enemy resistance.
The same had happened in the next six scenarios, after playing out the last we had arrived back at the church.
Chiara was resting as comfortably as the Sergeant could make her.
He had made a more thorough assessment of her injuries, and aside for the severe beating, she had sustained a few cracked ribs and several broken fingers. The broken fingers were a surprise. The sergeant had reset them as best he could.
Other than that, she would recover physically. Mentally, he said, would be something else. She was lucky, he said, her torturer was an amateur, and Italian. Had it been the German Gestapo, she would be dead.
She was lucid and I told her we would make Leonardo pay for what he’d done. I thought it best not to tell her about what had happened back at the cavern. She had enough on her conscience without adding the senseless deaths of the villagers.
Then we had a meeting, where I asked Carlo to draw a plan of the castle and the places where we could breach their defenses and give us an element of surprise.
He had one that I hadn’t known about, one that might give us a fighting chance.
K is for — Knight in shining armour. A surprising twist in a simple rescue
…
To tell my mother that a large orchestra was not a necessity for a ‘ball’ thrown in my honour was the same as telling her I didn’t want one. Missives that she totally ignored.
I knew my father agreed with me, a man who didn’t like the idea of showing extravagance for the sake of it in the face of the current economic climate. We were going to feature not only in the society pages, but also near page one as a hot news item. Some of it was going to be for all the wrong reasons.
I’d seen several roving reporters, scribbling in their notebooks.
When Madeleine and I returned, the orchestra had fired up and was regaling the attendees with a waltz, though not that many had taken to the floor. Perhaps the art of ballroom dancing at balls was no longer a thing.
“Perhaps we should set an example,” she said.
“You dance?”
“I’ve been around the floor once or twice. I’m assuming your boarding school taught you the finer points?”
“Mademoiselle Garmin. You learned, or it was twenty lashes. I learned.”
Odd, too, that I found by the time we reached the dance floor, we were holding hands. She was subtle and sneaky.
“I’m willing if you are.”
And, yes, after a few hesitant first steps and getting closer to her than I had ever been since the first day I met her, I found she was very competent. Perhaps she was equally surprised I was quite good and could actually lead.
Our demonstration pulled others out of their seats and into the vortex. It got a round of applause at the end, and then the orchestra slipped into something less challenging for those without formal training.
She still had my hand, and I don’t think she was giving it back. Did this mean I had to take her home with me? It was an interesting thought, given the Madeleine/Oscar dynamic. Or was that why she sent him away, so she could advance this relationship?
Even more interesting. I found myself almost as intrigued as a member of the public would be when reading about us.
We reached the edge of the dance floor when I heard my mother advancing, “There you are.” She was very quick when she wanted to be, perhaps thinking I was about to disappear again.
“Where have you been?”
“On the dance floor, demonstrating that you didn’t waste your money sending me to that awful school.”
She smiled at Madeleine. “You dance beautifully.”
And I didn’t? Sometimes, my mother could be aggravating. I glared at her.
“So did you,” she said to me. Then back to Madeleine, “Come, there’s some people I’d like you meet.”
She gave me a baleful look then the link was severed, and she reluctantly left with my mother. Rather her than me, meeting all that ‘old money’ and then unattractive daughters. It was a compelling reason to stay with Madeleine if only to keep the others at bay.
A hand on my shoulder and words in my ear. “You two make an attractive couple out there,” he waved his hand towards the dance floor, “but it didn’t seem you were ‘together’ if you know what I mean.”
Howard was both a keen judge of character and could spot a phony a mile off. I’d have to work hard to convince him we were ‘together’.
“Early days, Howie. I’m not like you. A sideways glance from a girl and you are taking her to a cheap motel.”
“You should try it?”
“A cheap motel? Sorry. It has, at the very least, five stars before I walk in the door.”
“Snob.”
“Expensive boarding schools will do that to you.”
He punched me in the arm, playfully but hard enough. “So, seriously, do you like her?”
“Do you?”
He shook his head. “When you start answering questions with questions, I know there’s trouble in paradise. What is it?”
“Nobody is that perfect, Howie.”
Before I overheard a conversation that suggested an ulterior motive, it was one of the foremost items on my mind. She was almost perfect, which meant there had to be something. And the timing. Girls like her do not come out of left field like she did; they are noticed and talked about. No one I knew had any idea who she was or anything about their family. And internet searchers found very little. It was interesting that she did not have a digital footprint or social media presence.
Even I had one of those, albeit tended by a personal assistant.
“Then grab her while you can, before there’s a line of eligible bachelors beating a path to her door.”
I was about to tell him they could but decided not to.
“I’m working on it.”
“Work harder.”
Another pat on the back, and he was gone.
The whole time Howard was with me, I’d seen her glancing in my direction, in between being attentive to the women in the group, giving me the ‘come hither’ look, suggesting she wanted to be rescued.
I gave it a few more minutes and then wandered slowly over to the group. My mother’s cronies, the morning tea reading group, I think.
“Have you finished torturing my partner in crime?” I asked Mother when she looked condescendingly in my direction.
“You make it sound like you’re bank robbers.”
“We’re working on it. I don’t know yet if she’s going to be the safecracker or the getaway driver.”
It got the required response for the elderly group: a look of disdain from all of them.
“And with that, ladies, I must whisk her away. I hear the orchestra is working towards a tango, and that is one of my criteria in a girlfriend.”
“Tango,” she said, almost in disbelief.
Was that mantle of perfection starting to slip?
“What’s a ball without a tango, and the honourees not being able to lead from the front?” I made the bold move of taking her hand and gently extracting her from the group.
“Oh, do so if you must, Sam.”
She smiled as I led her away. “You are my gallant knight in shining armour.”
“Overly expensive tuxedo, perhaps. Not one for shining armour, though. But I can handle a sword if necessary.”
“Another boarding school class?”
“Senor Rafael, Olympic champion no less. Until that first lesson, I idolised Zorro and wanted to be just like him.”
“Anything you haven’t done?”
“Sweep a girl off her feet.”
“Then let the sweeping begin.”
If there was a moment that I could say I fell in love with Madeleine, it was during the tango. I would never admit it, but there it was.
Such a line, ‘you had me at the tango’.
This was going to be painful if it didn’t work out.
Is there a reason why you would not want to tell it or that if you did, some people might find it uncomfortable?
The problem is, no matter what you write someone out there isn’t going to like it.
And there is a raft of subjects to write about that causes concern, but these are sometimes stories that have to be told.
I have one such story, and to me, the telling of it would not fit the mainstream opinion because people are very divided over it. There are reasons for this, and they are being, in my opinion, sensationalised to polarise a particular stance.
The subject: Transgenders.
Like I said, it’s a story I would like to write about, but I know what the response is going to be.
And that isn’t to say that I do not have my own biases, the baggage that we are given when we are younger, where schools and teachers teach us what is supposedly the norms they will need to work within for the rest of their lives.
In my day it was that the man went to work to earn the living that provided a house, food, and everything else, while the woman stayed home, had children and looked after the man.
Yes, I can hear 50 percent of the population laughing at that one, but how different is that societal norm to that where we are now taught that transgenders are sub humans that should be scorned and abandoned because they don’t fit the definition of man or woman?
Thankfully, I grew out of that, and women can vote, work, drive cars, and do anything they desire, though it seems there is a new movement that wants to take away all those rights and go back to the Stone Age.
Again, another very touchy subject, and that will eventually prevent the possibility of writers putting forward the various viewpoints for larger discussion.
Try going back another hundred years, when women were the sub-human species, little more than a man’s possession.
This is probably the only time I will raise the subject, as an instance of what writers may or may not write about, a highlight that public opinion fueled by people in power does eventually affect what can be written.
It’s something that we should all be mindful of, as well as keeping an open mind.
For the first time on this trip, we encounter problems with Chinese officialdom at the railway station, though we were warned that this might occur.
We had a major problem with the security staff when they pulled everyone over with aerosols and confiscated them. We lost styling mousse, others lost hair spray, and the men, their shaving cream. But, to her credit, the tour guide did warn us they were stricter here, but her suggestion to be angry they were taking our stuff was probably not the right thing to do.
As with previous train bookings, the Chinese method of placing people in seats didn’t quite manage to keep couples traveling together, together on the train. It was an odd peculiarity which few of the passengers understood, nor did they conform, swapping seat allocations.
This train ride did not seem the same as the last two and I don’t think we had the same type of high-speed train type that we had for the last two. The carriages were different, there was only one toilet per carriage, and I don’t think we were going as fast.
But aside from that, we had 753 kilometers to travel with six stops before ours, two of which were very large cities, and then our stop, about four and a half hours later. With two minutes this time, to get the baggage off the team managed it in 40 seconds, a new record.
After slight disorientation getting off the train, we locate our guide, easily found by looking for the Trip-A-Deal flag. From there it’s a matter of getting into our respective groups and finding the bus.
As usual, the trip to the hotel was a long one, but we were traveling through a much brighter, and well lit, city.
As for our guide, we have him from now until the end of the tour. There are no more train rides, we will be taking the bus from city to city until we reach Shanghai. Good thing then that the bus is brand new, with that new car smell. Only issue, no USB charging point.
The Snowy Sea hotel.
It is finally a joy to get a room that is nothing short of great. It has a bathroom and thus privacy.
Everyone had to go find a supermarket to purchase replacements for the confiscated items. Luckily there was a huge supermarket just up from the hotel that had everything but the kitchen sink.
But, unlike where we live, the carpark is more of a scooter park!
It is also a small microcosm of Chinese life for the new more capitalistic oriented Chinese.
The next morning we get some idea of the scope of high-density living, though here, the buildings are not 30 stories tall, but still just as impressive.
These look like the medium density houses, but to the right of these are much larger buildings
The remarkable thing about this is those buildings stretch as far as the eye can see.
Is it possible to be so apprehensive and get to heave a sigh of relief?
His mother is nowhere to be seen, sedated after the death of her husband, and they are only confronted by his sisters and stepsisters.
As well as all the other dignitaries like the Chancellor and parliamentarians, justices, councillors, and selected citizens.
It’s brief because there are more documents to sign. And there’s going to be a welcome home banquet and no rest for the wicked.
Susie, yes we haven’t forgotten her, hasn’t stopped saying Oh my God, since she got on the plane, and that only increased in intensity from the plane to the castle. She honestly believes she is in Disneyland.
I’ll try not to make it sound like she is.
Ruth is trying not to be overwhelmed, but she is beginning to understand a little of his world and how different it is, and realizing just how much it will impinge on their lives.
Hasn’t changed her mind, though. Perhaps the thought of being a real-life princess is starting to crystallise in the back of her mind.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 