We’re up early because there’s an informal breakfast put on by the resort at 9, with waffles, ice cream, and berries.
It also meant that we would be able to embark on an adventure a lot earlier than we had previously, somewhere about 10:30.
Breakfast ends at about 10, and we take a few minutes to decide what we’re going to do. The best option is to go to Port Arthur, nearly 100km away, about an hour and a half drive.
The weather is great considering so far we’ve had rain and more rain, insidious cold, and snow, so for the day to be sunny with blue skies is as if the planets have lined up.
Nearly 100 km driving in the rain to visit a penal colony in the rain was not a good prospect.
Along the way, there are several scenic points and intermittent views of the water, which in places give views out to sea, but it seems mostly over estuaries because the water is quite calm.
Only as we approach Port Arthur do we get to see the ocean stretch out to the horizon, and there are lookout points over rocks that display the end result of the ocean’s fury with land.
There are several viewing points for landmarks such as the Blowhole. These we will stop at on the way back
Along with a lavender factory and cafe.
Not far from that lavender factory is a Tasmanian Devil union, which seems to be an odd name for scything, but we don’t stop to see exactly what it is
Just at noon, we arrive at the Port Arthur site to be greeted by two overflow carparks, then a three-tiered carpark. We try for the first, and closest, and get a park, more by good luck than anything else.
Good luck getting into the settlement other than through the edifice built across the whole front. This is how you make people feel secure. Not even an ant could get past it.
There us a restaurant, a Cafe, a gift shop, and an entrance. The cost is $45 for an adult, $20 for children, and $36 for us.
And from what I can see, if the settlement and the activities included in the admission price, we could not do any of it, so coming was not exactly a waste of time; we had to come to at least see it.
Maybe when Rosemary can walk again.
We spend time in the gift shop, I get a book that has photos of what we’re missing, sad, then we head back.
Lunch at a seafood restaurant beckons.
On the way back, we visit the Lavender farm and, of course, pick up a few lavender items.
Hotel Dunally Seafood Restaurant, or so the sign outside says.
We saw this place on the way to Poet Arthur, and if time allowed, we would check it out for lunch.
About 1 30 pm, we go in.
Sadly, the locally caught Flounder is unavailable; no one has been able to go out and get it, so there is no fresh fish at all, not even the flathead.
Asked about the flathead, but it’s frozen seafood out of a bag and fried. For a seafood restaurant, it’s very disappointing that it lacks fresh seafood.
We opt for the seafood bake, with chips and salad. It’s not going to be fresh seafood, but maybe the closest thing to it, with prawns, scallops, and calamari, as well as fish pieces.
We then decided to go back to Daci and Daci again, for another cake.
Navigating the Darkness: Sprinting Through Your Marathon Novel
E.L. Doctorow, a titan of American literature, once famously described the writing process as akin to “driving a car at night – you can only see as far as the headlight go.” This beautifully encapsulates the inherent uncertainty, the step-by-step progression, and the reliance on instinct that comes with crafting a narrative.
Then there’s the other, equally valid, piece of advice: writing a book isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon. This speaks to the endurance, the discipline, and the long-haul commitment required to bring a sprawling story from conception to completion.
On the surface, these two nuggets of wisdom feel contradictory. How can you sprint through a marathon? How can you navigate the darkness with pinpoint precision if you’re also settling in for a long, gruelling race?
The truth is, they aren’t contradictions at all. They are two essential facets of successful authorship, and the key to achieving the best of both worlds lies in understanding how they can and should work together.
Embrace the Headlight: The Power of the Present
Doctorow’s metaphor is a powerful reminder to ground ourselves in the immediate. When you’re staring at a blank page or a daunting plot point, the sheer magnitude of the “marathon” can be paralysing. This is where the headlight comes in.
Focus on the Next Scene: Don’t worry about how you’re going to end the book. Just focus on writing the next scene, the next chapter, the next conversation. What needs to happen right now to move the story forward?
Trust Your Intuition: The headlight illuminates the path immediately ahead. This is where your creative impulse, your gut feeling about character motivation, or your instinct for dialogue takes over. Allow yourself to explore without needing to see the entire roadmap.
Embrace the Unknown: Sometimes, the best stories emerge from the unexpected detours revealed by the headlight. Don’t be afraid to go where the light takes you, even if it wasn’t part of your original plan. This is how discovery happens.
Pace Yourself for the Long Haul: The Marathon Mindset
While the headlight keeps you moving forward, the marathon mindset provides the structure and resilience to keep going. Without it, you’ll burn out before you even hit the halfway point.
Establish a Routine: Whether it’s a daily word count, a dedicated writing time, or a weekly goal, consistency is your marathon fuel. It’s about showing up, even when the inspiration feels dim.
Break Down the Giant Task: The marathon is made up of many miles. Similarly, your book is made up of chapters, plot arcs, and character development. Break down the larger goal into smaller, manageable chunks. This makes the journey less daunting.
Cultivate Patience and Persistence: There will be days, weeks, even months where the writing feels like wading through molasses. This is normal. Understanding that this is part of the marathon allows you to persevere through the tough patches without losing sight of the finish line.
The Long Game of Revision: The marathon isn’t over when you type “The End.” The real work of refining, shaping, and polishing is a crucial part of the longer journey. Trust that the initial draft, guided by the headlight, will be the raw material for a more polished creation.
Achieving the Best of Both Worlds: The Dynamic Duo
The magic happens when you stop seeing these as opposing forces and start integrating them.
Start with the Headlight, Build with the Marathon: Begin by focusing on the immediate scene, letting your creativity flow. As you complete sections, start to see the broader strokes, the emerging patterns that define your marathon.
Use the Marathon Structure to Guide the Headlight: Have a general outline or a compelling premise? This “marathon vision” can act as your distant parklights, giving direction to your immediate headlight-led explorations.
Allow for Detours, But Keep Moving: The headlight might reveal an exciting side road, but the marathon’s awareness of the destination ensures you don’t get lost indefinitely. You can explore, but always with a sense of returning to the main path.
Celebrate Small Victories (Headlight Moments) on the Long Journey (Marathon): Finishing a chapter is a milestone in the marathon. A particularly brilliant piece of dialogue is a shining moment in the headlight’s beam. Acknowledge and appreciate both.
In essence, writing a book is about learning to be both a navigator of the immediate journey and a seasoned long-distance runner. You need the courage to step into the darkness, guided by the light you have, and the wisdom to understand that this is a race that requires stamina, strategy, and unwavering dedication. By embracing the power of the present while respecting the demands of the long haul, you can indeed achieve the best of both worlds, and bring your story magnificently to life.
The Art of Being Told “No”: Lessons from Rudyard Kipling
In the world of professional writing, rejection isn’t just a possibility—it’s a rite of passage.
Every writer knows the sting of the form letter. But occasionally, a rejection arrives that is so spectacularly wrong, so jarringly dismissive, that it drifts into the realm of legend.
Perhaps the most famous example involves Rudyard Kipling. Before he became the Nobel Prize-winning author of The Jungle Book, Kipling was a young journalist struggling to break into the literary scene. He submitted his work to the San Francisco Examiner, only to receive a rejection letter that read:
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English language.”
If you’ve ever had your pitch ignored, your manuscript shredded by an editor, or your creative spark doused by a cold professional “no,” take a moment to sit with that quote. One of the greatest masters of the English language was told, in black and white, that he lacked the fundamental skills to use it.
So, how do you handle rejection when it feels like a total erasure of your talent? How do you keep going when the gatekeepers tell you that you don’t belong?
1. Separate “The Work” from “The Worth”
The editor at the San Francisco Examiner wasn’t critiquing Kipling’s soul; they were critiquing a piece of paper, filtered through their own subjective taste, bias, and likely a bad mood.
When you get a rejection, the immediate psychological reflex is to internalise it as a verdict on your identity. Don’t. A rejection is data, not a definition. It tells you that this specific piece of work did not fit this specific person’s expectations at this specific time. It is a localised event, not a reflection of your inherent value as a creator.
2. Recognise the “Gatekeeper’s Blind Spot”
History is littered with the corpses of “expert” opinions. J.K. Rowling was rejected by a dozen publishers who thought Harry Potter wouldn’t sell. Stephen King’s Carrie was rejected 30 times.
Sometimes, what looks like a lack of skill is actually just a voice that hasn’t been categorised yet. Kipling’s style was bold, rhythmic, and unconventional. The editor who rejected him didn’t see “genius”—they saw a deviation from the norm they were comfortable with. Often, you are rejected because you are doing something new, and “new” is hard for people to recognise at first.
3. Use Rejection as a Refinement Tool (but stay selective)
Kipling didn’t stop writing. He didn’t take that editor’s advice to “learn how to use the language.” Instead, he kept writing in his unique, unmistakable voice.
There is a difference between constructive criticism and malicious dismissal. If 20 people tell you your plot is confusing, you might have a clarity issue. If one person tells you you “don’t know how to use the language” while you are actively crafting award-winning prose, you ignore them. Learn to discern between feedback that helps you grow and feedback that simply isn’t for you.
4. Let Your Success Be the Longest Game
There is a profound, quiet satisfaction in proving the naysayers wrong—not by screaming at them, but by moving forward until your work is so loud they can no longer ignore it.
Kipling didn’t need to write a scathing response to the Examiner. He didn’t need to post a “revenge” tweet. He just wrote Kim. He wrote If—. He wrote The Man Who Would Be King. He built a legacy that made that editor’s rejection letter look like a footnote in a history book.
The Takeaway
If you are currently staring at a rejection letter, take a breath. Know that you are in the best possible company. You are standing alongside Hemingway, Woolf, Dickens, and Kipling.
The rejection isn’t a wall; it’s a hurdle. It’s the universe’s way of asking, “How badly do you want this?”
Don’t let a stranger’s bad taste dictate your creative future. Pick up your pen, refine your craft, and keep going. After all, the best way to deal with the person who says you don’t know the language is to write something they’ll be forced to read for the rest of their lives.
Beyond the Gaudi Glow: 5 Barcelona Gems Off the Beaten Path
Barcelona. The name conjures images of soaring Sagrada Familia, vibrant Las Ramblas, and the sun-drenched beaches of Barceloneta. And while these iconic sights are undeniably spectacular, there’s a whole other layer to this Catalan capital waiting to be discovered by those willing to venture a little further. If you’re tired of jostling for elbow room and crave a taste of authentic Barcelona, this list of five things to do on the road less travelled is for you.
1. Get Lost (and Found) in Gràcia’s Bohemian Labyrinth
Step away from the Gothic Quarter’s throngs and find yourself in the charming neighbourhood of Gràcia. Once a separate town, Gràcia retains its distinct village feel with a network of narrow, winding streets, hidden plazas, and a wonderfully bohemian atmosphere. Spend an afternoon simply wandering. You’ll stumble upon independent boutiques, artisan workshops, and inviting cafes where locals gather. Don’t miss Plaça del Sol or Plaça de la Vila de Gràcia – perfect spots to sip a coffee and people-watch. In the evening, Gràcia truly comes alive with its array of tapas bars and intimate restaurants, offering a more local and affordable dining experience.
2. Ascend to the Untamed Beauty of Parc del Laberint d’Horta
While Park Güell gets all the glory for its whimsical mosaics, Barcelona’s oldest garden, Parc del Laberint d’Horta, offers a more serene and romantic escape. This neoclassical gem boasts a breathtaking cypress maze that’s a delight to navigate. Beyond the labyrinth, discover neoclassical sculptures, hidden grottoes, peaceful ponds, and stunning manicured gardens. It’s a tranquil oasis far removed from the city’s hustle, perfect for a leisurely stroll, a romantic picnic, or simply a moment of quiet contemplation. Pack a book and let the gentle murmur of fountains wash over you.
3. Uncover History and Art at the Sant Pau Recinte Modernista
Often overshadowed by Gaudí’s more famous works, the Sant Pau Recinte Modernista is a UNESCO World Heritage site that deserves its own spotlight. This former hospital complex, designed in the early 20th century by architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner, is a masterpiece of Catalan Modernisme. Wander through its beautifully preserved pavilions, adorned with intricate tilework, stained glass, and stunning sculptures. The sheer scale and artistic detail are astounding, offering a fascinating glimpse into the era’s architectural innovation and a poignant reminder of its philanthropic past. It’s a place that inspires awe and contemplation in equal measure.
4. Immerse Yourself in Local Flavours at Mercat de Sant Antoni
While La Boqueria is a vibrant sensory overload, the Mercat de Sant Antoni offers a more authentic and less tourist-centric market experience. Recently renovated, this grand market hall is a haven for local produce, fresh seafood, and regional delicacies. Come here for breakfast, sample some empanadas, pick up ingredients for a picnic, or simply soak in the lively atmosphere as locals go about their daily shopping. On Sundays, the surrounding streets transform into a bustling book and antique market, adding another layer of discovery to your visit.
5. Hike to the Iconic Bunkers del Carmel for Panoramic Vistas
For the most breathtaking, unobstructed views of Barcelona, skip the crowded viewpoints and head to the Bunkers del Carmel. These anti-aircraft fortifications from the Spanish Civil War offer a dramatic historical backdrop to arguably the best panoramic vistas of the city. While the climb can be a bit of a trek (or a short bus ride up), the reward is immense. Watch the sunset paint the sky in fiery hues, with the entire cityscape spread out before you like a miniature wonderland. It’s a favourite spot for locals to gather with friends, enjoy a picnic, and simply admire their beloved city from above.
Barcelona is a city that rewards curiosity. By venturing beyond the well-trodden paths, you’ll uncover its hidden heart, meet its friendly locals, and create memories that are truly your own. So, next time you find yourself in this Catalan gem, dare to stray from the guidebooks and embrace the magic of the road less travelled. You won’t be disappointed.
This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.
Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.
Why, you might ask.
Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne
At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.
I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.
Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them
Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.
I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.
Damn!
So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years
I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.
It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.
Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.
So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.
Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.
It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.
And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.
Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.
But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.
As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life
If only I’d come from such a background!
And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.
I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.
One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.
Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.
It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.
Uncover Bern’s Hidden Gems: 5 Offbeat Attractions for the Curious Traveller
Bern, the charming capital of Switzerland, often finds itself overshadowed by its more famous counterparts in Zurich and Geneva. However, this picturesque city has plenty to offer for the discerning traveller willing to venture off the beaten path. In this post, we’ll explore five unique attractions in Bern that cater to those seeking a more immersive and authentic experience.
The Federations Garden (Bundesgarten)
Tucked away in the heart of the city, the Federations Garden is a serene oasis that few tourists know about. This beautifully landscaped park is home to over 100 flower beds, charming walking paths, and several monuments dedicated to Swiss history and politics. It’s the perfect spot to relax and enjoy the tranquillity amidst bustling Bern.
Einstein Museum
While Albert Einstein’s connection to Bern is well-documented, the dedicated museum to his life and work is often overlooked by visitors. The Einstein Museum offers an engaging and educational experience, featuring interactive exhibits, original documents, and even a reconstructed version of the patent office where Einstein worked. It’s an excellent choice for science enthusiasts and those fascinated by the life of the iconic physicist.
Gurten Hill (Gurten)
For a panoramic view of Bern and its surroundings, head to Gurten Hill, a popular local spot. This hill offers several hiking trails, a playground for kids, and a beer garden with delicious Swiss cuisine. On summer evenings, the Gurten Festival takes place, featuring live music performances and stunning sunsets over the city. Don’t miss the chance to capture breathtaking photos of Bern from this unique vantage point.
Bern Minster’s Roof Tour (Dachrundgang)
Most tourists content themselves with admiring Bern Minster’s Gothic facade from the ground. However, for a truly memorable experience, take the guided roof tour, which provides unparalleled views of the city and its surroundings. The tour leads you through the steeple’s narrow catwalks, giving you a thrilling sense of being on top of the world. Book your spot in advance, as the tour’s limited capacity ensures an exclusive experience.
Tanner Row (Tuchlauben)
Step back in time and wander along Tanner Row, a charming cobblestone street lined with half-timbered houses dating back to the 12th century. This picturesque alley, once an important textile industry hub, now hosts a variety of boutique shops, cozy cafes, and traditional Swiss restaurants. The lively atmosphere and historic charm make Tanner Row an ideal spot for a leisurely afternoon stroll or a romantic dinner date.
In conclusion, Bern offers a wealth of hidden attractions and experiences for those willing to explore beyond the city’s main tourist trails. From serene gardens to thrilling rooftop tours, and from historic streets to science museums, there’s something for every interest and curiosity in this enchanting Swiss city. So why not take the road less travelled and uncover Bern’s unique charm for yourself?
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines frequently visited and had recommended.
Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.
It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.
Aside from the half-frown, half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It had been months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it and me, for a week or so after.
For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.
She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.
I even had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more, I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others out there who were more appealing.
Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.
More than once, I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”
Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.
The battle lines were drawn.
Jimmy was looking fashionable, with a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.
The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out, she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.
Then it was gone.
I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.
When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.
I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’, but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes, Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and me, are there, Al?”
I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.
I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting that her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.
Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaines thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.
And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realised I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.
“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”
No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.
The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.
Then, a toast.
To a new job and a new life.
“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.
Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.
Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realised it would be churlish, even silly, if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.
Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decided there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”
I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or, I told you he’d come around.
I had no idea the two were so close.
“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.
“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some studying in with one of her friends.”
“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up and immediately got the ‘shut up, you fool’ look that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.
It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”
A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”
I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.
I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.
There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.
I drained my champagne glass, gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”
He looked startled when he realised I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.
He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”
“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”
Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; she might have been telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?
We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”
“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”
“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”
At last, the voice of reason. “Me? No.”
“Yet you accepted the job.”
I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me, I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”
“Barclay?”
“My boss.”
“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay who recently moved into the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognised the name.”
“How did Elaine get the job?”
“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. Why?”
I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanted to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work, I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”
I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted, and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.
And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”
Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.
When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and me. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough that the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.
But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.
Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her and pretend nothing had happened, rather than tell her how much I was enjoying the evening.
She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.
At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent-up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, that Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was, but neither made any comment.
It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which, to a large degree, it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, as warily as a cat watches its prey.
I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.
We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaines back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health and asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.
She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.
And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.
It left me confused and lost.
I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.
And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.
The Art of Being Told “No”: Lessons from Rudyard Kipling
In the world of professional writing, rejection isn’t just a possibility—it’s a rite of passage.
Every writer knows the sting of the form letter. But occasionally, a rejection arrives that is so spectacularly wrong, so jarringly dismissive, that it drifts into the realm of legend.
Perhaps the most famous example involves Rudyard Kipling. Before he became the Nobel Prize-winning author of The Jungle Book, Kipling was a young journalist struggling to break into the literary scene. He submitted his work to the San Francisco Examiner, only to receive a rejection letter that read:
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English language.”
If you’ve ever had your pitch ignored, your manuscript shredded by an editor, or your creative spark doused by a cold professional “no,” take a moment to sit with that quote. One of the greatest masters of the English language was told, in black and white, that he lacked the fundamental skills to use it.
So, how do you handle rejection when it feels like a total erasure of your talent? How do you keep going when the gatekeepers tell you that you don’t belong?
1. Separate “The Work” from “The Worth”
The editor at the San Francisco Examiner wasn’t critiquing Kipling’s soul; they were critiquing a piece of paper, filtered through their own subjective taste, bias, and likely a bad mood.
When you get a rejection, the immediate psychological reflex is to internalise it as a verdict on your identity. Don’t. A rejection is data, not a definition. It tells you that this specific piece of work did not fit this specific person’s expectations at this specific time. It is a localised event, not a reflection of your inherent value as a creator.
2. Recognise the “Gatekeeper’s Blind Spot”
History is littered with the corpses of “expert” opinions. J.K. Rowling was rejected by a dozen publishers who thought Harry Potter wouldn’t sell. Stephen King’s Carrie was rejected 30 times.
Sometimes, what looks like a lack of skill is actually just a voice that hasn’t been categorised yet. Kipling’s style was bold, rhythmic, and unconventional. The editor who rejected him didn’t see “genius”—they saw a deviation from the norm they were comfortable with. Often, you are rejected because you are doing something new, and “new” is hard for people to recognise at first.
3. Use Rejection as a Refinement Tool (but stay selective)
Kipling didn’t stop writing. He didn’t take that editor’s advice to “learn how to use the language.” Instead, he kept writing in his unique, unmistakable voice.
There is a difference between constructive criticism and malicious dismissal. If 20 people tell you your plot is confusing, you might have a clarity issue. If one person tells you you “don’t know how to use the language” while you are actively crafting award-winning prose, you ignore them. Learn to discern between feedback that helps you grow and feedback that simply isn’t for you.
4. Let Your Success Be the Longest Game
There is a profound, quiet satisfaction in proving the naysayers wrong—not by screaming at them, but by moving forward until your work is so loud they can no longer ignore it.
Kipling didn’t need to write a scathing response to the Examiner. He didn’t need to post a “revenge” tweet. He just wrote Kim. He wrote If—. He wrote The Man Who Would Be King. He built a legacy that made that editor’s rejection letter look like a footnote in a history book.
The Takeaway
If you are currently staring at a rejection letter, take a breath. Know that you are in the best possible company. You are standing alongside Hemingway, Woolf, Dickens, and Kipling.
The rejection isn’t a wall; it’s a hurdle. It’s the universe’s way of asking, “How badly do you want this?”
Don’t let a stranger’s bad taste dictate your creative future. Pick up your pen, refine your craft, and keep going. After all, the best way to deal with the person who says you don’t know the language is to write something they’ll be forced to read for the rest of their lives.
How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect them.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 