Author: aloysius5

Over the years, I have traveled extensively and kept journals, with the idea that one day all of those places would become locations in books. Notebooks filled with odd characters, people and incidents observed, and whole tracts of stories written when the on the spot inspiration has been a driving force. All of this is the basis of the first three novels, Sunday In New York, set, of course, in New York, probably my favorite city in the world, “Echoes From The Past’ equally set in New York, Brooklyn Heights and Philadelphia. The third, The Devil You Don’t, travels through Europe, starting in Geneva, moving to Rome, then Sorrento, and then to Venice. Now, my passion to write is fuelled by travel and fine dining. When I take a break from these, I get to torment my three wonderful grandchildren whom I actively encourage to read as much as they can, and more recently to also write. As for almost every other writer, I would not be able to do any of this without my wife who has put up with my moodiness, the times when I'm locked away in a room trying to push out another 2,000 words, and yet despite everything still puts up with me. I wish I could say the same for our cat. Alas, I am still trying to work out how to be his friend!

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 12

It was a day like no other.

Oops, been watching Romancing the Stone again, and that catchy line caught my attention. Perhaps I can use it somewhere, one day.

But…

The project is proceeding on course, adhering more to the outline than less, and it’s looking good.

I know just in saying that the ship is about to founder on a reef, so I’ll brace myself.

Today’s quota of words is done early, so I can sit down soon and do the crossword over a cup of coffee while waiting for dinner to cook in the oven.

Perhaps we might have a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc with dinner. What I’ve noticed with these is that they are not all the same; some actually taste terrible, and some are quite exquisite. I suspect it might be where they grow the grapes, even if it is in the same region.

And, later, I’ll take another look at the sidebar I decided to add and flesh it out a little more. In view of what is happening, it is rather fortuitous that it came out of left field because it will serve as a reminder that being home doesn’t mean they’re safe.

Another excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – A sequel to ‘What Sets Us Apart’

…

It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.

On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.

She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.

It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.

When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.

“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”

“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”

It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”

“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”

It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”

Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”

Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?

“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.

“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”

“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”

And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.

She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”

“Yes, please.”

Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.

I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.

There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.

This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.

It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.

There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.

But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.

Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.

I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.

And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.

At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.

Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.

When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.

It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.

She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.

Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.

Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”

Maria nodded and left.

“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”

My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.

“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”

“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”

“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”

An apology was the last thing I expected.

“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”

“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.

“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”

It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.

Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”

“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”

“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”

That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”

“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”

“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”

“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”

“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”

I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.

Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.

She stood. “Last chance.”

“Forever?”

She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”

I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”

She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”

That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.

No kiss, no touch, no looking back.

…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 54

An interesting conversation

…

The bridge was subdued as I came out of the elevator and made my way to the chair. Number one was standing next to it.

“Where are we?” I asked him.

“Close enough to open communications.”

“The ships behind us?”

“Slowed to maintain distance, at the moment still out of communication range.”

“Time of arrival at the ships?”

“Ten minutes.”

“We’re being hailed,” the comms officer said, turning to look at me.

“Video?”

“Yes.”

To Number One, “Tell the General to get his team together and be ready to mobilise in 15 minutes.”

“Sir.” He rushed out. He would be back in 5 minutes or less.

To the communications officer, “On screen then.”

A male, one that looked very much like the others we had met earlier, and it made me think that at one time all the people in this part of the galaxy got along well enough to share the longevity technology to make them all look the same.

There were slight changes between them, because the man I was looking at had more human skin tones, whereas the others were much paler. Perhaps they had advanced the technology to make them more lifelike.

“Captain. I am assuming you are the vessel from Earth recently at Grurzek?”

“You would be correct. To whom am I speaking, and don’t say that it is irrelevant.”

“I am a Commander of the Foroi. I believe you have one of our people aboard your vessel.”

“We are bringing her back to her home world, yes.”

“We will take her from here. We understand you are on a voyage of discovery, and you have come out of your way to deliver her. We can relieve you of that responsibility.”

And what would happen after she boarded their ship? I could only imagine, but one possibility that reached the top of the list, imprisonment and possibly death.

“I was charged with delivering her in person to her family members. That means I cannot pass that responsibility to anyone else.”

There were no recognisable expressions on their faces and odd thought, but I would hate playing poker with these people.

But, by the length of the silence, I assumed my statement didn’t go well.

“I understand you are an honourable man, but we are dealing with matters of state which I’m sure you can understand, as you have these back where you come from.”

Did everybody know about us?

I glanced over at Number One, breathless but hiding it well and who nodded to confirm the General was in place, he was as intrigued as I was. As was every member of the bridge crew. They had the most experience with these new people, and for them, it was the reason they signed on.

“Matters of state indeed, but a promise is a promise, and I will be completing the mission.”

“That would be a very dangerous undertaking.”

Once again, the notion of threats was raised.

“What do you know of Earth?” I thought I’d take a different path rather than take the bait.

I guess I was wrong about expressionless beings. He was genuinely surprised.

“More than you might think.”

“Then can I assume from that all of you in this part of the galaxy were once united, sharing technology and intelligence?”

It wasn’t a leap to see that these people once lived together in harmony. We on Earth were heading in that direction and would be interesting to find out what happened so we could avoid the same mistakes.

Not from this commander though.

“Then you’ll know that we will die for an ideal. You will also know we have weapons that can cause a life-extinction event. No one has used it yet, more by good luck than good management, but we carry those weapons, just in case. We call this weapon a deterrent against foolhardy notions.

“So, if you are thinking of coming here by force and taking her, and perhaps destroying any evidence of us, I’d think again. We have a weapon aimed at each of your three vessels. We have scanners that can pick up signs you are about to deploy weapons, as I’m sure you do.

“Take a deep breath, and we’ll talk again soon.”

A nod to the communications officer cut the feed.

“Are we dancing with death, sir?” The first officer was a little tense, but we’d been here before.

“Sir, weapons are on each of the vessels, awaiting your orders.” The General had been monitoring the conversation.

“Very good. You know the drill if anything happens on the bridge.”

For a minute the air on the bridge was so thick you could literally cut through it with a knife.

The communications officer broke the silence, “One of the ships behind us is hailing.”

…

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 11

Like yesterday, the Maple Leafs are playing again, and as much as I want to forsake it and get on with the story, the fact that we are down by a large margin at the end of the first period has allowed me to turn it off, or watch the stage a comeback.

Damn.

I stick with it.

Then, we made a decision to go and see a movie, Last Christmas, because it looked interesting when we saw the preview a few weeks ago.

That means missing half of the third period of ice hockey if we’re going there. Well, there’s always the live broadcast via the phone.

It is not easy driving a car and listening to a brilliant comeback by the Leafs, and the excitement in the car is almost at the same fever pitch as the commentators.

Alas, we lose.

As for the movie, it was everything we hoped for. Two delightful leads who didn’t overact, Emma Thompson as a Yugoslav, and Michelle Yeoh in a restrained performance that I’m unused to seeing her in. Perhaps Star Trek Discovery kick-arse was not needed here.

Christmas, no swearing, no killing sprees, a few songs, and a lesson hidden between the lines. What more could one ask for?

As for the story, I’m having a coffee, and then it’ll be time to get back into the groove.

Or watch Jack Ryan series 3…

A to Z – April – 2026 – J

J is for – Just when you think…

…

The way I saw it, the grass was always browner on the other side.

Josh was not particularly interested in my assessment of having affairs, as I had told him long ago that all they would cause was unnecessary grief.

And for what?

That aspect he had never explained in a manner that would convince me that the grass was not brown but green.

It was yet another Friday night in a bar renowned for what Josh called hook-ups, his description of married men and women looking for something on the side.

His specialty was one-night stands.

I went along only for the beer and to watch the machinations of people who were not satisfied with what they had.

Over and over again. The only thing that didn’t surprise me was the jaded expressions.

“When you’re finally married, Robert, you’ll know exactly how I feel.”

He never got tired of telling how much he adored his wife, that he would never leave her, and that his Friday night was just to remove the boredom.

If I were married to Lucy, Josh’s wife, there would be no boredom or straying.

“I could not imagine being unsatisfied with the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Of course, the opportunity to find the one hadn’t yet presented itself, and I sure as hell didn’t want to partake in what was on offer in this bar.

Not that I hadn’t been propositioned on numerous occasions. I had found their reactions amusing when I declined.

“That might just about sum you up, Robert. No sense of adventure.”

Be that as it may, it never stopped Josh from trying to hook me up with a double date. Some had been interesting, but I had a rule not to date married women. Being accosted by an angry husband was not on my wish list.

And a pity Josh had not got the memo.

“Well, that lack of adventure is about to be tested.”

He looked in the same direction as I was, to the end of the bar where two women were sitting, sipping drinks and surveying what was on offer. I’d caught them looking at us more than once. Well, Josh, maybe. I doubted I’d raise an eyebrow.

“I’d go and introduce myself,” I said. “They keep looking in your direction.”

Since I was there to provide an opinion on the participants, act as a wingman when necessary, and generally help his case, he knew I was not giving him a bum steer.

“Which one?’

“Redhead, though I doubt it’s her natural colour. She’s more your type, sassy.”

That was his go-to type, brazen or sassy, the exact opposite of Lucy.

The other, younger, like a sister, cousin, or office junior, did not look like she was a willing participant, but then, what would I know?

“She is.” He drank the rest of the Scotch and soda for the courage, slipped off his seat, and sauntered down to their end of the bar.

I didn’t watch after he reached them. I didn’t want to know.

The bartender came over, and I ordered another bottle of beer. A voice next to me said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

A glance sideways told me it was the redhead’s friend. Brunette, short, with a fringe. There were, now she was closer, blue tinges through her hair.

Not sassy, but rebellious. In other words, trouble.

I looked down at the end of the bar, and the red head and Josh were gone.

“What happened to your friend?”

“Went with Josh, possibly to a hotel. He said you would take me home, but you don’t have to.”

“If Josh said I would, I will. Do you want to go home?”

“Not yet. The night is young, and I’m glad I don’t have to help Erica in her quest. Please tell me you don’t either?”

So, either happily married, in a steady relationship, or like me, still looking, or not.

“No. I come here just for the amusement of guessing who will end up with whom.”

The bartender put the bottles in front of us and moved on.

She looked at the label, took a sip, and then made a face that changed her whole demeanour. “How’s that going?”

“Like my own ability to pick who might be the woman of my dreams? It seems I don’t understand the randomness.”

“Desperation, Robert, it’s called desperation. And if you ask me, there’s an element of sex addiction.”

She knew my name. Josh probably told her all about me, according to Josh, which was about as far from the truth as anyone could get.

“I’ve not yet reached the point of desperation. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to meet the one.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“I don’t really know what I’m looking for. And I don’t understand women at all because if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be here.”

“Odd. I feel the same way. Erica has no problem finding guys to do her bidding.”

“Is she married?”

“She says she is in an open relationship, whatever that means, but I know she’s unhappy with her husband. He’s not adventurous at all.”

There was that word again. Perhaps that was a prerequisite to visiting a place like this; you needed a sense of adventure.

“Why does that matter?”

“You should ask Josh. Apparently, Erica thinks I need to find one, or I’ll be left on the shelf.”

More beer, more interesting changes in expression. I don’t think she drank beer, which raised the question, why did she ask for one?

Then she added, almost randomly, “I do weekend rock climbing. That’s all the adventure I need.” Then the sudden switch in topics. “So, tell me your criteria for what you think would be the one.”

OK. I didn’t see that coming. Usually, by now, the girl had moved on.

“As I said…”

“You don’t know. My belief is that you do, so hypothetically, what’s on the list?”

Surprisingly, she ordered more beer. I wondered for a moment if she was one of those women who could drink a lot and not show any signs of it. Unlike me, I could survive perhaps four bottles if I drank them slowly.

I had a feeling that whatever I might guess about this woman, chances were high I was completely wrong.

Except that she was the opposite of the red head she had been with.

Or she was a very good actress.

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No. But humour me. The evening has not turned out the way I expected it would.”

What was she expecting?

“OK. One. She must be footloose and fancy free.”

“Not married or straying? This, then, would hardly be the place to find such a partner?”

“Not my first choice, but I’m beginning to see that I should stop spending Friday nights with Josh.”

She smiled, and facets of her personality shone through. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, now I think about it. Two. She must like to try different cuisines at least once. I try to, at least once a week.

“That should be on my list, you know, mothers’ old sayings, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Does anyone cook these days. I have an apartment with a kitchen, but nothing in the pantry, and beer and juice in the refrigerator.”

“No wilting celery or mouldy cheese?”

“No. It happened at the start when I had the best of intentions, then I started working twenty-hour days.”

“No rest for the wicked, then.”

“Except Friday night, and sometimes the odd weekend.”

“This weekend?”

“As it happens. But, to continue…”

She liked driving conversations sideways. I would have to pay more attention. “Three. She should not be afraid to travel second or third class, where the real adventure is. I’m not necessarily cheap, just careful so I can do and see more.”

“Well, aren’t you the party pooper. I couldn’t bear to travel in anything less than first class, or better still, the private jet.”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, such was her serious expression. Then she burst out laughing, perhaps in response to my bewildered expression.

Then, inexplicably, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “You had me at one, Robert. If you so desire, I would like you to take me to a new dining experience, one you haven’t been to before, and then, depending on your list and my list, maybe we could talk about this affinity you think you have with travelling third class. What do you think?”

“I don’t know your name.”

“Elizabeth. Liz, for short. Call me Lizzy, and I’ll turn into the axe murderer you’re thinking I might be.”

“If I call you Elizabeth?”

“You would be confusing me with my mother. So, sweep me off my feet.”

Challenge accepted.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 84

Day 84 – Writing and Legends

…

What Turns a “So‑So” Writer Into a Literary Legend?

There’s a thin line between anonymity and immortality. One moment, an author is tucked away on a dusty shelf, the next they’re quoted in classrooms, memes, and midnight conversations. What actually triggers that quantum leap?

Below, we’ll dissect the anatomy of the “legendary moment” and list the kinds of events that can catapult an ordinary writer into the pantheon of literary greatness.

1. The Mythic Turning Point: From “Good Enough” to “Unforgettable”

Every legend has a pivot—a moment that rewrites the narrative of their career. It’s rarely a single, tidy episode; rather, it’s a convergence of several forces that together reshape public perception:

Element	How It Works	Why It Matters
A breakthrough work	A novel, essay, or collection that suddenly resonates on a massive scale.	Gives the author a concrete artifact that people can point to and discuss.
Cultural timing	The book arrives at a moment when society is hungry for its themes (e.g., civil‑rights, tech anxiety, climate dread).	The work becomes a cultural reference point rather than just a story.
Critical avalanche	A cascade of rave reviews, prize nominations, and academic attention.	Legitimises the work beyond commercial success.
Public intrigue	Scandal, mystery, or a charismatic author persona that fuels media buzz.	Turns the writer into a character in their own story, feeding the legend mythos.
Longevity test	The book stays in print, is taught in schools, or sees resurgence decades later.	Proves the work isn’t a flash‑in‑the‑pan but a lasting contribution.

When at least three of these elements line up, the ordinary writer steps into the legendary arena.

2. Classic Catalysts: Events That Spark Legend Status

Below are the most common—and most powerful—catalysts that have launched writers from obscurity to legend.

#	Event	Real‑World Example	What Made It Legendary
1	Winning a Major Award (Pulitzer, Booker, Nobel, etc.)	Gabriel García Márquez – Nobel Prize 1982	The award validated his magical realism and turned “One Hundred Years of Solitude” into a global textbook.
2	Adaptation to Film/TV	Margaret Atwood – The Handmaid’s Tale (TV series)	The visual medium re‑introduced her work to a new generation, cementing her as a cultural touchstone.
3	Cultural Resonance During a Crisis	Ernest Hemingway – “The Old Man and the Sea” (post‑WWII)	The stoic hero mirrored the world’s desire for resilience after war.
4	Controversial Public Persona	Oscar Wilde – Trials for “gross indecency”	The scandal amplified his wit and epigrams, making him a martyr for artistic freedom.
5	Academic Adoption	James Baldwin – “Notes of a Native Son” (college curricula)	Institutional endorsement turned his essays into essential reading, ensuring perpetual relevance.
6	Rediscovery/Reissue	Zora Neale Hurston – “Their Eyes Were Watching God” (1970s Black feminist revival)	A lost masterpiece resurfaced, granting Hurston posthumous fame.
7	Viral Social Media Moment	Megan Rapinoe – “The Captain” (poem shared on TikTok)	A short excerpt exploded online, turning a niche poet into a household name overnight.
8	Cross‑Genre Mastery	Neil Gaiman – From comics (“Sandman”) to novels (“American Gods”)	Mastery across mediums broadened his audience and cemented his mythic status.
9	Personal Tragedy that Inspires Art	Joan Didion – “The Year of Magical Thinking” (after husband’s death)	The raw honesty forged a bond with readers, converting personal grief into collective catharsis.
10	Institutional Milestone	Harper Lee – “To Kill a Mockingbird” becoming the most‑borrowed book in libraries	A measurable metric that demonstrates pervasive cultural impact.

Takeaway: The path to legend is rarely linear. It often blends personal triumphs, societal currents, and institutional endorsement.

3. The “Legend Blueprint” – How Emerging Writers Can Spot Their Turning Point

Step	Action	Why It Helps
1. Identify the Core “Why”	Pinpoint the universal truth or emotional core of your work.	Legends tap into something timeless that transcends trends.
2. Align with the Zeitgeist	Research current cultural conversations (e.g., climate change, digital identity).	Timing can amplify your message dramatically.
3. Build a Platform Early	Cultivate a readership on blogs, newsletters, or podcasts.	When the breakthrough arrives, you already have ears listening.
4. Court Critical Attention	Send ARC copies to reviewers, participate in literary festivals.	Early buzz can snowball into a critical avalanche.
5. Leverage Adaptations	Pitch your work for stage, film, or audio formats.	Visual/aural adaptations broaden exposure beyond the book market.
6. Embrace the Narrative	Own your story—whether it’s a scandal, a humble background, or a unique writing process.	The author’s life becomes part of the myth, attracting curiosity.
7. Plan for Longevity	Write with themes that can be re‑examined in future eras; consider translation rights.	Longevity cements a legend’s place in the canon.

4. The Dark Side: When Legend Attempts Backfire

Not every turning point leads to a sustainable legend. Some events—overexposure, mismanaged fame, or a single “hit” that overshadows the rest of an author’s oeuvre—can trap a writer in a “one‑hit‑wonder” status.

Red flags to watch:

The “Cult Classic” Trap: A book gains a fervent fanbase but never crosses into the mainstream.
Scandal Fatigue: Public controversy eclipses the work itself, leaving the author remembered for drama rather than craft.
Award Dependency: A writer whose reputation hinges solely on a prize may fade once the award cycle moves on.

Solution: Keep creating. A legend is built on a body of work, not just a single event.

5. A Quick Checklist for “Is My Legend in the Making?”

Breakthrough Work – Do you have a piece that feels right for the moment?
Cultural Alignment – Does it touch on a conversation people are already having?
Critical Echo – Have reviewers, scholars, or influencers started talking about you?
Public Narrative – Is there a compelling story about you that the media can latch onto?
Longevity Signals – Are libraries, schools, or translation houses showing interest?

If you’re checking at least three boxes, you’re probably standing on the threshold of legend.

Closing Thought: Legends Are Made, Not Born

The transformation from “so‑so” writer to literary legend is rarely a single spark. It’s a confluence—a breakthrough work that arrives at the right cultural moment, amplified by critical praise, media intrigue, and lasting relevance.

While we can’t control every variable, we can prepare—write with honesty, stay attuned to the world’s pulse, and nurture the ecosystems (readers, critics, adapters) that will carry our words forward.

When the turning point finally arrives, it will feel less like a sudden lightning strike and more like a door opening that you’ve been quietly building all along.

Your next chapter? Start mapping the catalysts that resonate with your voice today. The legend you’ll become may just be a single, well‑timed event away.

Happy writing, and may your story become the story people tell for generations.

If you found this post useful, share it with fellow writers, and let’s keep the conversation alive in the comments below. What turning point do you think defines a legend today?

Searching for locations: Auckland, New Zealand – Another city that has a tower

Nearly every city has a high building, a tower, or a large Ferris wheel.

London had the London eye
Paris has the Eiffel tower
The Galata in Istanbul
The CN Tower in Toronto
The towers of San Gimignano
Pisa has a leaning tower

We’ve managed to see all of the above bar the Galata in Istanbul. One day we might get there.

But, on this side of the world, there are two, the Sydney Tower, and the Sky Tower in Auckland, which we just visited recently.

It’s not a tall tower, but it definitely gives great vies of Auckland, particularly to the north

The mountain in the background at the top of the photo is of a volcano on Rangitoto Island. When we were visiting, there were reports that it might become active again.

To give a height perspective, it didn’t seem all that far down to the apartment building and gardens nearby.

“Going out of my mind…” – a short story

Accidents can happen.

Sometimes they’re your fault, sometimes they’re not.

The accident I was in was not. Late at night driving home from work, a car came speeding out of a side street and T-boned my car.

It could have been worse, though the person who said it had a quite different definition of the word worse than I did.

To start with, I lost three months of my life in a coma, and even when I surfaced, it took another month to realize what had happened. Then came two months of working out my recovery plan.

If that wasn’t trial enough, what someone else might describe as the ‘last straw that broke the camel’s back’, my wife of 22 years decided to send me a text that morning, what was six months in hospital, to the day.

“I’m sorry, Joe, but enough is enough. I cannot visit you anymore, and for the sake of both our sanity, I think it’s time to draw a line in the sand. I know what happened isn’t your fault but given the prognosis, I don’t think I can cope with the situation. I need time to think about what will happen next and to do so, I’ll be going home to spend some time with family. Once again, I’m so sorry not to be doing this in person. I’ll let you know what I decide in due course. In the meantime, you have my best wishes for your recovery.”

In other words, goodbye. Her family lived in England, about 12,000 miles away in another hemisphere, and the likelihood of her returning was remote. We had meant to visit them, and had, in fact, booked the tickets shortly before the accident. I guess she couldn’t wait any longer.

My usual nurse came in for the first visit on this shift. She had become the familiar face on my journey, the one who made it worth waking up every morning.

“You look a little down in the dumps this morning. What’s up?”

She knew it couldn’t be for medical reasons because the doctor just yesterday had remarked how remarkable my recovery had been in the last week or so. Even I had been surprised given all the previous negative reports.

“Ever broken up by text?”

“What do you mean?”

“Frances has decided she no longer wants to be involved. I can’t say I blame her, she has put her whole life on hold because of this.”

“That’s surprising. She’s never shown any disappointment.”

“Six months have been a long time for everyone. We were supposed to be going home so she could see her family. Maybe that’s what it’s all about.”

I gave her the phone and she read the message.

Then she handed it back. “That’s goodbye, Tom. I’m sorry. And no, I’ve never had a breakup by text, but I guess there could always be a first time.”

She spent the next ten minutes going through the morning ritual, then said, “I’ve heard there’s a new doctor coming to visit you. Whatever has happened in the last few days had tongues wagging, and you might just become the next modern miracle. Fame and fortune await.”

“Just being able to walk again will be miracle enough.”

That had been the worst of it. The prognosis that it was likely I’d never be able to walk again, or work, and the changes to our lives that would cause. I knew Frances was bitterly disappointed that she might become the spouse who had to spend the rest of her life looking after me, and though she had said it didn’t matter, that she would be there for me, deep down I knew a commitment like that took more internal fortitude than she had.

She ran her own business, managed three children into adulthood, and had a life other than what we had together. When I was fit and able, and nothing got in the way, it had worked. Stopping everything to cater to my problems had severely curtailed her life. Something had to give, and it had.

But, as I said, I didn’t blame her. She had tried, putting in a brave face day after day but once the daily visits slipped to every other day, to once a week, I knew then the ship was heading towards the rocks.

This morning it foundered.

I pondered the situation for an hour before I sent a reply. “I believe you have made the right decision. It’s time to call it, go home and take some time to consider what to do next is right. In normal circumstances, we would not be considering any of this, but these are not normal circumstances. But, just in case you are worried about the effect of all of this on me, don’t. I will get over it, whatever the result is, and what you need to do first and foremost is to concentrate on what is best for you. If that means drawing a line on this relationship, so be it. All I want for you is for you to be happy, and clearly, having to contend with this, and everything else on your plate, is not helping. I am glad we had what time we had together and will cherish the memories forever, and I will always love you, no matter what you decide.”

It was heartfelt, and I meant it. But life was not going to be the same without her.

…

I’d dozed off after sending the message, and only woke again when my usual doctor came into the room on his morning rounds, the usual entourage of doctors and interns in tow. I’d been a great case for sparking endless debate on the best route for my recovery among those fresh out of medical school. Some ideas were radical, others pie in the sky, but one that seemed implausible had got a hearing, and then the go-ahead, mainly because there was little else that apparently could be done.

That doctor, and now another I hadn’t seen before was standing in the front row, rather than at the back.

The doctor in charge went through the basics of the case, as he did every day, mainly because the entourage changed daily. Then, he deferred to the radical doctor as I decided to call her.

She went through the details of a discovery she had made, and the recommendation she’d made as a possible road to recovery, one which involved several radical operations which had been undertaken by the elderly man standing beside her. When I first met him, I thought he was an escaped patient from the psychiatric ward, not the pre-eminent back surgeon reputed to be the miracle worker himself.

It seemed, based on the latest x-rays, that a miracle had occurred, but whether it was or not would not be known for another week. Then, if all went well, I would be able to get out of bed, and, at the very least, be able to stand on my own. In the meantime, I had endless sessions of physio in the lead-up to the big event. Six months in bed had taken its toll on everything, and the week’s work was going to correct some of that.

It meant there was hope, and despite what I said and thought, hope was what I needed.

There had been ups and downs before this, fuelled by a morning when I woke up and found I could wriggle my toes. It was after the second operation, and I thought, given the number of painkillers, it had been my imagination.

When I mentioned it, there was some initial excitement, and, yes, it was true, I wasn’t going out of my mind, it was real. The downside was, that I couldn’t move anything else, and other than an encouraging sign, as the days passed, and nothing more happened, the faces got longer.

Then, the physiotherapist moved in and started working on the areas that should be coming back to life. I felt little, maybe the painkillers again, until the next, and perhaps the last operation. I managed to lift my left leg a fraction of an inch.

But we’d been here before, and I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

…

Annabel, the daughter who lived on the other side of the country, finally arrived to visit me. I had thought, not being so far away she might have come earlier, but a few phone calls had sorted out her absence. Firstly, there was not much use visiting a coma patient, second, she was in a delicate stage of her professional career and a break might be the end of it, and thirdly, she accepted that I didn’t want to see her until I was much better.

She was not very happy about it, but it was a costly venture for her, in terms of time, being away from a young family, and just getting there.

Now, the time had come. She had a conference to attend, and I was happy to play second fiddle.

After the hugs and a few tears, she settled in the uncomfortable bedside chair.

“You don’t look very different than the last time I saw you,” she said.

“Hospitals have perfected the art of hiding the worst of it, but it’s true. The swelling had receded, the physios have revived the muscles, and I have a little movement again.”

“The injuries are not permanent?”

“Oh, they’re permanent but not as bad as first thought.”

“Pity my mother isn’t here.”

“She was day after day, through the darkest period. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But your mother is an independent woman, and she has always been free to do what she wants, and I would not have had it any other way.”

“But deserting you in the middle of all this…”

“It’s been very debilitating on her. I can understand her reasons, and so should you. She will still be your mother no matter what happens to us.”

There had been a number of phone calls, from each of the children, decrying her actions after she had sent a text message to each of them telling them what she was doing. She had not told them she was leaving, in so many words, but leaving the door ajar, perhaps to allay their fears she was deserting them too. Annabel had been furious. The other two, not so much.

“And this latest development?”

I had also told her about the miracle worker, and the possibilities, without trying to get hopes up.

“On a scale of one to ten, it’s a three. We’ve been here before, so I’m going to save the excitement for when it happens, if it happens.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

It was a question I’d asked myself a number of times, one that I didn’t want an answer to. Hope was staving it off, each day a new day of discovery, and a day closer to the idea I might walk again. I had to believe it would happen, if not the next day, the next week, month, year, that it would eventually happen.

For now, all I had to do was stand on my own two feet.

It was ironic, in a way, that simple statement. ‘Stand on your own two feet’. Right then, it seemed so near, and yet, at the same time, so far away.

I didn’t answer that question, but did what I usually did with visitors, run a distraction and talk about everything else. This visit was no exception. I had a lot of catching up to do.

…

It’s odd how some call the day of momentous events D-Day because to me nothing would be more momentous than the invasion of France during the Second World War.

Others were not quite of the same opinion. It was going to be a momentous day.

It started the same as any other.

The morning routine was when the duty nurse came to do the checks. Then the physio, now a permanent fixture mid-morning, just after the tea lady arrived. Deliberate, I thought, to deprive me of my tea break, and some unbelievably delicious coconut cookies.

Then the routine changed, and the escort arrived to take me down to the room where the physio had set up an obstacle course. It looked like one, and I’d told him so when I first saw it, and he had said by the time he was finished with me, I’d be able to go from start to finish without breaking a sweat.

In my mind perhaps, but not with this broken body. I didn’t say that because I was meant to be positive.

An entourage arrived for the main event. I would have been happier to fail in front of the doctor, the miracle worker, and the physio, but it seemed everyone wanted a front-row seat. If it worked, the physio confided in me, there was fame and fortune being mentioned in Lancet, which was a prestigious medical journal.

Expectations were running high.

The physio had gone through the program at least a hundred times, and the previous day we had got to the point where I was sitting on the side of the bed. We’d tried this ordinary maneuver several times, previously without success under my own steam but this morning, for some reason it was different.

I was able to sit up, and then, with a struggle move my legs part of the way, and with a little help for the rest.

What was encouraging, was being able to swing my legs a short distance. It was those simple things that everyone could do without thinking, that had seemed impossible not a month before, that got people excited. I didn’t know how I felt other than I missed those simple things.

Then the moment had arrived. Hushed silence.

There was a structure in place. All I had to do was pull myself across, at the same time sliding off the bed and into a standing position. There was a safety harness attached so that if my grip slipped it would prevent me from falling.

It was probably not the time to tell them the pain in my lower back was getting worse.

So, like I’d been instructed, and going one step further than the day before, I reached out, grabbed the bars, and pulled myself up and over, at the same time, sliding off the side of the bed. I could feel the tug of the safety harness which told me I had left the safety of the bed, and was in mid-motion.

I could feel my legs straightening, and then a very softly landing on the floor, the safety harness letting my body drop down slowly.

The pain increased exponentially as the weight came down onto my legs, but my body had stopped moving. I could not feel the tightness of the harness, but a rather odd sensation in my legs.

All that time I had been concentrating so hard that I had heard nothing, not even the encouraging words from the physio.

Until I realized, from the noise around me, that it had worked. I was standing on my own two feet, albeit a little shakily.

And I heard the physio say, in his inimitable way, “Today you just landed on the moon. Tomorrow, it’s going to be one small step for mankind. Well done.”

…

“The Things We Do For Love”

Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?

…

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.

Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledged that something had happened the moment they first met.

Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.

A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive, she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.

But can love conquer all?

It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realises is the love of his life.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.

Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.

Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.

A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.