Now, over the cat and his wake-up tactics, food issues, and then walking off with a snooty expression, it might not be, but I’m going with that, it’s time to get to work.
But before that, I’m going to take the time to go over the plan, and taking into account the few sidebars that I made a few notes on to come back to, I realise there was a little loss of continuity.
Unfortunately, I’m going to have to rechart the plan in Excel, so later, when the same thing happens, I can quickly move the ’tiles’ around, and this takes a few hours.
Chester drops by to give me a surly look and wanders off.
Now having sorted the ’tiles’ into order, and added side notes, I’m ready to start again.
Of course, then there’s a problem. I’m writing away, and instead of sticking to the plan, I’m going off on a tangent. That’s the way the story is leading me, pantser style, but it’s only one possibility, so I put that writing aside and go back to the plan.
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.
A similar-looking man to the last appeared. We were only just beginning to grapple with successful cloning, and I wondered if those who were driving the projects were visitors from this galaxy.
If they were on our world, wouldn’t they be trying to use their knowledge, if not for avarice, but to help, or worse, to eradicate us as a threat?
It was too much for me to concern myself, that was for the high council to discuss and take action.
“Captain, I represent Krulaxl, the traditional home world of Princess Adwenana, and formally request her release into our protection.”
“Captain. For what reason?”
“That is not within my preview to discuss. You can be assured that no harm will come to her.”
“Everybody keeps telling me no harm will come to her, and yet they refuse to tell me about the purpose behind their request. I have discussed the Foroi’s intentions, and I will discuss yours with or without the real reason, but I suspect her response will be the same, she’d rather be recruited as a crew member of my ship that to leave it. Care to explain why that is so?”
“I cannot. Perhaps she is still traumatised from years of incarceration at the hands of the Foroi.”
“And yet there were no signs of ill-treatment.”
“They are very skilled at hiding their methods of torture which I assure you they visit upon all their prisoners.”
“Good to know. I shall speak to you again after I put your request to her.”
The comms officer ended the transmission.
Burke, one of the science officers said, “Captain, the new vessel has been scanning our ship, and tried several times to take the Princess.”
Of course, they had. Engage in a distraction while executing their true purpose.
“All divisions on alert for intruders,” I said, adding, “Let’s lift the threat level to blue.” There were only two after that: red, battle stations, an attack imminent, and black, we had been boarded and potential loss of control of the ship.
Our simulations of a black alert always seemed to end in a shambles, so I hoped it didn’t get to that.
“Number One, take charge. No more communications until I return.”
I’m sure by now the Princess was tired of seeing me. Certainly, when I arrived on her doorstep, it was surprising to see a wry smile rather than deep concern.
“If you keep visiting me like this, the crew are going to suspect we are having a clandestine affair.”
“That would only be the case if you were spoken for.”
She looked puzzled
“You already had a partner. We also call it cheating because we like the idea of monogamy.”
“We’re not that old-fashioned, but some still insist on the old ways. But no, I am not spoken for as you suggest.”
“And I have no other intentions or motives other than to protect you.”
It was odd to be having this type of discussion while five enemy ships with questionable intentions were nearby. I was sure the General and his team were in their element formulating attack plans, the first military operation in outer space.
It was the stuff of legends and names for high schools.
“The new arrivals have made their intentions clear. They want to take you to their version of safety. They claim you are a Princess from Krulaxl.”
“They would be correct. But that planet and people have been crushed and annexed by the Foroi, so they are pretending to be something they are not “
“Not a chance they are the resistance if the original citizens of Krulaxl could fight back?”
“It would be highly unlikely. At the time of the invasion, we were much like the equivalent of the Stone Age man on your planet versus your people in the 20th century.”
I had a hard time visualising her in a Stone Age dress. Or perhaps that was unwise. Like others from this galaxy, she had a very persuasive manner and was someone who was used to getting what she wanted.
“Have you considered my suggestion?”
“To join the crew?”
“Or I could be so much more for you.”
It took a moment to read between the lines, and it was disconcerting. Was this also a trait of these people?
“If I have given you any reason to think that my intentions were anything other than honourable, I apologise. It simply isn’t the case.”
“You don’t like me?”
“It’s not a matter of whether I like you or not; it is a matter of propriety, and as Captain, I have to set an example. That might not happen on your planet, but it does on mine.”
“Then I am sorry. I meant no disrespect. It’s just a more preferable option than leaving this ship.”
“Staying here might cause a great many deaths to my people, and I have to weigh that up against what may or may not be best for you.”
“If I go with either of them, more of my people will die, one way or another.”
The very definition of being between a rock and a hard place.
“Then how do we resolve this problem? If I agree to let you stay on this ship, you have to prove to me you have a purpose.”
“Perhaps I could mediate a truce between the peoples of our worlds. It’s clear to me that if the Krulaxl need me, if that’s why they’re here, then their uprising needs a figurehead, a reason to continue. And if the Foroi are here, they know the battle is slipping. It may present an opportunity to increase your profile and that of your planet.”
“You do realise the moment you leave this room, they will take you off the ship.”
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.
Once upon a time, you could have told me Jack Robinson was a jack in the box; the name meant nothing to me.
Not until Phryne Fisher came along, a rather brilliant 1920s private detective series set in the back streets of Melbourne, as well as more salubrious houses of the rich and famous.
In this series, there is a policeman, a foil for her detective moments, and a love interest that is always just beyond her grasp, a man by the name of Inspector Jack Robinson.
How coincidental.
But…
As for the saying, before you can say Jack Robinson…
It has nothing to do with Phryne Fisher’s Inspector.
Instead,
There is one story of a politician, Jack Robinson, in the late eighteenth century, who was accused of bribery on the floor of the House of Commons in England. His accuser was another MP who was asked to name the culprit, and thereby coined the term, ‘I could name him as soon as I could say, Jack Robinson’.
The second was a Jack Robinson, the hero of a story written in the nineteenth century, who came home to find his intended wife married to another, and to assuage the pain of it, he went back to the sea, ‘afore you could say Jack Robinson’.
I’m sure there’s a ton of other sayings that could be attached to the name, but these seem to be the accepted reasons for the term ‘before you can say, Jack Robinson’.
Why trying to please a “target reader” can lead you straight into a creative dead‑end—and how embracing your own voice can actually broaden your reach.
1. The Age‑Old Dilemma
Every writer, from the novice journal keeper to the seasoned novelist, has heard the mantra: “Know your audience.” In marketing circles, it’s a golden rule, in academic circles, it’s a prerequisite for a good paper, and in creative writing workshops, it’s often presented as a safety net: “If you write for someone who actually wants to read your work, you’ll have a better chance of success.”
But there’s a darker side to that advice. When the phrase “target audience” becomes a prescriptive checklist, it can morph into a self‑imposed prison. You start asking:
* Should I tone down my humour because “my readers don’t get sarcasm”?* * Do I need to avoid political opinions because “my audience is 50‑something retirees”?* * Must I keep my protagonist’s journey “relatable” in a way that feels forced?*
The result? A story that sounds less like you and more like a diluted version of what you think they want. In the worst cases, the writing turns bland, generic, and ultimately forgettable.
2. The Myth of the “Perfect Reader”
The idea that a single, monolithic reader exists—someone who will love everything you write—is a comforting illusion. In reality:
Reader Type
Typical Expectation
Reality
The “Ideal Fan”
Loves every plot twist, character, and stylistic quirk.
No one loves everything; even the biggest fans have pet peeves.
The “Critical Scholar”
Demands flawless structure and deep subtext.
Even experts can disagree on what qualifies as “deep.”
The “Casual Browser”
Wants light, easy‑to‑digest content.
They might actually crave something thought‑provoking if presented well.
The “Niche Enthusiast”
Wants high‑level technical detail.
Over‑explaining can alienate newcomers; under‑explaining can feel lazy.
Because each individual brings a unique mix of experience, mood, and personal bias to the page, any attempt to write for a single archetype is fundamentally speculative. You can only guess what will click, and even the most data‑driven predictions can’t account for the serendipitous spark that makes a reader fall in love with a line.
3. Writing for You: The Unexpected Advantage
When you write primarily for yourself, a few things happen that actually help reach a broader audience:
What Happens When You Write for Yourself
Why It Helps the Reader
Authentic Voice Emerges
Readers pick up on sincerity. A genuine tone feels trustworthy and invites empathy.
Risk‑Taking Becomes Natural
You’re more willing to experiment with structure, language, or theme—creating fresh experiences for the reader.
Consistency Beats Conformity
A clear personal style becomes a brand. Readers know what to expect (and love it), even if the genre shifts.
Passion Fuels Persistence
Writing is hard. When the work matters to you, you’re more likely to edit, rewrite, and polish.
Think of it as a two‑way street: the more you love what you write, the more chance there is that someone else will love it too. Authenticity is magnetic; calculated pandering is often invisible.
4. Real‑World Examples
Author
What They Did
Result
Haruki Murakami
Wrote stories about jazz bars, cats, and surreal parallel worlds because those obsessions fascinated him.
Global cult following; readers across continents adore his “oddly specific” voice.
David Mitchell
Mixed historical fiction with speculative sci‑fi purely because he loved the “what‑if” of time travel.
Critical acclaim and a wildly diverse readership attracted to his genre‑bending narratives.
Samantha “Sam” Cole (fictional indie blogger)
Abandoned a “listicle for millennials” plan, wrote a personal essay on grief because it had to be said.
The post went viral, resonating with readers of all ages who recognized its raw honesty.
These writers didn’t start with a spreadsheet of demographics; they started with curiosity, annoyance, awe, or pure love for a subject. The audience grew organically around that core.
5. Practical Strategies: How to Prioritise Your Voice Without Ignoring Readers
You don’t have to swing the pendulum completely to “write only for yourself.” Here’s a balanced workflow that preserves authenticity while still being considerate of readers:
Start in the “Me‑Zone”
Freewrite for 15–20 minutes with the intention only of getting your own thoughts down. No audience in mind.
Ask yourself: What excites me? What irritates me? What can’t I stop thinking about?
Step Back & Identify the Core
Highlight the central emotion or hook that made you write in the first place. This is the seed that will interest readers.
Empathy Check
Switch hats: If a reader stumbled on this piece tomorrow, what would they need to understand the core quickly?
Tip: Write a one‑sentence pitch for a complete stranger. If you can convey the essence, you’re likely on the right track.
Selective Polishing
Remove self‑censorship that dilutes your voice (e.g., “Maybe I shouldn’t use that slang”).
Add clarity where needed (explain a term, give context) without compromising tone.
Feedback Loop
Share with a small, trusted group who value honesty over flattery. Ask: “Did my voice feel genuine? Was anything confusing?”
Use their notes to tighten the piece, not to rewrite it in their image.
Release & Observe
Publish. Watch the comments, metrics, and, most importantly, your own emotional response.
If you feel proud, that pride will translate into future work that continues to attract kindred readers.
6. “What If” Scenarios: When Audience‑First Fails
Scenario
What Went Wrong
Lesson Learned
A romance novelist writes only “safe” love‑stories to please the “mainstream market.”
Stories lack tension; readers feel the plot is predictable and disengage.
Authentic conflict—whether internal or external—drives investment.
A tech blogger avoids jargon to appeal to “non‑techies.”
Content becomes vague; both novices and experts feel the article is unhelpful.
Clarity doesn’t require “dumbing down”; it requires thoughtful explanation.
A poet tries to mimic the style of a bestselling poet to capture their fanbase.
The work feels derivative; critics call it “imitative.”
Originality beats mimicry; readers can spot a copycat from a mile away.
These cautionary tales reinforce the central truth: no amount of market research can substitute for genuine curiosity and personal investment. When you start building your work on the sand of “what I think they want,” you risk losing the solid foundation of your own voice.
7. The Sweet Spot: “Write for Yourself and Invite Others In”
Think of writing as hosting a party you love. You decorate the space, choose the playlist, and cook the food because you enjoy it. Then, you open the door and welcome guests. If the vibe feels authentic, the guests will stay, chat, and maybe even bring friends. If the party feels forced, no one will linger.
In practice, that means:
Let your passion be the headline. Your enthusiasm is contagious.
Use empathy as the entryway. A brief moment of “what would a reader need?” can help bridge the gap without muting your voice.
Accept that you’ll never please everyone. The goal isn’t universal approval; it’s a connection with those who resonate.
8. Takeaway Checklist
I’m writing because…
1
I’m fascinated, angry, or moved by the subject.
2
I have a unique angle that I can’t find elsewhere.
3
I’m excited to experiment with form or language.
4
I’m willing to edit for clarity, not for conformity.
5
I’m open to feedback that enhances my voice, not replaces it.
If you can answer “yes” to at least three of these, you’re likely steering toward a piece that speaks both to you and, organically, to readers.
9. Final Thought
“Write for yourself, but don’t forget the world is listening.”
That paradox captures the sweet spot most writers chase: authenticity as your compass, empathy as your map. When you let your inner compass guide you, you’ll find that the world—sometimes unexpectedly—shows up at the destination you never planned.
So the next time you sit down at the keyboard, ask yourself: What would I write if no one were watching? Then, once the words flow, give them a quick glance to make sure the door is open enough for someone else to step inside.
Write boldly, edit kindly, and watch as the right readers find you—because they’ll be looking for the voice you could only have written.
Happy writing, and may your pages always feel like home.
If this post resonated with you, feel free to share your own experiences in the comments. How have you balanced personal passion with audience awareness?
A relatively unassuming lane leads to what could be described as a grand hotel, called Waitomo Caves Hotel.
The original hotel was built in 1908, and it was later extended in 1928. Part of it is ‘Victorian’, based on an eastern Europe mountain chalet, and part of it is ‘Art Deco’, the concrete wing, and a feature, if it could be called that, is none of the four corners are the same.
Views from the balcony show part of the surrounding gardens
and the town of Waitomo in the distance.
In gloomy weather, it does look rather spooky, and I suspect there may be a ghost or two lurking somewhere in the buildings.
But…
This a a very interesting, and the words of one of my younger grand daughters, a very creepy place. It would make an excellent base for paranormal activity, and there could very well be ghosts walking the corridors of this hotel.
It has the long darkish passageways that lead in all directions and to almost hidden rooms, a creepy nighttime aspect, and the creaky woodwork.
I know when we were exploring, it was easy to lose your bearings, if not get lost, trying to find certain places, and once found, hard to find your way back.
All in all, it was one of the best stays in a very old place going through the throes of modernisation.
And looking at it from the outside at night, I’ll leave you with that thought…
It was a tune out of My Fair Lady, and it was in my head the moment I woke up that morning. And this day was, to quote some immortal’s line, was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
But, somehow, it didn’t feel like that and lying under the warm covers of my bed, perhaps for the last time at my parent’s home, the last place I thought I’d find myself, I began to consider how it was I had ended up in this situation.
It was not a question of who the bride was, we had been friends from an early age and used to joke about getting married, but at the age of six or seven, that was a concept rather than something we might act on in the future.
Except that was how it panned out, and, not for the reasons one might think would lead to such an eventuality.
Yes, we were close friends till the early teens, then my family went in one direction, New York, and her family went in another, San Francisco, and in each place both families built successful businesses.
Josephine, the intended bride, and I met off and on over the next fifteen years, some of that mutually when we were at university together, and, I might add, living together. Even then, there had been no suggestion of permanency because we each had to go home to eventually work in the family business.
In those few years, it had been easy because there had been no expectations by either of us. We simply came together, stayed together, and parted at the end both happy to have enjoyed the experience.
Then, several events changed the course of our lives.
My father died unexpectedly at a crucial point in the company’s expansion, and without his direction, it began to flounder. Then, Josephine arrived in New York to open a branch of her family’s business, and just happened to arrive on the day of my father’s funeral.
I thought it a coincidence and was grateful for her support at a time when I needed it.
A month after that, one of the lead investors in the new expansion plan pulled out, as was his right because the loan had been contingent on my father overseeing the project. It was the end of a very bad week, and instead of being the last to leave the office, I left early, called up an old friend, Rollo, who had followed us to New York, and we went to his favourite bar.
He suggested a night on the town was called for and I agreed with him. I think by that time I’d had enough of the problems for a few days. But with Rollo, I learned no invitation was without its twists and turns, so when he said his sister was bringing a friend, I had to act happy even if I didn’t feel like it. Her friends could be a little strange.
Another coincidence, the friend was Josephine. Hearing from her once maybe, but twice in the same week, I didn’t think so, so I let it pass. Yet despite my reservations, in the end, I had to admit I was glad to see her because the last thing I wanted to do was entertain a quirky woman I didn’t know.
Long story short, Josephine’s family business came aboard as the replacement investor, but not without some rather stringent requirements, and though no one on either side would admit it, it was suggested that perhaps Josephine and I would make an excellent match. After all, we were childhood friends, had lived together without the problems that sometimes came with it, and we would be working very closely together.
I proposed, she accepted, and everyone was happy.
Well, not everyone.
I was down in the dining room getting breakfast, before the wedding, when Rollo arrived. It went without saying Rollo was going to be the best man.
Curiously, he was neither surprised nor shocked to learn of my proposal, but it was a surprise to learn, in a roundabout way, he wasn’t exactly happy for me. It was not anything I could put my finger on, but more of a feeling I had. And, to be honest, before I had proposed to her, I was sure that Rollo had feelings for her, and at times I thought how much more sense it would make if they were together.
I’d even asked him once or twice if he liked her, and he just said they were friends.
The other side of that equation was his sister, Adrienne, who was, I thought, charming, funny, and sometimes a little offbeat, which is why I was drawn to her. Over time, I think I may have developed feelings for her, but by the time those feelings were rising to the surface, I was advised that a woman of Josephine’s standing was more my type.
My mother could be very annoying at times, and whilst she might be looking after her son’s best interests, she was also looking after the company’s interests as best she could. I suspect Josephine’s parents were the same, hoping their daughter would marry advantageously.
Rollo, being on the outside, had summed it up perfectly, ‘if this had been the eighteenth century there’s no doubt you two would be the perfect match’.
“You look as happy as I feel,” I said when I saw him.
“It’s going to be a big day, church wedding, in Latin of all languages, then the society event of the year. What’s not to be happy about?”
Put like that, I shrugged. “A registry office, burger and chips at the local diner, then a few days in the Catskills would have sufficed.”
“And on what planet do you think you are right now?”
I didn’t answer. I simply poured another cup of black coffee and sat down. It was a large room, with seats for a dozen, and I was the only one up. I had expected a room full of family members, of which at least twenty were upstairs right now recovering from last night’s festivities.
Rollo poured some tea into a cup and sat opposite. “OK. What’s wrong? Wedding day jitters?”
Could he read my mind?
“It just doesn’t seem right. I mean, it seems we have been on this track forever, but you know, there’s something missing.”
“Love?”
Exactly. It was another of those thoughts I had just before I got out of bed. I liked her, maybe I loved her once, when I didn’t really know what love was, but now? I don’t know what it was I felt about her. I had been expecting those mythical thunderbolts to strike, but as the days, weeks, and months wore on, it just didn’t happen.
It was almost if we were going through the motions.
“It feels like it’s going to be a marriage of convenience.” There, I said it.
And I expected Rollo to start having a fit. Instead, he concentrated on putting three spoonful’s of sugar into his tea and stirring. And stirring. And stirring.
“Say something,” I said. “Anything. Tell me I’m being stupid, tell me to get out of my funk and screw my courage to the sticking place, or whatever it is you say in times like this.”
“It’s not like you to drop a bomb like this at a time like this…”
I felt he had more to say, the good part where he’d call me an ass, and then tell me to get my shit together. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“But…”
“But I rather get the impression this wedding might not be going ahead.”
“It has to. God knows how many people have put themselves out to be here. It was, my mother said, a logistical nightmare.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened.”
“You’re supposed to be arguing for the wedding, not against it.”
“I would if I knew your heart was in it. But it isn’t, is it? I think you’ve spent so much time trying to please everyone else, that you have forgotten about yourself. I know you’re not happy. I also happen to know that Jo isn’t either.”
“You’ve spoken to her?”
“Just before I got here. Call her. You two need to talk. In the meantime, you’re going to have to repay a huge debt after I somehow manage to sort this mess out. My car’s outside. Leave now, and I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return.”
“Where will I go?”
He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll know by the time you get in the car.”
It was reckless and would cause a lot of pain and anguish for my mother, but I considered how much more pain it would cause to Josephine if I didn’t call it off.
I made the call on the way upstairs to finish dressing.
“I’m assuming you’ve spoken to Rollo?” She didn’t wait for me to speak.
“You feel the same way?”
“It started out with the best of intentions, but I can’t help thinking if we were right for each other we would have married after university. We are best friends, Alan, and I don’t think it’s ever going to progress from there. I know you feel that too, it’s just the pressure from our families has managed to mask our true feelings.”
“Do you have any idea what sort of storm is about to erupt?”
“Everyone will get over it. There’s too much at stake on both sides for there to be any real or lasting consequences. I guess Rollo is going to have his work cut out for him. I’ll see you one the other side.”
She didn’t say what other side, but I suspect it meant when the dust had settled.
I literally ran downstairs, mainly because I heard movement and didn’t want to run into anyone, and out the door towards Rollo’s car.
Once again I had to admire the fact he had exquisite taste in cars, and the one he’d brought was no exception, a Lamborghini, yellow, fast, and he knew I wanted to drive it.
What I didn’t expect. His sister, Phoebe, sitting in the passenger seat.
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!
I’ve often said, when espying an injustice that was so outrageously displayed that no one could miss it, as being beyond the pale.
The pale within a fence became an area of land within a boundary, such as a county, and then areas within Ireland that were held by the British. As these became smaller, those areas were deemed to be uncivilised.
This, in modern parlance, beyond the pale refers to someone’s behaviour being outside the accepted norm.
There’s also…
In a word: Pale
Which is the colour of the face of a person who is usually desperately unwell?
As distinct from a pale face, a white man is described by the American Indians. This, sadly, was learned from American westerns, motion pictures that told a rather interesting version of events between the Indians and the new settlers.
Paleface was in one movie, in particular, Bob Hope.
A pale can also be a single upright piece of wood in a fence.
Something could pale into significance or be a pale imitation of a better-quality article.
Not to be confused with a pail, which is a bucket, wooden or otherwise, that holds liquids.
The most famous of which is that which Jack and Jill went up a hill to fetch a pail of water, and, well, you know how that ended.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 