Writing a book in 365 days – 142

Day 142

Don’t ease your way in; grab the reader’s attention by swarming them with flying bullets and dragging them on a roller coaster ride that simply doesn’t stop.

…

The bullet passed through my left sleeve, grazing the arm just below the shoulder.

I heard the shot, well, a rally of shots from the three men with automatic guns, and only realised one had almost found its mark when my arm started to hurt.

It was the least of my problems. The three men were gaining on me, and their marksmanship could only improve as they got closer.

The darkness was supposed to cover us, but no one had predicted clear skies and a large moon.

“You said no one was home.” The hissed statement came from the other person who’d been with me.

“Bad intel. Shit happens.”

At the top of the hill, after running through a grove of trees to try and misdirect their aim, and skidding to a halt before going headfirst down.

Both of us were fit, but even so, the hard running, the dodging and weaving as bullets thwack into the trees beside us, we were still gasping for breath.

At least one part of the briefing had been right.

If we got into trouble, going down the hill and into the river would be the best escape route if things got bad.

“You’re joking.” Alicia had stopped, bent over double, trying to suck air in and look at the slope at the same time.

“Death or glory,” I said.

A bullet hit the tree next to her head, and then I was following her down. I doubted they would follow us.

A last glance back showed they had slowed down, and I got the feeling they knew something about the slope I didn’t.

Halfway there was a sudden explosion, the debris threw us sideways, and luckily, because there was another explosion just in front of where Alicia was heading.

“Mine,” I heard her gasp just before she started sliding on the loose scree. I was right behind her.

A rocky ledge arrested the free fall, and we came to a sudden and abrasive stop. Several bullets hitting rocks to the side of us forced us across and behind the dense shrubbery.

It was about another hundred yards to the water’s edge, but now, closer to the bottom, I could see a track. We hadn’t been told there was a track around the lake.

And headlights in the distance.

Behind us, another two mines exploded, showering us with scree.

“Jesus.” Alicia wasn’t used to being shot at or running through minefields.

“Better not look to the left then.”

She saw the approaching car. “Oh, shit. What else is going to go wrong?”

“Welcome to my world. We need to be down and in the water before that vehicle reaches us.”

At that moment, a cloud covered the moon, and it went dark. Or darker.

“Now.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice.

We were on the track before I could count to ten. The headlights suddenly disappeared, perhaps going around a bend in the road.

“Ready to take a dip?”

“I always wanted to go for a midnight swim.”

The headlights started to reappear.

We slipped into the water and swam away from the shoreline, trying to make as little wake as possible, heading towards the island about eighty yards away, taking a circular track, keeping close to the rocky edge.

It took that car about forty-five seconds to reach the spot where we had got in the water, and by that time we had reached as far as the rocky outcrop that was the last cover before striking out towards the island.

At that point, we stopped to see what they were going to do. Just as a light flickered to life.

A searchlight.

The beam slowly tracked out over the water towards the island. Then, it slowly tracked back to the point where we had just slipped underwater.

Seconds later, we came back up for air, and I could see the search light reach the point where we had entered the water.

“What now. They’re going to see us if we try to get to the island.”

“Go around the point and out of sight, give us time to consider options. At the very least, get away from them.

We reached the other side just before the searchlight picked up the point where we had just been. Around the corner was inky blackness, but it wasn’t going to last. The clouds were breaking up, and the moon would be out again.

We climbed out and sat on the rocky ledge. The slope leading down to the waterline was a rock climber’s paradise. It wouldn’t have been too hard to climb up.

The thing is, we now have a new problem.

A motorboat was heading towards us, and in the distance, we could see a flashlight. At first, we pointed at the lake surface, then, when close to the shoreline, pointed at the cliff.

“We go up,” I said.

A few seconds later, we were climbing as fast as we could.

A few seconds after that, bullets started pinging off the rocks below us.

At the top and over onto the flat surface, bullets were still pinging off the rocks, but now harmlessly.

Alicia took a minute to breathe, as I did, that last part of the climb turning my legs to jelly.

“Are we safe now?”

“When we get to that treeline, about fifty yards, or a little more.”

She started running.

We’d both heard it, the thumping sound of a helicopter rotor.

These people were never going to give up.

…

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.

Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.

They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?

When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.

When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.

Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

Find the kindle version on Amazon here: http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

whatsetscover

In a word: Story

All of us writers know what this is, the sort of combination of words that all come together as a story. A tale about anything whether it is true or just plain fiction.

A story can be long, or it can be short. It could be a magazine or newspaper article, or it could be what a child tells his or her mother or father when they get into trouble.

Come to think of it, I think that’s where I got an interest in writing stories because as a child I was always in trouble.

Of course, if you are telling certain types of stories, then it’s bound to be a lie. And made even worse if it is gossip!

That story might even be my interpretation of events, and as it happens, it’s possible no two stories are the same, especially if I and others had witnessed the same event.

This is not to be confused with the other version, storey, which is a single level in a building, one that might have thirty or more stories.

And, just to add to the confusion, living in Brisbane in Australia we have the Storey Bridge.

“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 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.

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 realizes 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.

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

But can love conquer all?

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

Have you ever tried writing on a bus?

It’s amazing how quickly you discover the imperfections of road makers.

As odd as that sounds, a recent trip on a bus, actually earlier today, in fact, got me thinking about just how bad some of our roads really are.

As any writer will tell you, that half an hour or so on the trip to work or home, is just waiting for a few lines to be written, on your phone, or on your tablet. I venture to suggest a laptop computer just might be a little difficult, and prone to stray eyes from the people sitting or standing near you.

And the tightness of the space available to you. I know, I’ve tried.

But, if you’re not in the mood to research, I did a little of that too, by the way, the desire to write is tempered by the movement of the bus and your ability to type coherent words on a small keyboard in a very large, rocking, metal thing.

I have to say I have a large streak of jealousy for those people who can hammer out large texts to their friends while riding the bus, and in the most awkward of conditions, using both thumbs, and carrying 26 bags of groceries and dry cleaning, as well as having a full on political discussion with the person sitting/standing next to them.

Even when the bus hits a pothole, does a sudden lurch that sents the unsuspecting sprawling.

With my interactive word completer turned on, it is astonishing what words finish up in my small attempt at writing as my fingers fail to find the right letters, and creates what only could be described as the ramblings of a madman.

Perhaps I might have better luck tomorrow.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 34

A brief moment of respite

…

The simulation of nighttime on board the ship was as realistic as I remembered it when back on earth.

I was on my usual rounds after midnight, with the 2IC of security, Nancy Woolmer, who had been a NY detective until a better offer came along.

This ship.

Like me, she had little to keep her back home, her husband who had also been a detective, had been killed on the job, and that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Not blessed, or as she put it, cursed, with children, her parents had passed on, and any family left were not enough to keep her home. This ship, she had said, would be her savior.

But she had the look of a person running away, and that, one day, would come back to bite her. In the meantime, if we ever needed a detective, she was it.

“They’ve really got this night thing going, haven’t they. You could almost imagine you’re in a leafy suburb out for a walk at night.”

“I doubt the streets would be as safe.”

The world we had left behind was in crisis, where there were deep divides between those in work and those who were not, and those with wealth and those without, and a bigger fight between countries over the space program. It had started out with good intentions, but people being people, it didn’t stay that way.

We had an international crew, but there was always the lingering doubt of what some people’s intentions were. Out in space where everyone depended on everyone else, a small problem could become a big one very quickly.

“No, perhaps not. But it’s good to hear the breeze rustling in the trees.”

Though the simulation lacked real trees, the projection on the passage walls of what either side of a street. With pavements, trees and houses, and for the night, the eerie glow of street lamps, was close enough.

The once around the perimeter passage on each deck took about two hours at a leisurely pace, considering there were ten decks.

I could have passed the job onto one of the watch officers, but it was about the only time I got to see the crew, those that were basically out of sight, keeping the ship running.

I had set the lofty goal of meeting every one of the over 2,000 crew members within the first year, but a few months in, that was looking unlikely.

There was a sudden vibration emanating from the deck, followed by the sort of movement I would have associated with the ship coming off speed, like the jerk in a car when taking the foot off the accelerator. The dampeners were designed to handle that and make increases and decreases in speed unnoticeable, but there was still an indication it had happened.

Ten seconds later my communicator vibrated. I didn’t like the ring tone built-in, but it was more likely because most calls were bad news.

“What happened,” I asked, knowing it would be the duty officer of the watch

“Engineering are reporting a glitch, sir.”

There’s a word I hadn’t heard for a long time. My father used to refer to anything that went wrong around the house as a glitch.

“Serious?”

“Don’t know, but you’re within a stone’s throw, so I thought you might want to pay them a visit.”

He was right, I was on that deck, and not far from the central control room. The bridge must be tracking me, even though I’d asked them not to. Standing orders dictated all officers and important personnel whereabouts were known at all times, I’d been told.

“I will.”

To Nancy, “You might want to continue on without me, and I’ll try to catch up later.”

She smiled. “Tell them they should have bought the premium quality rubber bands.”

Previous conversations had highlighted a certain cynicism towards the fixtures and fittings, some of which were quite shoddy, which was disappointing but there was no doubt corners were cut in order to get the ship into service.

We all just hoped that cost-cutting didn’t extend to the main items, and if there were, it had been picked up in the trials.

As I stepped into the control room, a brightly lit room with banks of control panels and engineers sitting at them, there were a number of people huddled around one in particular, including the chief engineer.

The conversation was quite lively, and one voice stood out above the others, “… and had the builders rep actually listen to someone who knows what they’re talking about, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

It was the same voice I’d heard in the captain’s day room my first day aboard, pontificating, as the captain put it, over a list of problems he was having with the shipbuilders representative.

“We’re in this situation,” the Chief Engineer said, “because everything we have here is new, and some of it untried. If you’re going to push boundaries, then sometimes there’s a problem. Rather than complain, find a resolution.”

The group broke up, and the Chief saw me coming over. He met me halfway.

“Half this new breed they’ve sent me and more teaches rather than hands-on, always on about the code or some such. Good, maybe, for diagnostics, but not for problem-solving. I suspect it’s tainted coolant, seems the original batch wasn’t cleaned out after the first run, and it’s overwhelmed the filters. It’s down to the bowels I’m afraid, and we’ll be up and running before those nincompoops work out the real problem.”

“Good. Just let the bridge know when you’re done.”

One last look at the nincompoops, and I headed back out to resume rounds.

…

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 34

This is the moon, unexpectedly observable in the late afternoon.

For me, the moon provided inspiration for an episodic story I have entitled, for now, ‘I always wanted to see the planets’.

It’s about a freighter captain who gets a gig as First Officer on an exploratory starship, who by a series of inexplicable events gets promoted to captain, and has to navigate not only the outer reaches of space, but new species.

But in the back of my mind there is that expression ‘shoot for the moon’, which could mean almost anything.

It could mean going for the unobtainable, whether it be a job, or the partner of your dreams. Failing can be heartbreak. Success might mean you’d be ‘over the moon’.

Them there’s travelling to moon, perhaps the next logical step for regular people, heading off the spend a week on a moon base hotel. I’m not sure what we would see out there in space; Perhaps a UFO?

Fictionalised, a moon base might just be the meeting place for various species, and being the mystery writer I am, what if there was a murder?

As always, the possibilities are endless.

Writing a book in 365 days – 141

Day 141

A writer sometimes has to be a hustler.

…

If you want to eat, or more to the point, if you want to make a living out of it, you will have to put yourself out there.

But, first, a sobering statistic: very few writers make an adequate living off their writing.

We all can be James Patterson, and those who are always on the top 50 best-selling list.

I’ll admit I want to want to have that New York Times Number One bestselling author title, but realistic enough to know that there’s a lot of hard work between then and now.

Now I’m just content to write.

But, seriously, writing is as much about marketing as it is writing, and unless you have a publishing contract, you are in charge of your book’s marketing campaign.

And it isn’t easy.

A lot of so-called helpful people are only too willing to tell you how easy it is, for a price. The thing is, what worked for them, if it worked for them, doesn’t necessarily work for you.

Quite often, it’s different genres, so their success was in cosy mysteries, and you write true crime, you’re facing a completely different market.

Then, if you were to analyse the success of that particular advice offerer, which i did in one case, you might find they have no presence or sales, except for the material they are selling.

It’s a rarity indeed that a person who isn’t in the same type of market can offer any meaningful advice.

I have tried paid for and free advice, not that much of the free advice was very helpful, and a lot of it didn’t work

Even trying to give your books away for free, the sites that might see you move a dozen, perhaps twenty copies, don’t equate to the large sum of money these ‘promotion by giving away free copies’ sites demand is hardly worth the effort.

Is there a perfect plan?

No.

Is there a way to find out how to market successfully?

I like to think there is. The thing is, I haven’t quite stumbled on the formula, but when I do, I will be happy to give it away for free.

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here: http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz

Searching for locations: Paris, France: Place de la Republique

Whilst a rather important place for the French, for us visitors, it has a convenient hotel located just behind the square, and an underground, or Metro station, underneath.

Added to that was equally convenient cafes, one of which, The Cafe Republique, we had dinner every night. The service and food were excellent, and we had no problems with the language barriers.

At the top of the monument is a bronze statue of Marianne, said to be the personification of France.

Surrounding Marianne is three more statues, representing liberty, equality, and fraternity.

At the base is a lion guarding what is said to be a ballot box.

Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance

One writer's experiences, and battles with words

Category: Author

Writing a book in 365 days – 142

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

In a word: Story

“The Things We Do For Love”

Have you ever tried writing on a bus?

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 34

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 34

Writing a book in 365 days – 141

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

Searching for locations: Paris, France: Place de la Republique

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One writer's experiences, and battles with words

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