Category: blogging

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 30

Day 30 – When is it time

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The Never-Ending Research Cycle: What’s Holding You Back from Starting to Write?

As a writer, I’ve been there too many times. You start researching a topic, excited to dive into the world of knowledge and uncover new insights. But as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months, you find yourself stuck in a cycle of research, with no end in sight. The paper is mounting, the notes are piling up, and the excuses are starting to sound all too familiar.

“I just need to find one more source to support my argument.” “There’s a piece missing here, and I need to fill in the gap.” “I just stumbled upon something new, and I need to incorporate it into my plan.”

Sound familiar? You’re not alone. Many of us have been trapped in this never-ending cycle of research, where the pursuit of perfection becomes an excuse for not starting to write. But the truth is, perfection is the enemy of progress. And if you don’t start writing soon, you’ll never make progress on your project.

So, what’s holding you back from starting to write? Is it fear of not knowing enough? Fear of not being able to articulate your thoughts clearly? Or is it simply the fear of taking that first step into the unknown?

The Paralysis of Analysis

When you’re researching, it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of discovery. You’re learning new things, uncovering new insights, and making connections between seemingly unrelated ideas. But as the research piles up, it can be overwhelming. You start to feel like you need to know everything about the topic before you can start writing. And that’s just not possible.

The truth is, you’ll never know everything about a topic. There’s always more to learn, more to discover, and more to explore. But that doesn’t mean you can’t start writing. In fact, starting to write is often the best way to clarify your thoughts, identify gaps in your knowledge, and develop a deeper understanding of the topic.

The Power of Imperfection

So, what’s the solution? How do you break free from the cycle of research and start writing? The answer is simple: give yourself permission to be imperfect. Recognise that your first draft won’t be perfect, and that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay – it’s necessary.

When you start writing, you’ll quickly realise that your ideas are not as fully formed as you thought they were. You’ll encounter gaps in your knowledge, inconsistencies in your argument, and areas where you need more research. But that’s all part of the process.

The First Step is the Hardest

So, what will convince you to start writing? For me, it’s the realisation that the first step is the hardest. Once you start writing, you’ll build momentum, develop a rhythm, and find your voice. You’ll start to see your ideas take shape, and your arguments will become clearer.

It’s time to stop researching and start writing. Give yourself a deadline, set a word count, and start typing. Don’t worry about perfection – worry about progress. Remember, the only way to get better at writing is to write. And the only way to finish your project is to start.

So, take a deep breath, put aside your excuses, and start writing. You got this!

If I only had one day to stop over in – Athens – what would I do?

The One Place You Must Visit on a One-Day Stopover in Athens

So, you’ve landed in Athens with just 24 hours to spare—a layover that’s more than just a waiting game. Between the bustling airport and your next flight, you have a golden opportunity to step into the cradle of Western civilisation. But with so much to see—the ancient ruins, vibrant markets, and stunning coastline—how do you choose just one spot to make your short visit unforgettable?

The answer is clear: the Acropolis.

Yes, it might seem like the obvious choice, but there’s a reason it’s stood the test of time—both literally and figuratively. Here’s why dedicating your day to this iconic landmark will give you a memory to last a lifetime.

Why the Acropolis?

Perched high above Athens, the Acropolis is more than just a collection of ancient ruins. It’s a symbol of human achievement, a monument to artistry, democracy, and mythology all in one breathtaking site. In just a few hours here, you’ll walk in the footsteps of philosophers, stand before architectural marvels, and soak in panoramic views that stretch across the entire city.

What Makes It Special for a Short Visit?

  • Concentrated Wonder: Within the Acropolis complex, you’ll encounter the Parthenon, the Erechtheion, the Temple of Athena Nike, and the Odeon of Herodes Atticus—all within a walkable area. It’s like stepping into an open-air museum of ancient history.
  • Iconic Photo Opportunities: That postcard-perfect view of the Parthenon against the Athenian sky? You’ll capture it here. Whether you’re a photography enthusiast or just want a keepsake, the visuals are unbeatable.
  • Easy Access: The Acropolis is centrally located and well-connected by metro (the Acropoli station is a short walk away). With limited time, convenience is key.

How to Make the Most of Your Visit

Morning Start: Arrive early—right at opening time (usually 8 AM). You’ll beat the crowds and the midday heat. The morning light also casts a magical glow over the marble structures, perfect for photos.

Guided Insight: Consider a short guided tour or an audio guide. Hearing the stories behind the Parthenon’s construction or the myths tied to the Erechtheion’s Caryatids adds depth to what you’re seeing.

Don’t Miss the Acropolis Museum: Just a short walk downhill, this modern museum houses artifacts from the site. Its top-floor gallery, with views straight up to the Parthenon, is a breathtaking way to contextualise your visit.

Pause at the Areopagus Hill: On your way down, stop at this rocky outcrop near the Acropolis entrance. It offers stunning vistas of Athens and is steeped in history—the site where the apostle Paul is said to have preached.

A Taste of Athens on the Go

After your Acropolis exploration, wander into the nearby Plaka neighbourhood. Its cobblestone streets are lined with tavernas where you can grab a quick, authentic Greek lunch. Think souvlaki, fresh Greek salad, and a slice of baklava—because no stopover is complete without a taste of local flavour.

Practical Tips for a Smooth Layover

  • Storage: Athens International Airport has luggage storage facilities, so you can explore hands-free.
  • Transport: Take the metro Blue Line directly from the airport to the city centre (about 40-45 minutes). A day pass is affordable and efficient.
  • Timing: Allow at least 3-4 hours for the Acropolis and museum, plus transit time. Always keep your onward flight in mind!

Why This Day Will Stay With You

Athens is a city where history isn’t confined to textbooks—it’s etched into every stone and echoed in every horizon. By choosing the Acropolis, you’re not just checking off a landmark; you’re connecting with a legacy that has inspired millennia. As you watch the sunset paint the ancient marble in hues of gold (if your timing allows), you’ll carry with you more than just photos—you’ll take home a piece of timeless wonder.

So, on your next one-day Athens stopover, look up. The Acropolis awaits, ready to turn a few hours into a story you’ll tell for years.

Safe travels, and may your layover be nothing short of epic!

What I learned about writing – Republishing public domain novels

Republishing Public Domain Books: A Modern Renaissance in Classic Literature

Introduction: The Resurgence of Public Domain Books
In an age dominated by streaming and digital content, curiosity in classic literature is experiencing a quiet revival. Public domain books—works whose copyrights have expired and are free for all to use—offer an untapped goldmine for publishers, authors, and creatives. From Pride and Prejudice to The Metamorphosis, these timeless tales are fertile ground for innovation. But is there a market for republishing them? How can you make your version stand out—and what pitfalls should you avoid? Let’s dive in.

Is There a Market in Republishing Public Domain Books?

Yes—especially when reimagined. While these books are freely available online, many readers seek curated, accessible, and enhanced editions tailored to modern tastes or niche audiences.

  • Digital Demand: E-books and audiobooks of public domain classics are thriving. Platforms like Project Gutenberg and LibriVox offer free versions, but readers are willing to pay for quality. For example, Dracula by Bram Stoker consistently ranks high on Amazon, with enhanced editions selling well.
  • Print Niche: Print-on-demand services (e.g., CreateSpace, Ingram Spark) enable affordable physical copies. Unique editions—like illustrated or annotated versions—cater to collectors, educators, and design-conscious readers.
  • Niche Opportunities: Focus on underrated authors or genres. A curated series of 19th-century adventure novels or a feminist reframe of Jane Eyre can attract specific audiences.

Example Success: Michael Crichton’s The Andromeda Strain (originally published in 1969) remains a bestseller in rebranded editions. Similarly, modern “Poe-etry” collections with contemporary themes show how timeless stories can be revitalised.

Adding Value to Stand Out: How to Make Your Edition Unique

Republishing isn’t just about printing a 200-year-old text. To justify a sale, you must add value that differentiates your version from the 20 free copies already online.

  1. Modern Illustrations & Design
    • Pairing classics with fresh artwork or period-accurate visuals can transform the experience. For instance, a version of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland with Art Nouveau illustrations appeals to design lovers.
    • Invest in high-quality formatting, typography, and layouts that reflect modern reading standards.
  2. New Introductions and Annotations
    • Invite contemporary authors or scholars to write introductions. A feminist take on The Yellow Wallpaper or a sci-fi angle on Frankenstein can draw new readers.
    • Add footnotes explaining archaic language, historical context, or cultural relevance.
  3. Enhanced Formatting for Accessibility
    • Use dyslexia-friendly fonts, large print, or clean margins. For digital versions, include interactive elements like clickable footnotes or embedded multimedia.
  4. Audio and Multimedia Editions
    • Audiobooks narrated by skilled voice actors (e.g., a noir-style The Tell-Tale Heart) can attract new demographics.
    • Combine texts with QR codes linking to curated playlists, podcast interviews, or historical photographs.
  5. Themed Anthologies
    • Compile related works. A “Victorian Mystery Bundle” with The Hound of the Baskervilles, Dracula, and lesser-known tales creates value for genre fans.
    • Create study guides for students or discussion packs for book clubs.

Pro Tip: Offer multiple formats (e-book, print, audio) for broader reach, and consider subscription models for curated content.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

Even with a great idea, missteps can sink your project. Here’s what to watch for:

  1. Copyright Missteps
    • Verify the public domain status: A book’s copyright may vary by country. Use resources like Google Books’ public domain catalogue or HathiTrust.
    • Check for derivatives: Translations, specific editions, or forewords may still be copyrighted. Don’t reuse someone else’s work without permission.
  2. Neglecting Quality
    • Poor formatting and OCR errors: Use proofreaders and professional typesetting software. A shoddy version reflects poorly on your brand.
    • Inferior illustrations or design: Invest in artists or use free high-quality image sources like Unsplash.
  3. Pricing Errors
    • Overpriced editions: If your version costs $20 when a free PDF exists, you’ll lose sales. Research competitors and price accordingly (e.g., $10 for a paperback with added value).
    • Undervaluing premium editions: Limited editions with illustrations or signed copies can command higher prices if marketed right.
  4. Poor Marketing & Audience Ignorance
    • Assuming an audience exists: Market your unique angle! Promote your feminist Jane Austen edition to bookstagrammers or indie bookstore owners.
    • Ignoring keywords: For digital sales, optimise titles and descriptions with terms like “annotated,” “illustrated,” or “new introduction.”
  5. Underestimating Niche Markets
    • Don’t target “literature lovers” broadly. Instead, position Moby Dick as a “Guide for Entrepreneurs on Overcoming Ambition” or 1984 as a “Guide to Modern Privacy Risks.”

Case Study: A common error is releasing a bland replica of Hamlet. A successful version, however, might pair it with a modern psychological analysis, targeting mental health readers.

Conclusion: The Future of Public Domain Publishing

Republishing public domain books is more than a business—it’s a chance to rekindle classics for new generations. With the right blend of innovation, quality, and marketing, you can tap into a growing market while honouring literary history. Just remember: the key is to offer something no free version can—a version that sparks joy, curiosity, or insight in its readers.

Final Thoughts:

  • Research your audience and tailor value.
  • Proofread rigorously—quality is non-negotiable.
  • Be creative: Add illustrations, annotations, or modern twists.
  • Avoid copyright landmines—verify everything upfront.

Whether you’re a self-published author, a small press, or a literary enthusiast, the world of public domain publishing is yours to reimagine. Pick a book, add your magic, and bring its story to life in a fresh, unforgettable way.

What timeless tale will you revive next?

 💡📚

An excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – Coming Soon

I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness.  I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there.  I went to the backup and it wasn’t there either.  Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots and all were empty.  Someone had removed the weapons.  That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbor and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa, the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch.  One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage.  It was built in the late 1700s, by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief.  It had a hidden underground room which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were near the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely.  It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground.  I move aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side.  After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks.  It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that.  I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me, and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch.  I traversed the short passage which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end.  I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door.  It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped in the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting.  There wasn’t.  It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was.  Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I was the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan.  The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental.  But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness.  My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void.  Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly.  A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job.  I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door.  If I was not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk-in.  One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door.  There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting.  It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it.  The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea.  I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part.  The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives.  Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian.  I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up.  Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down.  The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally.  He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile.  “Not today my friend.  You have made a very bad enemy.”  He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth.  “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave.  Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess.  I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally.  I was trying not to connect dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed and I hadn’t moved.  Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts, it was either the police, alerted by the neighbors, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood, and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm.  I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it was the police, this was going to be a difficult situation.  Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria.  I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table.  I thought you might be looking for it.”  She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically, and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply, and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realized it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth?  It was probably too late, and if she was any sort of law-abiding citizen she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity.  “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible.  I went with the truth.  “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss.  It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it.  You need to leave.  It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened.  She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences.  Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge.  She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream.  She didn’t.

She gave me a good hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous.  Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about.  She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me.  I used to work for the Government, but no longer.  I suspect these men were here to repay a debt.  I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded.  “Upstairs.”  I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs.  Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back.  I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt, and then cleaned the wound.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet.  It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you.  She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Will you call her?”

“Yes.  I can’t stay here now.  You should go now.  Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled.  “As you say, I was never here.”

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2022

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If I only had one day to stop over in – Monte Carlo – what would I do?

The One Place You Must Visit in Monte Carlo to Make Your Stopover Unforgettable

Ever found yourself with just 24 hours in Monte Carlo, wondering how to make the most of it? Perhaps you’re on a European adventure, a business trip, or simply passing through—either way, a one-day stopover in this glamorous Mediterranean gem is a gift. And while it’s tempting to try and cram in as much as possible—the glitzy casinos, the yacht-lined harbour, the chic boutiques—there’s one experience that stands above the rest, capturing the very soul of this principality in a single, breathtaking moment.

If you’re looking for that one place to visit that will make your day truly memorable, look no further than Le Rocher de Monaco, or as it’s more commonly known, The Rock of Monaco.

Why The Rock of Monaco?

Monte Carlo is often synonymous with luxury—fast cars, high-stakes gambling, and opulent lifestyles. But to truly understand the heart and history of this tiny sovereign state, you need to go to its ancient core. The Rock is Monaco’s historic old town, perched dramatically on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. Here, centuries of history blend seamlessly with stunning views, charming streets, and an authentic sense of place that you won’t find in the more tourist-heavy areas below.

How to Spend Your Day on The Rock

Start your morning by taking a short walk or bus ride up to this elevated enclave. As you ascend, the modern bustle of Monte Carlo fades away, replaced by narrow cobblestone lanes, pastel-colored buildings, and the scent of salt air mixed with blooming flowers.

Your first stop should be the Prince’s Palace of Monaco. This isn’t just a museum—it’s the official residence of the Grimaldi family, who have ruled Monaco for over 700 years. If you time your visit right (between April and October), you can even tour the State Apartments, adorned with frescoes, antique furniture, and historical artifacts that tell the story of Monaco’s royal legacy. And don’t miss the Changing of the Guard ceremony at 11:55 AM—a brief but captivating display of tradition.

Next, wander through the Saint Nicholas Cathedral, a beautiful Romanesque-Byzantine masterpiece where Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier III and where both are now laid to rest. The serene atmosphere and stunning altar make it a peaceful retreat from the outside world.

But the true magic of The Rock lies in its hidden corners. Lose yourself in the Jardin de la Petite Afrique, a small but lush garden with exotic plants and panoramic views of the sea. Pop into a local café for a quick espresso or a glass of Provençal rosé, and savour a simple lunch at a family-run restaurant offering socca (a chickpea pancake) or barbagiuan (a traditional stuffed pastry).

As the afternoon sun begins to soften, make your way to the Fort Antoine Theatre, an open-air venue built into the old fortress walls, or simply find a quiet bench along the ramparts. From here, you’ll witness one of the most spectacular vistas in the Mediterranean—the entire Monaco coastline, the sparkling harbour filled with yachts, and the endless blue of the sea stretching toward the horizon.

Why This Makes Your Stopover Memorable

In a place often defined by extravagance, The Rock of Monaco offers something deeper: a connection to history, culture, and timeless beauty. It’s a reminder that Monaco isn’t just about what money can buy—it’s about legacy, resilience, and the simple joy of a stunning view shared over centuries.

By choosing to spend your day here, you’ll leave with more than just photos. You’ll carry with you the feeling of having touched the soul of Monaco, if only for a moment. And isn’t that what the most memorable travel experiences are all about?

So, on your next stopover in Monte Carlo, resist the urge to see it all. Instead, go to The Rock. Let its history inspire you, its views awe you, and its charm remind you that sometimes, the best way to experience a place is to slow down and savour its heart.

Happy travels!

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

© Charles Heath – 2018-2025

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 30

Day 30 – When is it time

…

The Never-Ending Research Cycle: What’s Holding You Back from Starting to Write?

As a writer, I’ve been there too many times. You start researching a topic, excited to dive into the world of knowledge and uncover new insights. But as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months, you find yourself stuck in a cycle of research, with no end in sight. The paper is mounting, the notes are piling up, and the excuses are starting to sound all too familiar.

“I just need to find one more source to support my argument.” “There’s a piece missing here, and I need to fill in the gap.” “I just stumbled upon something new, and I need to incorporate it into my plan.”

Sound familiar? You’re not alone. Many of us have been trapped in this never-ending cycle of research, where the pursuit of perfection becomes an excuse for not starting to write. But the truth is, perfection is the enemy of progress. And if you don’t start writing soon, you’ll never make progress on your project.

So, what’s holding you back from starting to write? Is it fear of not knowing enough? Fear of not being able to articulate your thoughts clearly? Or is it simply the fear of taking that first step into the unknown?

The Paralysis of Analysis

When you’re researching, it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of discovery. You’re learning new things, uncovering new insights, and making connections between seemingly unrelated ideas. But as the research piles up, it can be overwhelming. You start to feel like you need to know everything about the topic before you can start writing. And that’s just not possible.

The truth is, you’ll never know everything about a topic. There’s always more to learn, more to discover, and more to explore. But that doesn’t mean you can’t start writing. In fact, starting to write is often the best way to clarify your thoughts, identify gaps in your knowledge, and develop a deeper understanding of the topic.

The Power of Imperfection

So, what’s the solution? How do you break free from the cycle of research and start writing? The answer is simple: give yourself permission to be imperfect. Recognise that your first draft won’t be perfect, and that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay – it’s necessary.

When you start writing, you’ll quickly realise that your ideas are not as fully formed as you thought they were. You’ll encounter gaps in your knowledge, inconsistencies in your argument, and areas where you need more research. But that’s all part of the process.

The First Step is the Hardest

So, what will convince you to start writing? For me, it’s the realisation that the first step is the hardest. Once you start writing, you’ll build momentum, develop a rhythm, and find your voice. You’ll start to see your ideas take shape, and your arguments will become clearer.

It’s time to stop researching and start writing. Give yourself a deadline, set a word count, and start typing. Don’t worry about perfection – worry about progress. Remember, the only way to get better at writing is to write. And the only way to finish your project is to start.

So, take a deep breath, put aside your excuses, and start writing. You got this!

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

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In a word: Bar

There’s more than one way … er, perhaps it’s better to say, there are many ways to use the word bar, which is not bad for a three-letter word.

Bar, the one you associate with drinks, in hotels, restaurants and we’ll, just bars.

Probably the best type of bar you might find me in is a Sports Bar, where you can snack on buffalo wings a tall glass of beer and watch with ice hockey in winter or baseball in summer.

It’s one I use from time to time when asked, what will we do, and the reply is often let’s go to a bar.  The best bars are underground, dark and dingy, full of eclectic people, with a band playing almost passable music or better still jazz

Bar, as in the legal variety

There are so many legal references to using bar, that the one that I am most familiar with is being admitted to the bar which means that you can now practice law.

Raising the bar, if that’s possible, where the bar is that imaginary level which offers sinks very low.  When someone says they’re going to try and raise the bar, you may be assured there will be a long battle ahead, simply because people generally find it hard to change.

Bar, as in we are not going to let you in here.  Yes, this is the irksome one where you find yourself, often for reasons unknown, barred from somewhere or something.  This may also be referred to by saying everyone may enter bar you.  

Bar, as in an iron bar, the sort that is sometimes used as a blunt force object by villains to remind the victim they owe any one of a loan shark, bookie or the mafia.  God help you if it is all three.

There are also iron bars of a different sort, those that are set in concrete outside a window most likely in a prison where the objective is to prevent escape.

It gives rise to an old expression, that person should be behind bars.

Then there is just a bar, such as a bar of gold, which I’m sure we’d all like to have stashed away, but not necessarily in the mattress, or the more common variety, a chocolate bar, which I have one now.  What’s your favorite?

And just to add to the list of meanings you can always refer to sashes or stripes as bars.

Confused?  Well, there’s still music, and the bane of yachtsmen, sand bars but I think we’ll leave it there.

Welcome to the English language

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment, Will’s life slowly starts to unravel, and it’s obvious to him that it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule: don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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