Category: blogging

“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

Writing a book in 365 days – 162

Day 162

Journalism is a great learning ground for writers

…

It comes as no surprise that many writers, when they are asked about how they got into writing, say they were once journalists.

This is because journalism is a great background. You learn to get to the crux of any story in one paragraph, asking five basic questions: who, what, where, when, and why.

In the commission of any story, sooner or later, you ask the question: at what point does a writer become a journalist?

Quite often, journalists become writers because of their vast experience in observing and writing about the news, sometimes in the category of ‘truth is stranger than fiction’.

I did journalism at university and thought I would never get to use it.  I had to interview people, write articles, and act as an editor.  The hardest part was the headlines. Thank God that’s usually a problem for the editor. It’s about as much fun as coming up with a title for the book.

But, for example…

Several opportunities arose over the last few months to dig out the journalist hat, put it on, and go to work.

Where?

Hospital.  I’ve had to go there a few times more in the last few months than I have in recent years.

And I’d forgotten just how hospitals are interesting places, especially the waiting room in the Emergency department.

After the second or third visit, I began observing the people who were waiting and ran through various scenarios as to the reason for their visit.  None may have been true, but it certainly was an exercise in creative writing, or would make an excellent article.

Similarly, once we got inside the inner sanctum where the real work is done, there were any number of crises and operations going on, and plenty of material for when I might need to include a hospital scene in one of my stories.

Or I could write a volume in praise of the people who work there and what they have to endure.  Tending the sick, injured and badly injured is not a job for the faint-hearted.

Research, which is one of the most important tools a journalist uses, if it could be called a ‘tool’, turns up in the unlikeliest of places.  Doctors who answer questions, not necessarily about the malady, nurses who tell you about what it’s like in Emergency on nights you really don’t want to be there, and other patients and their families, all having a perspective, amd a story to tell, while waiting patiently for a diagnosis and then treatment so they can go home.

We get to go this time at about four in the morning.  Everyone is tired.  More people are waiting.  Outside, it is cool, and the first rays of light are coming over the horizon as dawn is about to break.

I ponder the question without an answer, a question one of the nurses asked a youngish doctor, tossed out in conversation, but was there more intent to it, what he was doing on Saturday night?

He didn’t answer.  Another crisis, another patient.

I suspect he was about to say, where else would he be, but on duty in the Emergency.

“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:

lovecoverfinal1

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

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

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

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

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

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:

lovecoverfinal1

In a word: Meat

…

We all know what meat is, the flesh of an animal like cattle, pigs, sheep, even goats.

It can be used to describe a pie, such as a meat pie, but the odd thing is that it doesn’t have to have 100% meat in it.

It can be used in the context of humans, depending on when you eat certain types of food that will put meat on your bones.

Meat can also be used to describe the fleshy part of nuts, fruit, or eggs.

Then there’s the meat of the matter, which is the crux or basis of the argument or message you want to get across.

And a rather interesting if not obscure meaning is to describe a favorite occupation or activity.

…

Another form of the word is meet; what we do at a coffee shop, on a date, at a pub, or any number of different places.

We can gather together for a meeting, such as a board of directors or a committee.

It can be used to describe an athletic or swimming carnival.

How about you meet me halfway, in a negotiation, not on a long road trip

…

To dole out or allot something like punishment, is to mete it out.

Good thing then, we don’t live in the dark ages, all manner of bad punishments were meted put to the serfs.

“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

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

An interesting conversation

…

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

“Where are we?” I asked him.

“Close enough to open communications.”

“The ships behind us?”

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

“Time of arrival at the ships?”

“Ten minutes.”

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

“Video?”

“Yes.”

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

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

To the communications officer, “On screen then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did everybody know about us?

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

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

“That would be a very dangerous undertaking.”

Once again, the notion of threats was raised.

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

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

“More than you might think.”

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

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

Not from this commander though.

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

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

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

A nod to the communications officer cut the feed.

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

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

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

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

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

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2024

Writing a book in 365 days – 161

Day 161

Writing exercise

…

The street was quieter than usual that Friday.

I wasn’t a believer of omens, but walking down the left side of the street, it seemed to me people were hurrying along a little bit faster than usual.

Not being in a hurry, it felt like I was left behind a surging tide. 

Was it because of some event coming up the next day that people had to get home and then away, like the holidays?  Then, the street was less busy but not by much, and this felt different.

A search for events involving this part of the city and its streets showed nothing unusual.  It was just a normal Friday night.

I ducked into the pub not far from the underground station outlet, a place where, if I didn’t want to get home too early, I would have a pint or two and something to eat.

Usually, Friday was one of the two days I would treat myself to restaurant food rather than cook for myself.  My cooking skills were not great.

In the corner, another resident of my building was also taking a refreshment.  We ran into each other sometimes in the morning, if she was early, or, like now, in the pub.

Susannah, last name unknown, had been a resident of the building for about eleven months now, and I had seen her two or three times a month, enough to say hello, and once, last week, in the pub which she confessed she had only just discovered.

She was a personal assistant to a cranky female boss, her words, and I was an accounts clerk, a dull-as-ditchwater job, my words.  But we had not talked about work, but another of the building’s residents, Rory.

He was, of all things, a male model, extremely good-looking, and I had seen once or twice his effect on women.  And now, Susannah.

I had harboured a secret desire to woo her, if that’s the right name for it these days, and had gone to cast the first overture when she asked about Rory’s availability.

Hiding my disappointment, I had to answer truthfully, and that was I didn’t know.  He brought women home from time to time, female models, I thought, but that was the extent of it.

I said I would ask if I ran into him, had asked him even though it was none of my business, and he responded with an emphatic no.  Afterwards, I realised he must have thought I was interested, which I wasn’t, and he was probably avoiding me.

Passing it on, with those sentiments, she laughed.  She thought he definitely wasn’t gay.  I wasn’t so sure.  I had to say I had friends who were, and they never advertised, to the extent that if they hadn’t told me, I would never know.

I didn’t tell them I didn’t want to know.

She looked up as I came in and waved.  I was not sure what that meant, so I went to the bar, had a brief conversation with the bartender, then sat on a stool down the end.

A few minutes later, she joined me.  Perhaps I’d misread the signal.

“A bit quieter than usual,” she said

She was right.  The bar generally had customers spilling out onto the path outside.  Tonight, it was rather sparse with spare seats inside.

A flow on from the lack of foot traffic?

“It seems so.  Maybe a lot of people moved, and we failed to see them go.”

“Not in our building.  Another family of six got Bernie’s old flat on the third floor.  The lift was out, and they all had to trudge upstairs.”

The lifts were always malfunctioning.  The landlord refused to pay for anything.  His idea was if the tenants used it, the tenants paid. 

Her rooms were opposite the elevator shaft, and she had to listen to the creaking and groaning of the two old lifts day and night.  I was lucky to be further away.

‘That flat barely fitted Bernie by himself.  How does it fit six?”

“With great difficulty.” 

She finished her drink, and I motioned to the bartender.  “Another,” I asked as he approached.

“Why not.  All that’s waiting for me is a noisy, lonely flat.”

Was that an opening to ask her out, perhaps on a date, or perhaps just to eat dinner with someone else?

“Two more,” I said, and he went away.

“Have you had dinner yet?” she asked.

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

“By the way,” she added, “I ran into Rory earlier in the week.  He asked me out to dinner when I was free, which was last night. I’m at the restaurant at the appointed time, and he stood me up.  I’m not happy at all.”

That, to me, was surprising because Suzannah was quite beautiful, with what I thought were the attributes for being a model herself. I was saved from making a comment when the drinks arrived.

I was debating with myself whether I should ask and had all but decided not to, when she asked, “What do you do with your Friday nights?”

“Find new restaurants and try something I’ve not had before.  It’s not always the surprise I’m expecting.”

“Tonight?”

“Yet another voyage of discovery into the great unknown of culinary experiences.”

“Want a fellow diner.  I don’t want to go home, and I don’t think you do either.”

I didn’t, but I was a little irked that I couldn’t find the courage to ask her.

“I do not. You’re quite welcome.  What are your preferences?”

“None.  I’m one of those rare few who can and will try anything.”

“Then why not?

Was it an omen, perhaps, but it was not a bad one.  If it hadn’t been for the lack of people, this would never have happened.  On the other hand, it still didn’t mean it was going to be plain sailing.  It would be the first time in ages I’d dined with a woman, on my own, on what could be called a date.

And anything could and possibly would go wrong.

All I could do was hope it didn’t. 

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 54

What story does it inspire?

…

…

It could be a dark and stormy night.

It could be the catalyst for someone who makes a decision to join the space program and head for the moon.

It could be that there is already a space program, there are bases on the moon, and we’re about to head off to Mars.

It could be just someone skulking in the dark up to no good cursing the fact the moon just came out from under the clouds and exposed their position.

Or it could be a war story, ships on the ocean stalking the enemy under the cover of darkness, only to be foiled by the moon, which sometimes can be quite bright.

I often wonder what it might have been like in the North Atlantic between America and England when the convoys were hoping to get to England without being sunk. A dark moonless night would have helped.

There are so many reasons why the moon could be important to a story. Perhaps I will write one now!

Searching for locations: A trip to Newark, New Jersey. USA

That meant we had to make the journey from New York to New Jersey, by train.  It involved the underground, or as New Yorkers call it, the subway, from Columbus Circle which by any other name was really, 80th street, to 34th street which apparently was the New Jersey jump-off point for us to get overground, well a lot of it was overground. So, were we going uptown or downtown?

Apparently, it was downtown, and to 34th Street on the A train.

You would not think this to be a difficult task, but for people not used to the subway, and where they were going other than some internet derived instructions, but without the help of a man at the station, just getting tickets may have stopped us dead in our tracks.  With his help, we determined the return fare for three of us and then get through the turnstile onto the platform.

We get on the A train, but soon discover it was not stopping at all stations.  There was for a few minutes, a little apprehension we might just simply bypass our station.  Luckily we did not.

Now, finding your way to the New Jersey transit part of Penn station might appear to be easy, on paper, but once there, on the ground, and mingling with the other passengers which all seemed to be purpose going somewhere, it took a few moments to realize we had to follow the New Jersey transit signs.

This led to a booking hall where luckily we realized we needed to buy more tickets, then find the appropriate platform, and then get on the right train, all of which, in the end, was not difficult at all.

Maybe on the return trip, it might be.

At Newark Penn station it was momentarily confusing because the exit was not readily in sight, so it was a case of following the majority of other passengers who’d got off the train.

This led us to exit onto the street under the train tracks.  Luckily, having been before to Prudential Stadium to buy the tickets, we knew what the stadium looked like and roughly where it was, so it was a simple task to walk towards it.

We were early, so it was a case of finding a restaurant to get dinner before the game. So was a great many others, and we passed about 6 different restaurants that looked full to overflowing before we stopped at one called Novelty Burger and Bar.

It looked inviting, and it was not crowded.

It was yet another excuse to have a hamburger and beer, both of which seemed to be a specialty in American.  I could not fault either.

And soon after we arrived, this restaurant too was full to overflowing.  Thankfully there were other Maple Leaf fans there because being in a room full of opposition teams supports can be quite harrowing.

That was yet to come when we finally got to the stadium.  I was not expecting a lot of Maple Leaf fans.
We went to this game with high hopes.  New Jersey Devils were not exactly at the top of the leader board, and coming off the loss in Toronto, this was make or break for whether we would ever go to another game.

It’s remarkable in that all the Ice Hockey stadiums are the same.  Everyone has an excellent view of the game, the sound systems are loud, and the fans passionate. Here it seems to be a thing to ride on the Zambonis.
At the front door they were handing out figurines of a Devil’s past player, and it seems a thing that you get a handout of some sort at each game.  At Toronto we got towels. And, finally, we were in luck.

The Maple Leafs won.

And it was an odd feeling to know that even though their team lost, there did not seem to be any rancor amount the fans and that any expectation of being assaulted by losing fans was totally unfounded, unlike some sporting events I’ve been to.

Perhaps soccer should take a leaf out of the ice hockey playbook.

That also went for taking public transport late at night.  I did not have any fears about doing so, which is more than I can say about traveling at night on our own transport system back home.

Oh, and by the way, there are train conductors who still come to every passenger to collect or stamp their tickets.  No trusting the passenger has paid for his trip here.  And, if you don’t have a ticket, I have it on good authority they throw you off the train and into the swamp.  Good thing then, we had tickets.

It was, all in all, a really great day.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 57

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Nadia dropped me off outside the office of the newspaper, without any firm plan for our next meeting.  I had told her I had to spend some time with Boggs’s in the light of this new information, and after some research at the newspaper.  

I was hoping there would be back copies of the paper going back a long, long time.

But, a few years back there had been a fire with extensively damaged almost half of the building, and I couldn’t remember if it included the paper archive.  Lenny, the recently appointed editor after his father passed on, had often extolled his plans for the paper, including recording the papers on film to preserve what he called a rich history of the area.

I went in to find Lenny sitting behind the main desk, feet up and reading a book, what looked to be a text on handguns.

He looked up when the door closed with a sharp bang.

“Sam Johnson, as I live and breathe.  Thought you had equally grandiose plans of leaving town?”

“My father died, and it seemed a bad idea to leave my mother, being the only kid and all.  You know how it is?”

Lenny had just gotten over a recent bereavement and had to move his mother to an old folk’s home because of worsening health.  I’d seen him around town from time to time, but time had taken its toll, and he was never the healthiest of kids.

He was never interested in school, perhaps knowing he was always going to end up a newspaperman.

“Indeed I do?  Need a job?  I need a good reporter, and if I remember correctly, you were a hell of a reporter at school.  How many scandals did you uncover?”

“One, and it was by chance.”

“Seemed like more than that.”  He shrugged.  “I’m sure, like five thousand others, you’re looking for work?”

“Was.  I’m working down at the warehouse.”

“Benderby’s.  Thought you hated them.”

Everyone hated them, and most of the people I knew because we were always on the end of his cruelty.  His father’s pre-eminence and his own football prowess ensured he would always be better off than any of us, and able to get away with his ‘boyish pranks’.

“I did, and I do, but you know how it is.  Pride has to be swallowed in these economic times.  But, if you need help, maybe I could write a few articles, but without credit.”

“When can you start?”

“After a little research.  I’ve come to look at the papers going back to the beginning of time.  Please tell me they weren’t burnt in the fire?”

“They were.  Sadly.  But with did get them filmed so instead of the archive taking up half the building, it now occupies one small room.  What’s the subject?”

“The Ormiston’s.”

“Ah, the treasure hunt that Boggs says he’s not on, and you’re the secret partner in crime.”

“Hardly.”

“It doesn’t exist, you know.  All those maps, the legends, the lies, and then there’s the Cossatino’s.  It’s an invention of theirs to drum up money from unsuspecting fools.  Always has been.  Oh, and was that Nadia I saw drop you off out the front.  There’s a dangerous piece of work.”

“Maybe she’s changed.”

“A leopard doesn’t change its spots, you know that.  She’s just trying to find out what you know, and probably feeding you false information.  The girl’s a snake, always was and always will be.”

And, if I was to admit the truth, that was probably the case, another of the Cossatino’s having fun at someone else’s expense.  She seemed sincere, but then I knew very well the wiles of the woman, and the troubles she had caused many a boy, and, later, many a man.

“It’s a two-way street, Lenny.  You know the saying, keep friends close, and enemies closer.”  It was a lame retort, but it made me feel better.

“Just don’t get caught playing on both sides of the fence.  The files are that-a-way.”  He pointed in the direction of a door off to the side, then went back to the book.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2022