We have an exercise, not exactly in writing, but this is to do with characters.
These, to me, tend to fit into two types, people we know and people we’ve seen, and to be honest I;m always on the lookout for a character whether fascinating or horrible.
Of course, we have stereotypes in our arsenel:
Dressed in black, the once cinematic stereotype for the villain, especially in American Westerns, to the femme fatale in her definitive little black dress, the littler it is the more evil she is, or perhaps the more risque (putting it mildly) she is. Again, a Hollywood stereotype.
Then the others, large hats, baseball caps, Fedoras, Bowlers, Top hats and tails, fascinators, the headwear that often these days only dusted off for particular purposes. Once the norm a century ago this sort of wear, along with ball gowns and tuxedos that rarely get an outing, perhaps because of a lack of nightclubs, balls, and dressing up for dinner, a ritual of course that only the rich, powerful, and aristocracy did regularly.
But I digress…
We are supposed to remember what they wore, what they said, who were they in your opinion, and what was their occupation, and lastly, what would they not do, and what would happen if they were forced into doing it?
Interesting…
The last person I met, rather plain work clothes that made them look dull and interesting, we changed words about the product I’d just bought. As for what kind of person, that all depended on experiences and while I would say that person was hiding something under that facade, they could most likely be the life of the party, certainly the outgoing and friendly sort that never had a shortage of friends and acquaintances. What would they most likely do? Anything but serving customers if they had a choice, perhaps the sort who would shine in guest services in a large resort hotel or ship.
What would they not do, that’s a list a mile long, and if forced, I’d say it would be a devastating travesty. In writing it’s always a possibility that a character has to act out of character and do stuff they never expected. But this characterisation is always based on our own fears and hatreds. What wouldn’t I do? Jump out of a plane in a parachute.
That person opposite me behind the counter, I could see them doing it in a heartbeat.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritising.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Nothing good ever comes of snooping
I jumped down from the first level of the fire escape, halfway down an alley which was empty. Keeping close to the wall so I couldn’t be seen, I headed back towards the main street, and then to a café not far from the front of the building.
Would Fred call in the police? Surely at the very least, he would have to call an ambulance, finding an unconscious woman on the floor of a trashed flat. He would also have to report the break-in, so I waited.
And waited.
No ambulance came. If she had been unconscious and he’d reported it, there would be an almost instant response. Unconscious bodies were given high priority.
After an hour passed, and no sign of a police car, or any police on foot, I thought there might be a crime wave going on, and it was taking time for the police to get there.
The fact no ambulance had turned up told me she must have regained consciousness, obviating the need for medical help.
Two hours, still nothing.
Three hours, I was left with the assumption, Jan didn’t want Fred to call the police. It would be interesting to know what those reasons were.
My plan was to wait until she came out and follow her. Beyond that, I would be making it up as I went. After three hours, I had to switch cafes because of the looks the girl who made the coffee was giving me.
Apparently, people didn’t spend three hours drinking four cups of coffee unless they were working on their computer or reading a book, or paper, none of which I had.
It forced a move to another café further away and with an indistinct view of the front door, so I had to be extra vigilant.
As dusk was falling, a man nearer the doorway accidentally dropped his cup, and, when I looked up to see what the commotion was about, I saw what looked like Jan leaving, and, lucky for me, heading my way on the opposite side of the street.
Time to go back into surveillance mode.
She had changed into different clothes, and something else, though I wasn’t quite sure what it was that made her look different. It almost made me think I’d got it wrong, and it was someone else.
Then, when she walked past me, not 20 feet away, I knew it was her.
What was different, she had suddenly become a brunette with long hair than the original shoulder-length blonde hair. A change in persona. Not the sort of thing a normal person did. Unless, of course, she had a night job, one which she didn’t want anyone to recognise her.
I followed from the other side of the street.
Around a corner, past an underground station entrance, which was a huge bonus because she wasn’t going anywhere by train, not that it would matter to me. It would if she caught a taxi.
Once or twice she looked behind her, on the same side of the street. She looked over the other side too, in a careless sort of manner, but I was well hidden in plain sight because she wouldn’t recognise me as her assailant.
Around the corner, down another street, then stopped at a bus stop. Still not a problem because there was no bus in sight. On the way, I’d bought a copy of the evening paper and strolled up to the stop and sat down. She gave me a once over and then ignored me.
The bus came and we got on. She went upstairs I stayed downstairs, easier to get off at the same stop without raising her suspicions.
It was heading into the city, via Putney. I had time to read the news, nothing of which was interesting, and keep one eye out for her. She got off the bus without glancing in my direction at Putney and walked to the railway station.
After she headed for the platform, I checked where she might be going, and the service ended at Waterloo station if she went that far. I waited a few minutes, then went down to the platform just as a train arrived.
She got on about halfway along, and I remained at the end. I resisted the urge to move closer to her carriage where I could maintain visual contact, but since there was only one in this surveillance team, I had to be careful she didn’t see me.
The train terminated at Waterloo, and everyone had to get off. For a few minutes, I thought I’d lost her among the other passengers. Then I just managed to catch a glimpse of her going through the platform exit gate out into the station.
By the time I had got there, she was gone.
When you lost sight of the target, don’t panic. And don’t act like someone who just lost a target because that will bring attention to yourself. Take a long careful look in every direction, then move in the last direction you saw the target heading.
I did everything in accordance with my training.
The problem with Waterloo station? There are several exits, and an entrance to the underground in the direction she had been heading.
Anyone could lead me in the wrong direction.
I went upstairs to a café, and looked down on the station floor, taking advantage of the height.
Until I felt something prodding me in the back, and a voice behind me saying, “Who are you, and why are you following me?”
I’m always rummaging through the endless photographs that, if you were to ask me, I would vehemently deny I took.
It’s like the camera on my phone takes them itself, you know, the latest upgrade they didn’t tell you about, the artificial intelligence.
OK, so it’s simply a ferry crossing a wide stretch of water. You ask, why didn’t they build a bridge? A good question, and not one I can answer.
But, what does the thought of a ferry conjure up?
It brought to mind the film Jaws, and the summer visitors to the island, or should I say, shark hunting ground.
Here?
Perhaps a little less sinister…or not.
To me, at this point, it suggests the possibility of a get away, depending on what side you’re on, mainland, or island. I’m going to say, you’re on the island and going back to the mainland.
Running.
The island is like one of those remote places, with one way in and one way out. a place where people go to try and breathe life back into a marriage that’s falling apart under the stresses of city life, but it failed.
The problem wasn’t the fact you didn’t see each other enough, it’s just that you had grown to dislike each other, and going into a small isolated situation only made the problem worse.
It was just easier to blame everything else.
But going home, well that’s a whole different kettle of fish, because bridges were burned before you left, and going back, well, there was going to be grovelling involved.
Or not.
There’s a story here, but not right now. Perhaps in a day or two.
It’s late, very late, and I need some sleep … well, thinking time.
It’s all about the nuances of mood, of feeling, the little things that bring a character to life, that convey an emotion that we have all felt one time or another.
And if we’re lucky, be able to convey exactly what is going on in the mind of the protagonist, or any of the characters for that matter.
I thought I might write the same story as yesterday from a different point of view.
…
Sally could see Jeremy, sitting in the corner looking decidedly miserable.
Why didn’t he give it up?
Ever since grade school, he had clung to this notion that they could be friends, perhaps more than friends.
Nothing could be more abhorrent.
He was one of those people whom her father despised, the poor who refused to make something of themselves. Everyone had the same opportunity to make something of themselves.
That’s why it surprised her that Jeremy had elected not to follow his father into plumbing and decided to go to college.
Her college.
“Do you think he’ll give up now?”
Jenny, her best friend and often co-conspirator, saw her glancing in Jeremy’s direction, not for the first time.
“No.”
“But you wish he would?”
Sally’s hesitation spoke volumes.
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re going to have to decide what it is you want because Will isn’t going to wait forever.”
Will was the most eligible of all the boys in college, the boy all the girls swooned over, and out of all of them, he had singled out Sally. She was flattered, but there was something about him.
Jeremy had told her Will was not all he seemed to be but refused to explain why. What other reason would he have if not out of pure jealousy?
And she had finally told Jeremy once and for all to leave her alone or she would have him removed from the college. Her father was a huge donor and could make it happen.
Maybe she still would.
Just then Will, and three of his teammates arrived and filled the remaining seats at the table.
Time to take her mind off the annoying gnat and focus of what was important.
…
Once again there is a myriad of paths for this story.
But the seeds are there:
– Does Sally have feelings for Jeremy?
– What is it about Will that worries Jeremy, other than jealousy?
This morning is a boat ride that will take us along a small portion of the main canal, and we head through a number of back streets, to a landing where there are a number of boats all vying with each other to get us passengers on boats.
But…
These boats don’t have a wharf to tie up to and then put out a stable gangplank. No. They just more into a concrete step and you take your life in your hands getting on. One wrong step and you’re in the canal. And not a very clean one at that.
That’s if another boat doesn’t come along and bumps you, knocking you off balance. We managed not to lose anyone in boarding the vessel.
This is where we get on the boat
We go along what appears to be downstream towards another larger canal, past tree-lined streets until the canal narrows and we’re looking at the backs of houses, which look very dilapidated.
And the canals? Well, it’s not quite like it is in Venice
Though some parts of the canal look better than others
What doesn’t bear thinking about is the electrical wiring which is a nightmarish spider web of cables going off in all directions. How anyone could troubleshoot problems is beyond me.
We pass under a number of bridges, and then, about 30 minutes after leaving, we reach a larger canal and do a 180-degree turn, and head back to a drop off point the will enable us to walk through a typical everyday Chinese market for food and the other items.
This drop off point is much the same as the starting point, a concrete step which is as hazardous as the first. At least we don’t have to compete with other boats for the landing spot.
We take a leisurely stroll down a small section of Pingjiang Road with small shops on either side, selling all manner of goods
but my interest is in the food and the prices, which at times seem quite expensive for so-called local people, so maybe because the tourists go down this street every day, the prices have been inflated accordingly.
I find it rather disappointing.
We walk to the bridge, go under to the other side crossing the canal and find the coffee shop which is also the meeting place.
So…
When is a coffee shop not a coffee shop, when it takes an eternity to make a cup of coffee, we waited 25 minutes?
We also ordered beef black pepper rice and it took 20 minutes before it arrived, but it was well worth the wait. Strands of perfectly cooked beef with onion, carrot, and capsicum, with a very peppery and spicy sauce, with a side of boiled rice.
A pizza was ordered too but it did not arrive at all before we left.
Or as it might more commonly be known as, spending a few hours in a historical museum. which just happens to cover some of the material you need for a school project.
I brought up the subject of living history yesterday after we all packed off to have an hour ride on a steam train and accompanying equally aged carriages.
Since these trains have been missing for nearly fifty years, there is basically two generations of people who have never had the chance to travel in such a manner in their lifetime, unless, of course, they have found a tourist train like our example, the Mary Valley Rattler.
It’s the same as the early days of finding gold in Gympie, in Queensland, Australia. It dates back to the 1860s, and one can only imagine what it was like because most of the history is in books. Yes, they have sketches, and sometimes photographs, but these do not generally date back to the middle of the nineteenth century.
But, visiting a living example of what it was like in ‘the old days’ can give those generations a glimpse of what it was like.
Single room schools, because unlike today when schools now cater to over 1,000 children in varying years, one school held about 20 or 30 in all grades, with a single teacher.
In fact, today, I saw a collection of readers that I remember reading when I was in grade school, a long time ago. Even the desks and the ink wells brought back interesting memories, one of which when I was ink monitor.
But housed in a number of old-style buildings was the information on the diggings, the mines and the impact of gold in general, and, at the very end, the children got to do a little panning for gold, and found a number of small fragments of real gold.
Once they’d been shown by a panning expert that looked as if he had been transported into this time from the past.
There are similar places elsewhere in this country that preserve the past to show future generations what it was like.
After this weekend, we have more than enough information to work on the project, based around gold mining, and it’s impact on the people, the area, and the government.
And best of all, it has generated an interest in the past, reading more, and perhaps if we’re lucky, an interest in writing something based on history, which sometimes is quite difficult when it has to compete with more interesting pastimes like computer games.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
China is renowned for its exquisite silk, so naturally, a visit to the Silk Spinning Factory is part of today’s tour.
After that, we will be heading downtown to an unspecified location where we’re getting a boat ride, walk through a typical Chinese shopping experience, and coffee at a coffee shop that is doubling as the meeting place, after we soak up the local atmosphere.
The problem with that is that if the entire collective trip a deal tourists take this route then the savvy shopkeepers will jack up their prices tenfold because we’re tourists with money. It’ll be interesting to see how expensive everything is.
So…
Before we reach the silk factory, we are told that Suzhou is the main silk area of China, and we will be visiting a nearly 100 years old, Suzhou No 1 Silk Mill, established in 1926. Suzhou has a 4,700-year history of making silk products. It is located at No. 94, Nanmen Road, Suzhou, Jiangsu, China.
Then we arrive at the Silk Factory, another government-owned establishment with a castiron guarantee of quality and satisfaction.
The look and feel of the doona cover certainly backs up that claim
And the colors and variety is amazing (as is the cost of those exquisite sets)
We get to see the silk cocoon stretched beyond imagination, and see how the silk thread is extracted, then off to the showroom for the sales pitch.
It isn’t a hard sell, and the sheets, doonas, pillows, and pillowcases, are reasonably priced, and come with their own suitcase (for free) so you can take them with you, or free shipping, by slow boat, if you prefer not to take the goods with you.
We opt for the second choice, as there’s no room left in our baggage after packing the Chinese Medicine.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
It’s all about the nuances of mood, of feeling, the little things that bring a character to life, that convey an emotion that we have all felt one time or another.
And if we’re lucky, be able to convey exactly what is going on in the mind of the protagonist, or any of the characters for that matter.
I thought I might write the same story as yesterday from a different point of view.
…
Sally could see Jeremy, sitting in the corner looking decidedly miserable.
Why didn’t he give it up?
Ever since grade school, he had clung to this notion that they could be friends, perhaps more than friends.
Nothing could be more abhorrent.
He was one of those people whom her father despised, the poor who refused to make something of themselves. Everyone had the same opportunity to make something of themselves.
That’s why it surprised her that Jeremy had elected not to follow his father into plumbing and decided to go to college.
Her college.
“Do you think he’ll give up now?”
Jenny, her best friend and often co-conspirator, saw her glancing in Jeremy’s direction, not for the first time.
“No.”
“But you wish he would?”
Sally’s hesitation spoke volumes.
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re going to have to decide what it is you want because Will isn’t going to wait forever.”
Will was the most eligible of all the boys in college, the boy all the girls swooned over, and out of all of them, he had singled out Sally. She was flattered, but there was something about him.
Jeremy had told her Will was not all he seemed to be but refused to explain why. What other reason would he have if not out of pure jealousy?
And she had finally told Jeremy once and for all to leave her alone or she would have him removed from the college. Her father was a huge donor and could make it happen.
Maybe she still would.
Just then Will, and three of his teammates arrived and filled the remaining seats at the table.
Time to take her mind off the annoying gnat and focus of what was important.
…
Once again there is a myriad of paths for this story.
But the seeds are there:
– Does Sally have feelings for Jeremy?
– What is it about Will that worries Jeremy, other than jealousy?
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 