Category: blogging

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 31

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

I woke to the sound of a cracking sound behind me, and, when I rolled over, I found myself staring up the barrel of a gun.

The number one rule broken, don’t fall asleep in enemy territory.

But something else bothered me in those few seconds as I struggle to wake up and comprehend what was happening.  Where was Jack?  If he’d been here this would not have happened.

But still bleary-eyed from just waking up and in that initial confused state of not knowing where and when, all I could see was a uniformed shape holding the gun standing over me, and feel, in those few seconds that I was not going to survive this.

I braced myself for a bullet, wondering if death was going to be instantaneous.  I had hoped I might die in a less inglorious manner.

“Sam?  Is that you?”

It was a rather dumb question to be asking an enemy soldier because my mind hadn’t adjusted to the fact the soldier was not in a German uniform, nor in work clothes, but quite possibly the uniform of a soldier from the castle, and if it was, why be asking the question and not just shooting me?

Then, finally, my eyes focussed and I could see clearly who it was, and breathed a sigh of relief.  Whoever it was, knew me but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  But in the next second, I saw the gun retract and the man behind it come closer and crouch down beside me.

He was not a soldier from the castle, but a soldier in the familiar British uniform.  From somewhere else entirely.  An Army Captain if I was not mistaken, which, for another second, I also thought was odd.

And then recognition of a face I hadn’t seen in years.

“Blinky?”

OK, so it was a strange nickname, but it was apt, William O’Reilly blinked a lot, hence the nickname.  And Will had been on the same training course as I had three years before, only he had ended up in administration.  Bad eyesight.

“It is you, Sam.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

I dragged myself up from the ground to sit up.  I did a quick scan around me, but Jack was nowhere to be found.  It was not like him to desert me when trouble arrived.

“Apparently rescuing your sorry ass.  Now that I’m here, I can see why the Colonel said you needed help.”  He held out his hand and pulled me up.

“Forster?  You work for him?”

“No, but he asked for someone who knew you by sight, and I was the only one available.  Besides, I was getting sick of sitting behind a desk while the rest of you were out in the field doing heroic shit.”

I brushed the undergrowth off my uniform and straightened my clothes.  It didn’t make me feel any more comfortable.

“I don’t think falling asleep is very heroic.  When did the orders come through?”

“Yesterday.  A message was sent and received, a rendezvous at an old church.  I came with three others, including a very serious sergeant major who had absolutely no sense of humor.  I saw this farm; thought I’d check it out.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get your head shot off.”

“By the man-mountain.  Nearly, yes, until I told him who I was.  Said you were up here.  Waiting for something?”

“Then enemy.  We were hoping they turn up so we could deal with them.”

“That would be the traitors up at the castle, or the turncoat resistance members working with them?  Carlo, he told me his name, he reckons it’s not happening.  Said once I found you to come down and we’ll catch up with the others at this church.”

I picked up the weapon and then we headed towards Carlo’s position.

I could see the Colonel’s reasoning.  Send someone I knew who couldn’t be working for the other side.  It worried me that the message from Thompson hadn’t been received, because if it had, Martina would have got someone to tell us.

That she hadn’t concerned me.

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

“Opposites Attract” – The Editor’s second draft – Day 16

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the second revision and release to beta readers.

…

Mr Rothstein gets into trouble.

…

Everyone lives on that edge of the precipice that can plunge us into a place we don’t want to be, rather than a phone call to try and bail ourselves out.

Mr Rothstein unfortunately found himself at the edge of that precipice.

It doesn’t help when after a few rounds of layoffs and citing that money is tight, you are caught out spending it like water.  Or perhaps that was Mrs Winkle making the most of her opportunities.

The press can be very cruel, especially when they smell blood in the water.

Our problems started went an invoice slipped through the cracks, didn’t get paid, went past the due date and the power, since it is an electricity bill, was cut off.

For the factory that employs 7,000 people.

Nor does it help when the press, or one reporter in particular, gets a hold of the story and puts a menacing slant to it that is, Rothstein’s can afford a private jet but can’t keep the lights on for employees who, yes, the old story, need to keep a roof over the family’s head, and food on the table.

And waiting for our intrepid new friends are the press gang at the front door asking Emily all of those difficult questions, like where is her father to answer them.

…

Searching for locations: Hohensalzburg Castle, Salzburg, Austria

Hohensalzburg Castle sits atop the Festungsberg, accessed by a cable car.

The castle itself dominates the Salzburg skyline.

thecatle

Below is a view down into Salzburg from the castle walls.

We had lunch at a café, the Salzburg Fortress Café, that overlooked the countryside.  This was where we were introduced to Mozart Gold Chocolate Cream added to our coffee.

The square below featured in the Sound of Music.

salzburg1

Among the more interesting objects to be seen, the gun below shows what some of the castle’s armaments might have been.  These cannons, in the ‘Firing Gallery’ date back to the thirty years war in the early 1600’s.

I’m writing a detective story…

But the devil is in the detail.

OK, so I’ve seen a lot of detective shows on TV, from America and from Britain.

The British version of detectives is somewhat easier since they call their detectives, Detective Constable, Detective Sargent, Detective Inspector and Detective Chief Inspector. Easy enough to remember, along with coroners and forensic teams.

The Americans, well they like to do things the hard way, with just Detective, but with grades. Then they have Medical Examiners, and Crime Scene Investigators.

Pity then that I opted for the American version, with a crime committed at the Queens Botanical Gardens car park.

But as we all know, it’s not the what and where, it’s the who, and the zany cast of characters that have to be sifted through, questioned, eliminated, until the guilty party is caught. In the meantime, people will lie, secrets will be uncovered, and red herrings will abound.

My first notion when this was an idea buzzing around in my head, it was going to be an innocent man banged up by circumstantial evidence, and then has to get someone on the outside to prove his innocence.

I’m guessing every felon in jail will swear on a stack of bibles that he or she didn’t do it, but what if it is true? A detective can proceed in the collection of evidence, witness statements, corroboration of facts, and still come to the wrong conclusion, only, at the time, and based on the evidence, it didn’t seem like it.

I’m guessing that’s why the justice system is the way it is, for the protection of the innocent, but, quite often, the law seems to protect the guilty and lock up the innocent. This is just a little tale that is designed to make people think.

What if they were wrong?

Sounds like a good title too

My 800 words on writing

Writing is one of those occupations that requires a lot of hard work for, sometimes, very little output.  We, as writers, strive to produce a certain number of words per day, or, sometimes, just a few words just to keep oiling the machine and keeping it in working order.

When this creative process stops we tend to call it writer’s block, or something else entirely.  For me it is a point where I have lost the way, and the next chapter, scene, or plot development is not clear.  Time for a shower, sleep, or a walk in the park.

Other times, the creative processes are firing on all 12 cylinders and ideas, thoughts, plot lines, and words are pouring out of you like water over a waterfall at thaw time, or in a flood.

Sorry, shouldn’t be using metaphors, bad writing.

At the moment I have finished my next novel, yes, it sounds really good, and in itself, it gives me a sense of achievement.  In another sense it fills me with dread because I have to start editing, and, more importantly, make sure the first part of the book blends with the new developments that only occurred to me later.

Sometimes I go back and add notes at the appropriate place where the story needs to be corrected, or I just sit there and fix it on the spot.

But, editing is a horrible job.  Making sure of continuity, making sure the characters names didn’t change, or they suddenly go from being short, overweight and red hair to thin, tall and blonde hair.  Making sure the English is correct, grammar correct, spelling correct, and fore’s not confused with four’s.

And not start my sentences with and or but.  Sorry, again, bad habits die hard.

I have read that it’s a good idea to let that first draft sit on the shelf for a few weeks and let the dust settle around it, ruminating on it sub-consciously.  Good idea.  It’s another excuse to put off the inevitable.

So, is it time to have a holiday, take time out from the business of writing, or catch up with all that social media stuff, tweeting, facebooking, tumblring, instagramming, or whatever it is.  Oh yes, that’s right, as an indie author I have to do my own ‘pitching’ to the reading public.

Time to plan a campaign to get my title out there, and generate some interest.

Time in fact to hit the internet and see how others have done it.

42,647,345 hits on Google.  Damn, I didn’t think there were that many writers.  I’m starting to feel very, very insignificant in the greater scheme of things.

OK, that goes in the too hard basket for the moment.  Moving on.

On those days when the creative juices were on overdrive, I fill notebooks with the ideas for stories, short and long.  When out, waiting around for doctors, and others, I have my mobile phone which has a notebook type app called SomNote which I write.  I find it is very easy to lose oneself in a story when there is so much inspiration around.

These notes are then sent via email to my computer and stored in an email directory, ready for me to look at, at a later date.

That later date has arrived.

I start looking through the ‘ideas’ list, a cavalcade of story titles,

Amnesia- the story of a man who wakes up in hospital with amnesia, and then is led to believe he is someone other than who he is.  The plot needs some work, well, a lot of work.

The Will – the story of a grandson trying to stop the greedy and selfish siblings from selling out the family heritage, I’m sure I saw a British movie about this not so long ago

Mistaken Identity – The story of a man who is an illegitimate son, and has a brother who is both an evil man and his exact doppelganger.  He was never told about it, and comes face to face with his doppelganger in extraordinary circumstances.

Strangers in the night – no not the song, but a story about two disparate people who have no time for anything but work and career, who have a chance encounter.

Breaking the rules – a story about a pair of cat burglars who run into each other, on separate heists in the same building.  This has potential.

More than three hours have passed, I’ve been reading the stories, notes, plotlines, and staring at the ceiling looking for inspiration.

Chester, our cat, my friend and confidant, always likes the last word.  He wanders into the office, climbs up on the chair and sits, selecting the pile of papers for The Will.

It will be the title of my next book

Searching for locations: Innsbruck, Austria

On this occasion, we drove from Florence to Innsbruck, a journey of about 500 kilometers and via the E45, a trip that would take us about five and a half hours.

We drove conservatively, stopped once for lunch and took about seven hours, arriving in Innsbruck late in the afternoon

The main reason for this stay was to go to Swarovski in Wattens for the second time, to see if anything had changed, and to buy some pieces.  We were still members of the club, and looking forward to a visit to the exclusive lounge and some Austrian champagne.

Sadly, there were no new surprises waiting, and we came away a little disappointed.

We were staying at the Innsbruck Hilton, where we stayed the last time, and it only a short walk to the old town.

From the highest level of the hotel, it is possible to get a look at the mountains that surround the city.  This view is in the direction we had driven earlier, from Florence.

The change in the weather was noticeable the moment we entered the mountain ranges.

This view looks towards the old town and overlooks a public square.

This view shows some signs of the cold, but in summer, I doubted we were going to see any snow.

We have been here in winter, and it is quite cold, and there is a lot of snow.  The ski resorts are not very far away, and the airport is on the way to Salzburg.

There is a host of restaurants in the old town, and we tried a few during our stay.  The food, beer, and service were excellent.

On a previous visit, we did get Swiss Army Knives, literally, from a small store called Victorinox.

And, yes, we did see the golden roof.

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

“Opposites Attract” – The Editor’s second draft – Day 15

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the second revision and release to beta readers.

…

Mrs Winkle

…

There are two things going on here.

The first is the animosity between Emily and her stepmother.  When Emily’s mother died, it was probably expected there would be a period of mourning.  There probably was. 

But some men don’t like the idea of being alone, and either go looking for a suitable partner that might be helpful in helping with the children, or maybe that person decides there is an opening, and makes a move to fill that void.

Mrs Winkle did the chasing.

Mr Rothstein is too good a target for her to pass up, after all, unmarried billionaires, even if only on paper were far and few between.  Besides, she had children of her own that needed money to look after, a lot of money, and to cement the relationship, it’s always wise to have children of their own to be used as bargaining chips and longevity.

The divorce settlement would indeed be very costly.

The second is that our boy knows exactly who Mrs Winkle is, and figures the best policy is to stay as far away from her as possible.

Except when summoned.  They meet, and he can tell she does not consider him suitable.

Maybe someone should tell Mrs Winkle that Emily does not agree with her.

…

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2024

In a word: Not

You will not go outside, you will not go to the movies.

The word not, when used by your parents when you are a child is the key in the lock keeping you from having fun.

It is the very definition of everything negative, and much harsher than just a plain no.

That you will ‘not…’ has been the gateway for many an exploit or adventure, because anything you have done contrary to the ‘not’ is all that much sweeter.

Until you get into trouble, but, then, isn’t that how you learn life’s lessons?

But if you are a programmer like me, not takes on a whole new meaning in a language like,

‘If not like …. then’

meaning in layman’s terms if something isn’t like a specific value then do something else.

Hang on, isn’t that a bit like reality?

This is not to be confused with the word Knot which is,

A blemish in a piece of wood

The speed of a ship, winds, and sometimes a plane

But basically,

Something you tie to keep your shoes on, or around your finger to remind you to tie your shoes before getting on the 36-knot high-speed ferry made of knotty wood.

It is also something you find in tangled hair and is very painful trying to remove it.

It is also an unpleasant tightness in body muscles and you need a masseuse to get rid of them.