Category: Book

Writing a book in 365 days – 289

Day 289

I don’t want to retire – just yet!

…

Not Done Yet: Why I Won’t Put the Pen Down (Unless You Pry It Loose)

There are moments in life that hit you like a carefully aimed brick. The day you realize you’re paying full price for admission instead of the student rate. The first time a colleague suggests you mentor them because they “remember reading your work when they were in college.”

But nothing compares to the quiet horror of the Mirror Shock.

You wake up, perhaps a little stiffly, wander into the bathroom, and catch a truly unguarded reflection. And there it is: concrete evidence that the passage of time is not just an abstract concept discussed by philosophers—it’s etched onto your face. Suddenly, you realize old age hasn’t approached politely; it has just snuck up on you, giggling maniacally from the periphery.

And with that physical realization comes the societal whisper, amplified by well-meaning friends and persistent internal voices: The notion of putting the pen away, hanging up the computer, finally taking a step back has come.

It’s time to retire.

And yet, for some of us, that suggestion feels less like liberation and more like an existential threat.

The Conflict: Passion vs. The Sabbatical Police

Retirement, in its classic definition, is a beautiful idea: the well-deserved pause. Years of hard work traded for limitless travel, afternoon naps, and the blissful freedom from deadlines.

For most folks, the idea of having their primary tool—a calculator, a hammer, a briefcase—confiscated sounds glorious.

But for those of us whose professional lives are intrinsically tied to creation, communication, and connectivity—the writers, the consultants, the artists, the lifelong learners—the pen and the keyboard aren’t just tools. They are conduits. They are how we process the world, how we contribute, and often, who we fundamentally are.

When the world suggests you stop doing the thing that makes you you, the reaction isn’t gratitude; it’s cognitive dissonance.

The mirror may be showing a few new wrinkles, but the internal drive—the wellspring of ideas, the need to connect dots, the urge to capture a thought before it vanishes—is still running at high speed. The engine hasn’t sputtered; it’s just settled into a low, rumbling idle.

The Heresy of the Hard Stop

The assumption that everyone must pivot from 100 mph to 0 mph on their 65th birthday is an outdated construct of a mid-20th-century economy. When work involved significant physical strain or rote, repetitive tasks, the need for a hard break was undeniable.

But in the creative, intellectual, and digital spheres, the opposite is often true. Our knowledge, our networks, and our insight are compounding assets that only increase with time.

Why, then, should we stop when we are finally reaching the peak of our observational powers?

If your professional life has been one long, passionate conversation with the world, cutting off the microphone simply because the calendar dictates it feels absurd. It’s like telling a seasoned musician to stop writing songs because their hair is graying.

For those of us who feel this way, the concept of retirement is not an ending; it’s a necessary (and perhaps slightly aggressive) re-negotiation.

My Mantra: Cold, Dead Hands and the Keyboard

If you are facing the societal pressure to step away, and feel an absolute, visceral refusal blooming in your chest, congratulations—you are likely one of the few who understands the true meaning of the rebellious mantra:

The computer/pen has to be confiscated out of my cold, dead hands.

This isn’t stubbornness; it’s the ultimate expression of professional identity. It’s the declaration that my purpose is not dependent on my age, but on my ability to contribute.

If you share this fierce dedication, the answer isn’t to quit. The answer is to adapt the way you work, without surrendering the work itself.

How to Defy Retirement Without Burning Out

If you’ve decided you’re not hanging up your boots, you need a strategy to prove that your value increases with age, proving that the Mirror Shock was an alarm clock, not a finish line.

1. Shift from Production to Curation

You don’t need to write five articles a week, but you can distill a lifetime of experience into one powerful annual essay or a keynote speech. Instead of being the primary producer, become the ultimate curator, mentor, and editor. Your job moves from generating volume to providing invaluable context.

2. Embrace the Scalpel, Ditch the Sledgehammer

Scale back without cutting off. If your schedule was fifty hours, trim it to twenty of the most impactful hours. Eliminate the administrative drudgery and focus solely on the projects that truly engage your intellect and creativity. Preserve your energy for the soul work.

3. Redefine “Success”

Success is no longer measured in promotions or quarterly earnings. It’s measured in impact, legacy, and genuine enjoyment. If a project stops being fun, drop it. Your experience has earned you the right to be highly selective.

4. The Laptop is the Travel Companion

One of the great promises of retirement is travel. Why separate the two? If your work is digital, your office is portable. The pen doesn’t need to be put away; it simply needs a passport. Continue writing, designing, or consulting from places that inspire you.

The Final Word

The sudden realization of age is a profound moment. It forces you to confront mortality, but more importantly, it forces you to confront the passion that still burns within.

They say you spend your lifetime building a career so you can eventually stop. But for the dedicated writer, creator, or thinker, the career is the life. We don’t want to stop doing it; we just want the freedom to keep doing it better, smarter, and with fewer corporate meetings.

I’ve looked in the mirror, acknowledged the lines, and heard the societal call to step aside. But the pen is still in my hand, the laptop is still charged, and there are far too many thoughts left unwritten.

Tell the Sabbatical Police they’ll need to bring heavy equipment. Because until the very end, this keyboard is mine.

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

“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!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 1

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

Where do I begin?

…

Like the words to a song, it’s just getting the ball rolling.

Perhaps at times, the easiest part of writing the story is to have that one paragraph premise around which all else revolves.

So,

A chance encounter brings together a group of people who in other circumstances may never have met.  The time they spend together changes some in ways they could never have imagined possible, and others, a chance to be someone else, if only for a short time.  In one case, however, it brings together two unlikely people who will find that anything that can keep them apart will.  Until, of course, fate intervenes.

Sounds good, and I could see myself pitching this to a movie studio because as I was writing it, I could see the characters assembling, I can see the expressions of both curiosity and interest, but not in a bad way, and then the ongoing interactions where the wall begins to fall, just a little.

It needs to have something big wrapped around it, but today, it will just be an outline of how it will start, and maybe a few lines, just to get the feel of pen in hand again.

Yes, we’ll be writing the first draft in longhand.

…

Today, 1800 words, for a total of 1800 words.

Writing about writing a book – Day 16

As we now know Bill realizes that he had been captured and interrogated by someone, ostensibly Chinese, but not exactly from the Viet Kong

I’ve been pondering how Bill ends up in the hands of the Chinese, well, I know how he does, and this needs to be put down.

Some pieces of the puzzle are coming together.

”’

Davenport arrived at the airstrip where I was waiting in a makeshift building, with windows, easy chairs, a self-serve bar, and best of all air conditioning.  Waiting for the chopper that was bringing in my replacement from Singapore airport.

He didn’t normally come to see us off so I thought it either odd or just a change of heart.  He had brought the shiny Cadillac, an ostentatious piece of Americana that never failed to capture the local’s imagination.

Davenport was, I soon discovered, a man who liked to impress upon the world how great America was.  I hadn’t the heart to tell him it failed on me.

He had crisp fatigues on and looked as though he had just stepped out of the shower, very clean, very cool, and very refreshed.  The car’s air-conditioning would have helped.  We all got that first ride from the strip to the camp in that car, and it was memorable, to say the least.

The driver stayed in the car, engine running, as he stepped into the lounge.  “Chandler.”

“Sir.”  No snapping to attention, neither of us was in uniform.

“There’s been a change of plans.”

“Sir.”  This didn’t sound very good.

“Your replacement is not coming.  Some trouble on the plane over.  Can’t spare a man so you will have to fill in.  I’m sorry.”

I went to say that I’d done my rotation, but the look on his face told me it would fall on deaf ears, so instead, I shrugged, let the driver, who had appeared out of the car as if on cue, collect my case, and followed Davenport out to the car.

It was definitely cooler in the car.  Davenport slid in the other side, the driver closing his door, then got in himself.  I had to close my own.  We headed back towards the camp slowly.

“We need 6 men for this op, Bill.  I’ll find some way of making this up to you.”

I shrugged.  “If you say so.”

I’d been looking forward to getting out of the jungle and getting back to civilization, as well as Ellen, who had been waiting patiently for the last six months.  She would not be very happy when I finally got to tell her.

“Oh, but the way, I took the liberty of calling your wife and apologizing on your behalf and said you’d probably be another week at the most.  She didn’t seem to mind.  She sounds like a nice lady.”

“She is.  She has to put up with me.”

“Yes.  We all have that problem.”

I listened to the hum of the air conditioning, the only other sound inside the car.  Usually, Davenport had a symphony playing over the radio, but not today.  He seemed different, more aloof, but, then, after the altercation, I had with him recently, we hadn’t spoken much after that.  Not unless we had to.

“The job isn’t difficult,” he said when we were nearing the compound.  “Another prison camp, and this time the intel is solid.  Buggers were careless and we’ve got some pictures.  The only problem is getting there.  It’s going to be a bit of a hike.”

Another of his understatements.  I could remember the last ‘bit of a hike’.  “When do we leave?”

“First light tomorrow.  Chopper to the drop zone then a day’s march to the camp.  RV at the drop zone from day 4 till you get there.”

“Who’s in charge?”  I’d run the last operation so I was hoping it would carry forward.

“If you’d been staying instead of being a last-minute replacement, it would have been you.  Instead, we had to bring in a couple of specialists who have been on the ground here quite some time.  They know the terrain and the people.”

New guys.  I hated new guys.  Especially those who purport to have experience on the ground.  Invariably they didn’t and I’d had words with Davenport more than once about it, especially when we had such a high attrition rate.  I believed it was only a miracle that I had lasted this long, and I was now tempting providence this time around.

“I hope they are better than the last two.”

“They are.  I picked them myself.  At least you will be there to keep them on the straight and narrow.

Which was exactly what I didn’t want.

Damn.

Back at the compound, I dragged myself back to my old quarters, hoping they hadn’t given away my billet just yet.  It was a hut if you could call it that, which had seen better days, but it kept the rain out.

I shared it with another soldier, or ex, I didn’t really know, and he was not the sort of man you asked, and even less talkative than most.  I knew his name was Barry McDougall, that he was Scottish, he didn’t wear a kilt and had killed men with his bare hands, one in a barroom fight.

Allegedly.

I was not surprised.  He was six feet six inches tall, all muscle, and always surly, and unlike many of the English that had come and gone, didn’t complain about the heat.

I dumped my bag on the locker at the end of the bed and sat in one of the two well worn easy chairs.  Barry was in the other, reading.

He lowered the paper and looked at me.  “Back, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Miss the chopper?”

“No.”

“Beer’s cold.”

“Thanks.”

I got up and went to the fridge.  One of the perks of the job.  An endless supply of cold beer.

“Get me one too.”

I did and passed it to him, the sat down again.  He took the beer and went back to his paper.

“Seen the new guys,” I asked.

A voice from behind the paper, “Yes.”

“Any good?”

“No.”

“Another fun run in the jungle then?”

“Looks like it.”

We drank in silence.  What more could be said?

There is more but I have to let the words jumble around in my head while I sleep.  More on this tomorrow!

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2023

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 24

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.

…

“So,” Lallo said, “you’re telling me you landed separately, Treen and his group advanced towards their position without waiting for your team, that shortly after landing you heard gunfire exchanged, that the members of your team broke ranks and went to help their comrades and that all of them, as far as you were aware at the time, had been killed or captured.”

“Yes.”

“And the two operatives you’d come to rescue?”

“At the time, I had no idea what their status was, but I did make a preliminary assumption that if our mission was blown, then they would hardly be left alive unless the enemy thought they had some strategic value.”

“Or intelligence?”

“It hadn’t occurred to me at the time because my job was to simply to aid the extraction team.  To be honest, I had no idea who they were or what their value was.”

That was not exactly the truth because I could hardly say I hadn’t overheard a conversation between Treen, the briefing officers, and an unseen, unnamed officer discussing the two operatives, and the fact it was imperative we get them out at any cost.  It wasn’t said why, but I could guess.

It didn’t take long to realize that if our arrival had been known, so would the location and worth of the two we were to rescue.  I didn’t think they were killed out of hand, not until they’d told the enemy’s interrogators everything they knew.

And I got the impression they knew enough to cause our whole operation in that country ended up with a great deal of irreparable damage.

No wonder they wanted to sweep it under the carpet.

I watched Lallo scribble a long not over several pages.  Was his conclusion the same as mine, but based on truth rather than hearsay?

Then, “Were you met by the person who has been referred to as the so-called source?”

“No.”

“Do you know if Treen’s group were met?”

“No.  I was given to understand that source had gone quiet, I suppose another word for either captured or defected to the other side.”

“Apparently there was a report that the agent in situ was going to be at the landing site.”

“Well, there’s your explanation as to why the mission was blown from the start.  Whoever it was, was either captured, or a double agent, and told the enemy of our plans.”

“A reasonable assumption in the circumstances, but not necessarily correct.”

“And you know this because…”

I was curious.  The agent’s defection would explain everything.

“That agent resurfaced three days ago, again asking for repatriation, and is in the air to a secure site as we speak.”

He stood and took a moment to stow the pencil in the binding of the notebook before giving me his attention.

“We will also be in their air tomorrow, headed for the same secure location.  I’m, sure you will be available for that interrogation, because I, too, have serious doubts about this agent’s shall we say, loyalties.”

That still didn’t mean I wasn’t going to finish up at a black site, or worse.

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

Writing a book in 365 days – 288

Day 288

The call of the weird…

…

The Call of the Weird: When an Oddball Writing Offer Knocks

As professional writers, we tend to operate within established lanes. Maybe you dominate B2B white papers, or you’re the wizard of lifestyle blogs, or perhaps your niche is technical documentation for the aerospace industry.

Then, one day, it happens.

The email arrives that makes your eyebrow twitch. It’s an offer to write something completely outside your experience—a script for a puppet show about quantum physics, a historical fiction piece told entirely from the perspective of moss, or maybe the manifesto for a highly niche, possibly fictitious, startup focused on sustainable moon mining.

This is the Oddball Offer. It’s wildly different, maybe a little intimidating, and possibly way “out there.”

The critical question immediately surfaces: What do you do? Do you politely decline and stick to what you know, or do you take the leap into the creative unknown?

Before you hit ‘archive’ or ‘accept,’ here is your professional roadmap for assessing and navigating those delightfully bizarre writing briefs.

1. Defining “Oddball”: The Initial Assessment

The first step is to categorize the offer. Not all unusual requests are equal.

A. The Niche Stretch

This type of offer is bizarre in subject matter but standard in format. (Example: Writing case studies about specialized farming equipment.) This is usually a safe bet. You apply your existing writing skill set to new content.

B. The Format Fluke

This is an offer that requires a totally new skill or output. (Example: You’re a blogger, and they want you to write a 12-act stage play.) This requires significant new learning and a pricing adjustment.

C. The Truly Out There (The “What Is This?”)

This is the offer that carries a real whiff of the bizarre, potentially involving questionable ethics, unknown legal territory, or simply a concept that seems too fringe to be real.

When you receive the email, strip away the novelty and ask yourself three key questions:

  1. Is the client legitimate? (Look up their company. Does it exist? Do they have a clear mission, even if that mission is strange?)
  2. Is the request morally or legally sound? (If the material is hateful, deceitful, or involves breaking laws, the answer is an immediate, firm “no.”)
  3. Does it require a time commitment I can afford to risk? (If it’s a massive project, the risk is higher.)

2. Addressing the Elephant: Is the Client Just Fishing for Ideas?

This is the most common fear when dealing with vague or highly creative briefs: the client wants free brainstorming, hoping you’ll deliver the “Aha!” concept they can then execute in-house or give to a cheaper writer.

If the client is vague, overly enthusiastic about “vision,” and hesitant to talk budget or milestones, this risk is high.

Strategy 1: Institute a Paid Discovery Phase

Never, under any circumstance, provide detailed concepts, outlines, or proprietary strategies for free. If the project requires heavy ideation, frame the initial engagement as a Paid Discovery Phase.

This might look like a single, fixed-rate consultation that includes:

  • A 60-minute strategy call.
  • One brief, non-transferable conceptual outline (200 words max).
  • A formal pricing structure for the full project.

If they won’t pay for the idea stage, they were almost certainly just fishing. If they balk, you’ve saved yourself hours of unpaid labor.

Strategy 2: Get an NDA Signed Immediately

If the project involves genuinely novel or proprietary concepts, protect yourself. Request a simple, standard Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA) before you start sharing specific ideas on execution.

A serious client with a serious idea will not hesitate to sign an NDA. A client wary of intellectual property protection is likely trying to gather free resources.

3. The Professional Reckoning: Weighing the Risk vs. Reward

Assuming the offer is legitimate and you have protective measures in place, the decision comes down to the upside.

The Arguments FOR Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Portfolio Differentiation

This is perhaps the biggest win. A truly unique project provides “secret sauce” for your portfolio. If you’re trying to pivot or stand out from a crowded market, having a sample that no one else has—like a successful, funded Kickstarter campaign narrative for a wearable tech startup that monitors pigeon health—will get attention.

2. Higher Rates

Weird work often commands premium rates. Clients who need highly specialized or conceptual work know they can’t get it from a generalist. Their need is high, and your unusual ability to step up is valuable. Price the novelty, the complexity, and the risk appropriately.

3. Creative Expansion

Getting outside your comfort zone is good for your professional brain. It breaks up routine and prevents burnout. If you feel stale writing the same three types of articles, tackling the manifesto for a collective of subterranean mycologists might be the recharge you need.

The Arguments AGAINST Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Scope Creep and Ambiguity

Oddball projects, by their nature, lack standard precedents. The client may not know what they want, leading to endless revisions and a constantly shifting goalpost (Scope Creep). Before accepting, demand an ironclad Scope of Work (SOW) that clearly defines the deliverables, rounds of revision, and what “success” looks like.

2. Reputation Risk

If the project is deeply unconventional or touches on controversial elements (even if legitimate), consider if it could negatively impact your appeal to your core client base. If you primarily write for reputable financial institutions, perhaps writing the text for a speculative cryptocurrency art project might need careful consideration.

3. The Time Sink

Unique projects often require disproportionate research time. You may need to learn a new lexicon, a new industry, or a new format from scratch. Factor this extra research time into your pricing model.

4. Securing the Deal: Practical Steps for Proceeding

If you decide the reward outweighs the risk, proceed professionally and firmly:

  1. Define the SOW (Again, and in Detail): List exactly what you are writing (e.g., “5 blog posts, 800 words each, 2 rounds of revisions”). State what you are not doing (e.g., “Not responsible for graphic design or legal compliance review”).
  2. Demand a Deposit: For unique or speculative projects, a 50% upfront deposit is standard and non-negotiable. This protects you against the client disappearing after the first conceptual submission.
  3. Set Clear Boundaries: Communicate your communication style and availability clearly. Because the project is already unusual, managing expectations on process is vital.
  4. Embrace the Learning: Treat the research and concept generation as professional development. Even if the project fails, the knowledge you gain (e.g., how to format a technical comic book script) is now part of your toolkit.

Conclusion: Strategic Risk-Taking is the Writer’s Edge

The oddball offer is often not a distraction; it’s a test. It asks if you are adaptable, creatively courageous, and professional enough to manage complexity.

Don’t dismiss the weird simply because it’s unfamiliar. Instead, screen rigorously, protect your intellectual property fiercely, and if the client and concept pass the professional sniff test, take the leap.

Stepping way ‘out there’ is sometimes the only way to find your next, most lucrative, and most fascinating niche. Happy writing!

“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 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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An excerpt from “What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

See the excerpt from the story below, just a taste of what’s in store…

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whatsetscover

McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.

He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.

There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.

This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.

I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.

In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.

The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.

With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.

A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.

“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.

He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.

“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.

While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.

“What’s the current situation?”

“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”

He looked in my direction.

“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.

“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”

McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.

“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”

It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.

The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.

In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.

I was hoping for the latter.

I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.

“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.

“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”

I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”

He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”

Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.

Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.

A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.

Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.

It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.

The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.

It was nerves more than the cold.

I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.

It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.

It added to the tension.

My plan was still to enter by the back door.

We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.

The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.

He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.

A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”

She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.

“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.

Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.

The fear factor increased exponentially.

I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?

Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.

At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.

To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.

We needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.

They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.

By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.

I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.

I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.

But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.

It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.

I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

Writing a book in 365 days – 288

Day 288

The call of the weird…

…

The Call of the Weird: When an Oddball Writing Offer Knocks

As professional writers, we tend to operate within established lanes. Maybe you dominate B2B white papers, or you’re the wizard of lifestyle blogs, or perhaps your niche is technical documentation for the aerospace industry.

Then, one day, it happens.

The email arrives that makes your eyebrow twitch. It’s an offer to write something completely outside your experience—a script for a puppet show about quantum physics, a historical fiction piece told entirely from the perspective of moss, or maybe the manifesto for a highly niche, possibly fictitious, startup focused on sustainable moon mining.

This is the Oddball Offer. It’s wildly different, maybe a little intimidating, and possibly way “out there.”

The critical question immediately surfaces: What do you do? Do you politely decline and stick to what you know, or do you take the leap into the creative unknown?

Before you hit ‘archive’ or ‘accept,’ here is your professional roadmap for assessing and navigating those delightfully bizarre writing briefs.

1. Defining “Oddball”: The Initial Assessment

The first step is to categorize the offer. Not all unusual requests are equal.

A. The Niche Stretch

This type of offer is bizarre in subject matter but standard in format. (Example: Writing case studies about specialized farming equipment.) This is usually a safe bet. You apply your existing writing skill set to new content.

B. The Format Fluke

This is an offer that requires a totally new skill or output. (Example: You’re a blogger, and they want you to write a 12-act stage play.) This requires significant new learning and a pricing adjustment.

C. The Truly Out There (The “What Is This?”)

This is the offer that carries a real whiff of the bizarre, potentially involving questionable ethics, unknown legal territory, or simply a concept that seems too fringe to be real.

When you receive the email, strip away the novelty and ask yourself three key questions:

  1. Is the client legitimate? (Look up their company. Does it exist? Do they have a clear mission, even if that mission is strange?)
  2. Is the request morally or legally sound? (If the material is hateful, deceitful, or involves breaking laws, the answer is an immediate, firm “no.”)
  3. Does it require a time commitment I can afford to risk? (If it’s a massive project, the risk is higher.)

2. Addressing the Elephant: Is the Client Just Fishing for Ideas?

This is the most common fear when dealing with vague or highly creative briefs: the client wants free brainstorming, hoping you’ll deliver the “Aha!” concept they can then execute in-house or give to a cheaper writer.

If the client is vague, overly enthusiastic about “vision,” and hesitant to talk budget or milestones, this risk is high.

Strategy 1: Institute a Paid Discovery Phase

Never, under any circumstance, provide detailed concepts, outlines, or proprietary strategies for free. If the project requires heavy ideation, frame the initial engagement as a Paid Discovery Phase.

This might look like a single, fixed-rate consultation that includes:

  • A 60-minute strategy call.
  • One brief, non-transferable conceptual outline (200 words max).
  • A formal pricing structure for the full project.

If they won’t pay for the idea stage, they were almost certainly just fishing. If they balk, you’ve saved yourself hours of unpaid labor.

Strategy 2: Get an NDA Signed Immediately

If the project involves genuinely novel or proprietary concepts, protect yourself. Request a simple, standard Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA) before you start sharing specific ideas on execution.

A serious client with a serious idea will not hesitate to sign an NDA. A client wary of intellectual property protection is likely trying to gather free resources.

3. The Professional Reckoning: Weighing the Risk vs. Reward

Assuming the offer is legitimate and you have protective measures in place, the decision comes down to the upside.

The Arguments FOR Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Portfolio Differentiation

This is perhaps the biggest win. A truly unique project provides “secret sauce” for your portfolio. If you’re trying to pivot or stand out from a crowded market, having a sample that no one else has—like a successful, funded Kickstarter campaign narrative for a wearable tech startup that monitors pigeon health—will get attention.

2. Higher Rates

Weird work often commands premium rates. Clients who need highly specialized or conceptual work know they can’t get it from a generalist. Their need is high, and your unusual ability to step up is valuable. Price the novelty, the complexity, and the risk appropriately.

3. Creative Expansion

Getting outside your comfort zone is good for your professional brain. It breaks up routine and prevents burnout. If you feel stale writing the same three types of articles, tackling the manifesto for a collective of subterranean mycologists might be the recharge you need.

The Arguments AGAINST Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Scope Creep and Ambiguity

Oddball projects, by their nature, lack standard precedents. The client may not know what they want, leading to endless revisions and a constantly shifting goalpost (Scope Creep). Before accepting, demand an ironclad Scope of Work (SOW) that clearly defines the deliverables, rounds of revision, and what “success” looks like.

2. Reputation Risk

If the project is deeply unconventional or touches on controversial elements (even if legitimate), consider if it could negatively impact your appeal to your core client base. If you primarily write for reputable financial institutions, perhaps writing the text for a speculative cryptocurrency art project might need careful consideration.

3. The Time Sink

Unique projects often require disproportionate research time. You may need to learn a new lexicon, a new industry, or a new format from scratch. Factor this extra research time into your pricing model.

4. Securing the Deal: Practical Steps for Proceeding

If you decide the reward outweighs the risk, proceed professionally and firmly:

  1. Define the SOW (Again, and in Detail): List exactly what you are writing (e.g., “5 blog posts, 800 words each, 2 rounds of revisions”). State what you are not doing (e.g., “Not responsible for graphic design or legal compliance review”).
  2. Demand a Deposit: For unique or speculative projects, a 50% upfront deposit is standard and non-negotiable. This protects you against the client disappearing after the first conceptual submission.
  3. Set Clear Boundaries: Communicate your communication style and availability clearly. Because the project is already unusual, managing expectations on process is vital.
  4. Embrace the Learning: Treat the research and concept generation as professional development. Even if the project fails, the knowledge you gain (e.g., how to format a technical comic book script) is now part of your toolkit.

Conclusion: Strategic Risk-Taking is the Writer’s Edge

The oddball offer is often not a distraction; it’s a test. It asks if you are adaptable, creatively courageous, and professional enough to manage complexity.

Don’t dismiss the weird simply because it’s unfamiliar. Instead, screen rigorously, protect your intellectual property fiercely, and if the client and concept pass the professional sniff test, take the leap.

Stepping way ‘out there’ is sometimes the only way to find your next, most lucrative, and most fascinating niche. Happy writing!