So, as we all know, a key is used to lock or unlock a door, gate, or something else. It’s either made of shiny metal, brass, or rusty iron, it can be small, or very, very big, as is the key to a dungeon.
We can have one key or we can have many or even a master key that unlocks everything, very handy if you have a house full of locked rooms.
People always seem to want to steal them, especially in crime shows.
There is also an item called a key card. Not the metal thing, but a plastic thing, that opens doors. Odd that it’s called keyless entry!
Then there’s what is known as the key to something, i.e. you might have the key to his or her heart, metaphorically speaking.
And in that metaphorical sense, it opens up pandora’s box with a plethora of different meanings.
He had the key to the puzzle.
I wish sometimes I had the key to be able to write better, that that one particular key eludes me.
There are keys on a keyboard, the ones you use on computers and calculators. They were originally on typewriters. You can also find keys on a piano, or an accordion, and some other musical instruments.
A key can also be a master index field, or unique identifier, in a database, particularly those kept on computers.
And,
there’s a host of other uses for the word key, such as
roughening a surface
describing the shooting area on a basketball court
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 realises 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.
Escape the Crowds: Paris’s Top 5 Hidden Gems (That Deserve Your Visit)
Paris. The City of Lights, romance, and… endless queues? While the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre are undoubtedly must-sees, experiencing the best of Paris doesn’t have to mean battling shoulder-to-shoulder with thousands of fellow tourists.
If you’re looking to explore distinctive Parisian culture and history without the notorious bottlenecks, we’ve uncovered five incredible visitor attractions. These spots boast unique charm, fascinating features, and best of all: relative tranquility.
Pack your walking shoes, grab your camera, and prepare to discover a side of Paris few tourists ever see.
1. Musée Rodin (The Gardens)
While the Musée Rodin itself—home to iconic works like The Thinker and The Kiss—is popular, the vast, sculpted gardens surrounding the mansion are often overlooked as a place to linger, making them a true, peaceful escape.
Distinctive Features:
Sculpture Meets Serenity: The three-hectare garden is an open-air gallery, where Rodin’s profound bronze figures are set against lush lawns, rose bushes, and towering hedges. It creates one of the most sublime atmospheres in Paris.
The Reflection Pool: A large, tranquil pool reflects the 18th-century Hôtel Biron (the main museum building), providing stunning photographic opportunities and a space for quiet contemplation.
The Workshop: You can catch glimpses of the former studio spaces, helping you connect directly with the creative process of one of history’s greatest sculptors.
Why It’s Worth the Trip: You get world-class art without the crush of a major museum, allowing the beauty of the artwork and the landscape to truly sink in.
2. Butte-aux-Cailles
Forget the tourist trap boutiques of Montmartre; head instead to the Butte-aux-Cailles in the 13th arrondissement. This small, elevated neighborhood feels like a secret village preserved within the modern city, rarely appearing on mainstream tourist itineraries.
Distinctive Features:
Village Atmosphere: The area escaped the sweeping renovations of Baron Haussmann in the 19th century, leaving behind narrow, cobbled streets (like Rue des Cinq Diamants) lined with low, charming houses and hidden courtyards.
Art Nouveau Architecture: Look out for beautiful examples of brick and stone façades and original lampposts.
Street Art Hub: While peaceful, the Butte-aux-Cailles is also a discreet, vibrant center for Parisian street art, featuring colorful, high-quality murals and stencils often tucked away on small side streets.
The Artesian Wells: The area is famous for its natural hot springs, and you can still find the historic communal swimming pool—Piscine de la Butte-aux-Cailles—fed by underground water.
Why It’s Worth the Trip: It offers an authentic glimpse into local Parisian life, complete with wonderful traditional bistros and quiet cafés, far removed from the noise of the center.
3. Parc des Buttes-Chaumont
When most visitors think of Parisian parks, they picture the Tuileries or the Luxembourg Gardens. But for truly dramatic landscapes and peaceful seclusion, the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont in the 19th arrondissement is unbeatable.
Distinctive Features:
Dramatic Topography: Built on a former gypsum quarry and landfill, the park features steep cliffs, grottoes, artificial waterfalls, and a large central lake.
The Temple de la Sibylle: Perched atop a sheer, 50-meter-high cliff (known as the Belvédère Island) is a miniature Roman-style temple offering one of the most spectacular, yet uncrowded, panoramic views of Paris, including Sacré-Cœur in the distance.
Rustic Charm: Unlike the manicured symmetry of other parks, Buttes-Chaumont embraces a rugged, romantic English garden style, complete with a charming suspension bridge designed by Gustave Eiffel’s company.
Why It’s Worth the Trip: It is a breathtaking feat of landscape architecture, providing dramatic views and quiet walking paths that make you forget you are in a major European capital.
4. The Archives Nationales (Hôtel de Soubise)
Tucked away in the historic Marais district, the Archives Nationales houses France’s national historical archives. While the documents themselves are fascinating, the primary draw is the opportunity to wander through one of the most beautiful and best-preserved 18th-century aristocratic residences in Paris, the Hôtel de Soubise.
Distinctive Features:
Rococo Masterpieces: The most stunning features are the magnificent state rooms, particularly the oval salons, which are considered peerless examples of French Rococo interior design. The intricate gilded woodwork, ceiling frescoes, and elaborate ornamentation are breathtaking.
Courtyard Grandeur: The cour d’honneur (main courtyard) immediately transports you back to the age of Louis XV, showcasing the sheer scale and opulence of Parisian high society.
Historical Significance: Visitors can tour selected exhibits showcasing pivotal documents from French history, offering a deep dive into the nation’s past within a spectacular setting.
Why It’s Worth the Trip: You get to explore hidden architectural gems that rival the palace interiors of Versailles, but without the mandatory entry lines and huge tour groups.
5. Musée de la Vie Romantique (Museum of Romantic Life)
The name truly says it all. Located in the residential Nouvelle Athènes neighborhood (near Pigalle), this delightful museum occupies two charming small buildings and a lush garden courtyard that celebrate the artistic and literary life of the 19th-century Romantic era.
Distinctive Features:
Intimate Scale: Housed in the former home of painter Ary Scheffer, the museum is dedicated to the works of George Sand, Ernest Renan, and other Romantic figures. It feels more like visiting a well-preserved family home than a traditional museum.
Literary History: Artifacts include portraits, jewelry, and personal items associated with the writer George Sand, offering a deeply personal look at her life and times.
The Best Tearoom in Paris: The garden courtyard transforms into a glorious, ivy-covered tearoom (operated by Café Renoir) during the warmer months. It is hands-down one of the most idyllic spots in Paris for a restorative coffee or lunch.
Why It’s Worth the Trip: It offers a deeply atmospheric and gentle cultural experience. It is the perfect antidote to the high-intensity visit of a major museum, wrapped up in Parisian charm and elegance.
The magic of Paris extends far beyond the well-trodden paths. By seeking out these distinctive, less-crowded attractions, you can enjoy the city’s profound history, stunning architecture, and unparalleled beauty at your own pace. Happy exploring!
The Art of the Mirror: Why Great Literature Must Embrace the Mess
In his typically sharp, aphoristic style, Nassim Nicholas Taleb once argued: “Literature comes alive with covering up vices, defects, weaknesses, and confusions; it dies with every trace of preaching.”
It is a provocation that strikes at the heart of our modern literary malaise. In an era where “message-driven” storytelling is often prioritised over narrative integrity, Taleb’s words serve as a necessary intervention. He suggests that the moment a writer picks up a soapbox, they put down their pen.
But why does preaching kill a story? And why is the “covering up” of human frailty the very thing that makes a character breathe?
The Death of the Moral Compass
When a book begins to preach, the story stops being a mirror and starts being a lecture. A preacher assumes they have a monopoly on truth, and their only goal is to transmit that truth to a captive audience.
Literature, however, is not a monologue—it is a haunting, mutual experience. When an author decides that the purpose of their work is to moralise, they strip the characters of their agency. If a character is merely a vessel for a political or ethical point, they cease to be a “person.” They become a mannequin in a shop window, dressed in the author’s ideology.
Readers are sophisticated; they can smell didacticism from a mile away. When we feel we are being “taught,” our natural inclination is to resist. We stop reading to understand and start reading to evaluate. The magic is broken.
The Beauty of the “Cover-Up”
Taleb’s insistence that literature comes alive by “covering up” is not a call for dishonesty. Rather, it is an acknowledgment of the complexity of the human condition.
The greatest characters in literature—from Raskolnikov’s feverish guilt in Crime and Punishment to the quiet, desperate failures of the protagonists in Chekhov’s stories—are never fully transparent. They are bundles of contradictions. They act against their own interests. They suppress their darkest impulses, not because they are inherently “good,” but because they are terrified, confused, and profoundly human.
“Covering up” is the act of psychological realism. It is the writer acknowledging that we are all hiding something—from others, and often from ourselves.
When a writer portrays a character’s messy, confusing, and contradictory nature without labelling it as “wrong” or “right,” they create a space for the reader to step into. We don’t connect with perfect icons; we connect with the broken, the stammering, and the confused. We see our own “vices and defects” reflected in the prose, and in that recognition, we feel less alone.
The Reader as Co-Conspirator
If literature dies with preaching, it comes alive through the active labour of the reader. A great book presents a situation—a vice, a defect, a confusion—and refuses to provide the answer key.
By leaving the moral ambiguity intact, the author invites the reader to become an accomplice. You are not being told what to think; you are being shown what it feels like to be human. You are forced to judge, empathise, and grapple with the same mess the character is navigating.
Final Thoughts: The Courage to be Unclear
In the digital age, we are constantly bombarded with certainty. Every tweet, headline, and think-piece demands that we pick a side and commit to a moral posture.
Literature should be the last refuge from this binary exhaustion. By resisting the urge to preach, authors allow for the richness of ambiguity. They allow characters to fail, to be weak, and to be profoundly imperfect.
So, perhaps that is the ultimate test of a great book: Does it try to fix you, or does it try to show you? If it chooses the latter, it isn’t just a piece of writing—it’s a breathing, living thing that reminds us that in our vices, our weaknesses, and our confusions, we are at our most readable.
This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.
Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.
Why, you might ask.
Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne
At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.
I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.
Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them
Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.
I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.
Damn!
So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years
I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.
It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.
Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.
So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.
Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.
It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.
And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.
Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.
But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.
As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life
If only I’d come from such a background!
And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.
I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.
One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.
Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.
It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.
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, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
The hut was a barracks, with bedding and ablutions for twenty men. Since this was one of two, I assumed the other hut housed the twenty soldiers that the Colonel had alluded to. There would be no more than one or two others including the Captain.
Hopefully, there were not more in Nagero.
The two hostages had been taken to the Captain’s office where I assumed there was probably a brig for them to be locked in. Not quite what I was expecting, but no plan was ever perfect.
I went to the rear and sat down at a table that could accommodate about ten.
Davies and Shurl joined me.
I looked at Shurl. “Good work, and glad they didn’t shoot you.”
“So am I. Monroe had joined the others. I had to make a lot of noise before they found me, so I don’t think this is a crack troop.”
“The Captain, or whatever he is, looks sharp,” Davies said.
“New command perhaps. Can’t believe his luck, I’m guessing. Did you get a look at the plane?”
“As much as I could without looking like I was looking at it. It’s been well maintained, and I have no doubt we can get it off the ground. It just depends if we need help to get the engines started. It’s possible they don’t, though it’s not usual for this type of plane. We shall see when the time comes.”
“Can you take off at night?”
“It’s a bit dangerous without lights. I see they have a lighting system, so I suggest, if and when we break out of here you get someone to find the switch.”
“Noted.”
“Any idea when that’ll be?”
“I’m sure we have people working on that as we speak.”
The door at the entrance to the hut opened and the Captain stood next to his officer, with a gun pointed loosely in our direction, just in case we got the idea we could escape.
“Mr. James. Time to tell me all about your escape plans.”
“I’m not so sure they could be called that, now.”
His tone hardened. “Don’t keep me waiting. I have people waiting for my report.”
I shrugged and got up. “Just make sure everyone is ready to move when the time comes. Tell Baines that I expect him to find the generator and get the lights working.”
The Captain’s impatient look told me not to keep him waiting any longer.
The Captain led the way, and his officer kept the gun pointed at me, just in case of what I’m not sure. Inside his office, rather spacious, and with a door which likely led to some form of accommodation and the brig where the hostages were being held. The door was closed so I couldn’t see, so it had to be an assumption.
The officer remained in the doorway, while the Captain sat behind a large desk, and gestured for me to sit the other side. It didn’t look like a comfortable chair.
I thought I’d start the ball rolling. “I’m assuming that there isn’t always an army guard on this airstrip?”
“No. When we heard you were coming for the prisoners, a detachment was sent. Fortuitous wouldn’t you say?”
“For who.” Time to sow some seeds of discontent.
“What do you mean Mr. James?”
“Your mate back at the militia camp just pocketed two million US dollars’ worth of diamonds for those two men. What was your cut?”
A shocked look, one that eased back into benign slowly. No cut from that look, I’d say.
“We pride ourselves on being above bribery. That was the old way of doing things.”
“Clearly the militia don’t agree. Are you going to give them back to the commander so he can raffle them again?”
The Captain didn’t seem to understand the word ‘raffle’.
“Sell them back to us for another two million. Maybe you should talk to your superiors and see what they think. If you left us go, I can arrange for five million, for you and your friends to share.”
Disdain, or disappointment.
“What did I just say about bribery.”
“That it’s not the way things are done. Maybe not in the capital, but this is the boondocks, and you’re the man in charge. Five million can go a long way, but I suspect if you tell your superiors, you won’t get to see any of it. Or perhaps you should take a few men over to the Militia commander’s camp and demand your share, or just take it. After all, Captain, who is in charge of this sector, him or you?”
At least he was thinking about it. Five million was a lot of money, but in US dollars, that could take him anywhere.
I remembered my old instructor saying, one, ‘every man has his price’.
I just had to find the Captains.
“Aside from trying to bribe me, Mr. James, what were you hoping to achieve here?”
“A rescue. I know we tried once before and not succeeded, but you know how it is, if you at first don’t succeed, try, try, try again.”
“That it failed before should be a warning that we are not as weak as you might think we are. The US Army is not necessarily the best in the world.”
“So I’m beginning to discover. Did we train you?”
“No. I spent some time in England, training with the British Army.”
So that was where he got his accent and ramrod stiff never a crease out of place posture.
“But,” he said, “this not about me, but you. And your so-called film crew. How did you expect top escape through this airstrip, flights are restricted, and you can’t possibly fly in a Hercules? The runway is not long enough.
“No, we were hoping for something a bit smaller than that, but we’ll find out tomorrow what it is. I’ll be standing on the patio looking as surprised as you are when it arrives. Now, let me ask you a question. Do you know who those men are that you have in detention?”
“Militia prisoners.”
“For doing what?”
“I don’t ask questions. I obey orders.
“Then I’ll tell you. They were trying to set up a trade agreement for some precious metal you have in abundance here. Good for the country for income, and employment. Might even help you get on better terms with the rest of the world. Unless of course, you don’t want to.”
“I am a soldier, not a politician. That’s their problem. I was told to hold you until my superiors arrive.”
“Who told you?”
“The Colonel. He’s based in Ada.”
So, we had a leak. Surprising given the limited circulation of the plan. It might be down to Jacobi, but somehow, I didn’t think it was him. He had several opportunities to turn on us and he didn’t.
“So, you’re saying we basically drove into a trap?”
“Yes. So much for the smart Americans who have all the technology and answers.
I could understand his contempt, especially when the attempt had failed so badly. Pity then he didn’t understand what was about to happen to him.
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines frequently visited and had recommended.
Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.
It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.
Aside from the half-frown, half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It had been months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it and me, for a week or so after.
For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.
She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.
I even had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more, I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others out there who were more appealing.
Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.
More than once, I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”
Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.
The battle lines were drawn.
Jimmy was looking fashionable, with a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.
The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out, she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.
Then it was gone.
I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.
When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.
I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’, but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes, Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and me, are there, Al?”
I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.
I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting that her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.
Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaines thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.
And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realised I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.
“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”
No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.
The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.
Then, a toast.
To a new job and a new life.
“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.
Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.
Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realised it would be churlish, even silly, if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.
Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decided there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”
I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or, I told you he’d come around.
I had no idea the two were so close.
“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.
“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some studying in with one of her friends.”
“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up and immediately got the ‘shut up, you fool’ look that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.
It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”
A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”
I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.
I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.
There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.
I drained my champagne glass, gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”
He looked startled when he realised I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.
He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”
“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”
Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; she might have been telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?
We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”
“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”
“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”
At last, the voice of reason. “Me? No.”
“Yet you accepted the job.”
I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me, I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”
“Barclay?”
“My boss.”
“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay who recently moved into the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognised the name.”
“How did Elaine get the job?”
“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. Why?”
I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanted to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work, I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”
I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted, and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.
And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”
Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.
When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and me. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough that the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.
But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.
Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her and pretend nothing had happened, rather than tell her how much I was enjoying the evening.
She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.
At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent-up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, that Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was, but neither made any comment.
It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which, to a large degree, it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, as warily as a cat watches its prey.
I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.
We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaines back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health and asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.
She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.
And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.
It left me confused and lost.
I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.
And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.
“No. She spoke on the phone about an hour ago and didn’t look happy. Who is she?”
“Someone you might have to shoot, so don’t get attached. Wait till I call you first, then invite yourselves in. Does it look expensive?”
“She does, and yes. It’s very posh. Why?”
“Curiosity.”
We were back in the hotel room. Francesca was working her way through a bottle of red wine.
“I can go now if you like. Cecelia told me the countess was dead. My work is done,” she said morosely.
“Not yet. Can’t have you telling people information I don’t want them to know yet. We still have people to catch.”
“OK. Does your current squeeze realise this one has feelings for you?” She nodded in Juliet’s direction, stopping her in her tracks.
“It’d be misplaced affection. Right now, she’s at the top of my shoot first and asks questions later list.”
“You know, if you don’t want to end up grumpy and lonely, you are going to have to work on your small talk. I don’t think women go for this shoot first thing. Whatever; just thought you ought to know.”
I glared at Juliet. “Is that what this is about, you being here?”
“Why on earth would you think that. You’re probably the snarkiest person I’ve ever met. She’s right, you need to work on your small talk.”
Then proceeded to turn around and go into one of the rooms, slamming the door.
“Exactly,” Francesca said.
13 minutes after that the call came.
Male voice, distorted.
“You are looking for an Englishwoman, Martha Rodby, yes.”
“Yes.”
“We know where she is, and once the money is transferred, we will tell you.”
“Nice try. You get the money, in a duffle bag, when I see her with my own eyes. No mirrors, no magic, no obstacle courses, and multiple phone booths and time limits. You tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”
“Alone?”
“If you’re not stupid, and I don’t think you are, there will be plenty of people around. Dark alleys and dank tunnels are not my thing.”
“I’ll call you back soon with the details.”
It was a quick call, so he was worried about me tracing it. I was not, or at least I wasn’t, but Alfie might.
A message popped up, after making a dinging sound. “Call came from Rome, can pin it down to a half kilometre square.”
I typed in, “Don’t bother. I know who it is.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Who?”
I ignored it.
“Your kidnapper?”
“A concerned citizen.”
“Your kidnapper. Do you ever say anything that means anything?”
“I try not to. You do know my shadowy world consists of nothing by lies and deception, and smoke and mirrors?”
“Do you actually get anything done?”
“Mostly not, but at least this time I haven’t got to kill anyone. Yet.”
“You should tell your girlfriend that?”
“Which one, according to you?”
“Juliet. You want to tell her you don’t have feelings for her.”
“Are you trying to annoy me?”
She gave me one of those looks, yes, I’d known her long enough to be able to classify them.
“How did your wife actually put up with you all those years?”
“I’m sure it made interesting reading?”
“What?”
“My file.”
She smiled. “It did. My boss thought if I stuck close enough, I might learn something. I did. Stick to Art History. By the way, I like you too, but I’m not going to compete with those other two. Oh, and I assume you have a plan or will have a plan by tomorrow, on how to take this guy down?”
“You assume correctly.”
“Good. Do I get a gun?”
“No.”
“Just when relations were improving. Do you want anything from room service? I’m getting some pasta.”
Sharpen Your Prose: Banishing Blunders Like Mixed Metaphors, Faulty Parallelism, and Tense Troubles
Ever read something that makes your brain do a little somersault? You know, where you start nodding along, then suddenly hit a snag, and have to backtrack to figure out what the writer actually meant? More often than not, these jarring moments stem from a few common writing errors.
Today, we’re going to tackle three of the most prevalent culprits: mixed metaphors, faulty parallelism, and incorrect tense. Mastering these will not only make your writing clearer and more impactful but will also elevate your credibility as a communicator. Let’s dive in!
The Tangled Web of Mixed Metaphors
Metaphors are beautiful things. They allow us to paint vivid pictures in our readers’ minds by likening one thing to another, creating deeper understanding and engagement. But when you try to weave too many disparate comparisons together, or let a metaphor stray too far from its original intent, you end up with a tangled, nonsensical mess.
The Goal: To use a single, consistent, and effective metaphor to illustrate a point.
The Blunder: Combining two or more unrelated metaphors, creating confusion and often unintentional humor.
Examples:
Wrong: “We need to get our ducks in a row before we can really hit the ground running and climb the ladder of success.”
Why it’s wrong: “Ducks in a row” implies organisation and order. “Hit the ground running” suggests immediate action and speed. “Climb the ladder of success” is about progress and achievement. These are all fine individual ideas, but crammed together, they create a jumbled image. Are we a team of organised ducks, a sprinter, or a mountaineer?
Right: “We need to get our ducks in a row before we can begin implementing our new strategy.”
Why it’s right: This focuses solely on the “ducks in a row” metaphor, meaning to organise things properly, and it works.
Right: “We need to be ready to hit the ground running when the project launches.”
Why it’s right: This uses the “hit the ground running” metaphor to convey the need for immediate and energetic action.
Right: “Her dedication and hard work were instrumental in her climb up the ladder of success.”
Why it’s right: This uses the “ladder of success” metaphor effectively to describe career progression.
The Uneven Scales of Faulty Parallelism
Parallelism, or parallel structure, is about balance and rhythm in your writing. It means using the same grammatical form for elements in a series or comparison. When this balance is disrupted, your sentences can feel clunky and awkward, like a song with a broken beat.
The Goal: To present items in a series or comparison with consistent grammatical structure for clarity and flow.
The Blunder: Using different grammatical forms for elements that should be treated equally.
Examples:
Wrong: “She enjoys hiking, to read, and swimming.”
Why it’s wrong: “Hiking” is a gerund (verb acting as a noun). “To read” is an infinitive. “Swimming” is another gerund. The shift from gerund to infinitive and back breaks the parallel structure.
Right: “She enjoys hiking, reading, and swimming.”
Why it’s right: All elements are gerunds, creating a smooth and consistent list.
Right: “She enjoys to hike, to read, and to swim.”
Why it’s right: All elements are infinitives, also creating parallel structure.
Wrong: “The new software offers speed, efficiency, and it is easy to use.”
Why it’s wrong: “Speed” and “efficiency” are nouns. “It is easy to use” is a clause.
Right: “The new software offers speed, efficiency, and ease of use.”
Why it’s right: All elements are nouns, providing consistent structure.
The Shifting Sands of Incorrect Tense
Verb tense is the anchor that grounds your narrative in time. It tells your reader when an action is happening. Inconsistent or incorrect tense can lead to confusion about the sequence of events or the overall timeframe of your writing.
The Goal: To consistently use the appropriate verb tense to accurately reflect the time of the actions being described.
The Blunder: Shifting verb tenses unnecessarily within a sentence, paragraph, or narrative.
Examples:
Wrong: “Yesterday, I go to the store and buy some milk.”
Why it’s wrong: The action happened “yesterday,” which is in the past. The verbs should reflect this past action.
Right: “Yesterday, I went to the store and bought some milk.”
Why it’s right: Both verbs are in the simple past tense, accurately describing past events.
Wrong: “The character wakes up, realises he is late, and runs for the bus.”
Why it’s wrong: While this can be used for vivid storytelling (present tense for immediacy), if the rest of the narrative is in the past tense, this shift is jarring.
Right (if the narrative is in the past): “The character woke up, realised he was late, and ran for the bus.”
Why it’s right: Consistent use of the past tense for a narrative set in the past.
Wrong: “She will tell you the secret if you ask her nicely.”
Why it’s wrong: Mixing future and present tense for actions that are concurrent or related in time.
Right: “She will tell you the secret if you ask her nicely.” (This is actually correct as it describes a future conditional event).
Let’s try another wrong example: “She told me that she will visit tomorrow.”
Why it’s wrong: “Told” is past tense, but “will visit” refers to a future event.
Right: “She told me that she would visit tomorrow.” (Using “would” for reported future in the past).
Or Right: “She tells me that she will visit tomorrow.” (If the telling is happening now).
Practice Makes Perfect (and Polished Prose!)
Don’t be discouraged if you find yourself making these errors. Most writers do, especially when they’re developing their voice. The key is to be aware of them and to actively proofread with these concepts in mind.
Read aloud: Hearing your writing can help you catch awkward phrasing and inconsistencies.
Enlist a fresh pair of eyes: Ask a friend or colleague to review your work.
Use grammar checkers: While not foolproof, they can highlight potential issues.
Study examples: Keep an eye out for effective (and ineffective) uses of metaphors, parallelism, and tense in the writing you admire.
By paying attention to these fundamental aspects of grammar and style, you can transform your writing from merely understandable to truly compelling. So, go forth and banish those blunders! Your readers will thank you for it.
As accomplished as we can be at putting words on paper, what is it that makes it so difficult to sit in a chair with a camera on you and say words rather than write them?
Er and um seem to crop up a lot in verbal speech.
OK, it was a simple question: “What motivates you to write?”
Damn.
My brain just turned to mush, and the words come out sounding like a drunken sailor after a night out on the town.
The written answer to the question is simple: “The idea that someone will read what I have written, and quite possibly enjoy it; that is motivation enough.”
It highlights the difficulties of the novice author.
Not only are there the constant demands of creating a ‘brand’ and building a ‘following’, but there is also the need to market oneself, and the interview is one of the more effective ways of doing this.
If only I could settle my nerves.
I mean, really, only my granddaughter is conducting the interview, and the questions are relatively simple.
The trouble is, I’ve never had to do it before, well, perhaps in an interview for a job, but that is less daunting. That usually sticks to a predefined format.
Here, the narrative can go in any direction. There are set questions, but the interviewer, in her inimitable manner, can sometimes slide a question in out of left field.
For instance, “Your character Zoe the assassin, is she based on someone you know, or an amalgam of other characters you’ve read about or seen in movies?”
That was an interesting question, and one that has several answers, but the one most relevant was: “It was the secret alter ego of one of the women I used to work with. I asked her one day if she wasn’t doing what she was, what she would like to do. It fascinated me that other people had the desire to be something more exotic in an alter ego.”
Of course, the next question was about what I wanted to be in an alter ego.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 