The Cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 55

Watching the prime suspect

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I joined Cecelia on the side of a hill about 500 yards from the front of the main entrance to the Burkehardt residence. On one side there were several outbuildings, and beyond those, the vines, acres and acres of them. On the other side, where we were, there was more vines and gardens.

It was warm, but we were under the trees and had a hedgerow to hide behind, so we were quite safe from being seen.

Cecelia had picked her spot with care. Clear sight to the front entrance, clear sight of the driveway from the road to the house, and the opportunity to like up targets with the rifle, already set out.

It was not loaded. She was using the sight to home in on those at home.

“A mother, a father, two girls and a boy. The parents fight a lot. Th mother and the three children left about a half hour ago, and the old man is sitting at a table reading the newspaper. You’d think he’d be out working.”

“Anyone call?”

“One. The man answered a cell phone, spoke for a minute then went back to the paper. If he starts doing the crossword, I’m going to shoot him.”

She took another look, then sat up. She had brought a hamper with food and drinks. No wine. We needed to remain focused.

It was a fine day, and just started to get hot, despite the fact we were quite buried by the surrounding trees. The heat was tempered by a slight breeze, and the sound of it rustling the leaves was oddly soothing.

One of the more pleasant stake outs I’d been on.

My phone buzzed. A message.

‘One of the phones called a man named Dicostini about twenty minutes ago and said they were on their way, there was a problem.’

As I suspected, the fake countess was working with Dicostini.

“And…?” Cecelia looked at me expectantly.

“Expect to see the fake countess. They are on their way.”

We didn’t have to wait very long. I had expected they would arrive about an hour after I had, but then, the countess did have some disconcerting news. What surprised me was the fact she just didn’t tell him over the phone. If I were Dicostini, I would have told her to stay away for fear of being linked together, and that was still a possibility if there were other people in the house, loyal to the Dicostini or not.

Cecelia had picked up the gun and was pointing it at every car that passed the driveway entrance, checking on the drivers and passengers if there were any.

“Got them.”

I saw the car stop at the driveway entrance for a minute, and then start slowly along the driveway.

“Juliet is driving the car. The two women are in the back. Odd.”

“Perhaps they’re practising being wealthy dowagers.”

She put the gun back facing the house.

“You got your phone?”

“Why?

“Alfie would have put an app on it so you can listen to the conversation. I didn’t think about it until now otherwise we could have listened to them on the way here.”

I gave it to her, and she fiddled with it for a minute, handing it back and the car stopped outside the house.

“You think it would be that riveting?”

“No. But it might give us some idea what they’re up to?”

Then a voice came over the speaker, not too loud but loud enough for us to hear.

“You stay in the car, Juliet. The fewer people who know about this the better.” I could not put a face to the voice.

“Distinction for the uninvolved. I will not be breaking you out of prison just so you know.”

“Don’t be such a spoilt brat.”

I heard two doors slam and then silence, other than feet crunching on the gravel. Cecelia lined them up in her sights and said, “Just say the word.”

At the top of the stairs, I could just see them stop at the door and rang the bell. It took several minutes before Dicostini answered.

“This is not a good idea, coming here,” he said.

“Well, the phones aren’t safe. We disabled the GPS, and I sure as hell aren’t going to tell you anything using one. Let’s go inside.”

“You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees, you…”

“Not if we come, say our piece, and go. Arguing is only making it more dangerous.”

He stood to one side and let them pass.

Three minutes later I heard Cecelia say, “Got them again.”

The vices came back.

“What’s so pressing you have to come here.”

“The signing had been delayed.”

“The Burkehardt’s. The suspect something. You? What do you do wrong?”

“I’ve seen the solicitor, and the family in London, even that fool Rodby insisted I use as an escort. They all think I’m the countess.”

“Except now you are missing, they’re worried. Rodby should have kept out of it, but you going missing the way you did, has only caused us trouble. The Burkhardt’s called him and then he had to do something about it.”

“You know that was for effect, to get away from the family because the longer I’m with them the more chance they’ll discover the truth. Rodby should be happy to know I have been found, which is exactly as it was planned, and that his man will be taking me to the signing. Rodby will do as he’s told.”

“A week’s a long time for things to go wrong. You have to say in hiding.”

“It’s another week and I have people pressing me for money.” Vittoria wasn’t happy.

“You know the deal. The countess signs the papers, and you get your payment. I can’t help it if it’s been delayed. They can’t delay it forever. You’ve delivered the message, now go, before anyone finds you here.”

The 2am Rant: Going to church on Sunday

This is my least-favoured option for spending a Sunday morning, but having married a Catholic and agreeing to adopt Catholicism, it’s one of those things that has to be done on rare occasions, usually a child’s milestone.

Yes, we went through our children’s moments like baptism, first communion, and confirmation, or these days in a somewhat different order. Then it came to the turn of our grandchildren, and today the last child is making her first communion, and there will end our involvement till the last rites.

Hopefully.

Church to me doesn’t hold any real significance. It doesn’t mean that I would debunk the idea of religion, and I firmly believe that if anyone believes in God, then that’s their right.

And it seems there are a lot of believers. I’m sitting in the church now, and it is packed. It might be that it’s a captive audience, given that it’s a first communion for grade three students and others, but given the enthusiasm of the children involved, I’d say the church was about to get over a hundred new followers.

Of course, a lot depends on the enthusiasm and devoutness of the parents who may wish to spend their Sundays differently, but I suspect there are many here who will continue their devoutness in some form or other.

As for me, sadly, I will continue to use the only day of the week it’s possible to sleep in.

What I learned about writing – Working on what pays, not necessarily what you would like to be working on

The Writer’s Dilemma: Why the Money-Paying Tale Often Takes Centre Stage (and What It Means for Your Craft)

Every writer knows this internal monologue. It’s late, the house is quiet, and the cursor blinks expectantly. Before you, on one screen, is the outline for that sprawling, genre-bending novel that called you to writing in the first place – your magnum opus, your heart project. On another tab, emails from a client remind you of the looming deadline for that article on “The Top 10 Uses for Biodegradable Sponges” or that ghostwritten piece on “Modern Pet Grooming Techniques.”

And if you’re like many authors, the biodegradable sponges often win.

It’s a source of quiet guilt for some, a pragmatic acceptance for others, but the question remains: Why is it often postulated that it’s better to work on the money-paying tales, rather than the serious writing that sparked your passion, or that beloved pet project? Let’s peel back the layers of this very real writer’s dilemma.

1. The Unsexy Truth: Bills Don’t Pay Themselves

This is, overwhelmingly, the primary driver. Writing, for most, isn’t a guaranteed goldmine, especially when you’re starting out or delving into niche literary fiction. While the dream is to live off your art, the reality is that rent, groceries, internet bills, and – let’s be honest – that ever-growing coffee habit, require immediate, tangible income.

Money-paying tales – be it freelance articles, copywriting gigs, ghostwriting assignments, or even genre fiction with a reliable market – offer a more predictable cash flow. They keep the lights on, the laptop charged, and food on the table. Without this foundational stability, the mental and emotional space required for deeply serious, often financially unrewarding, creative work becomes almost impossible to cultivate.

2. Sharpening the Axe: Professionalism and Practice

Think of money-paying projects not as a distraction, but as a different kind of training. Even if the subject matter isn’t your passion, these gigs offer invaluable professional development:

Meeting Deadlines: A crucial skill for any published author, even in the literary world.
Adhering to Briefs/Guidelines: Learning to work within constraints hones your precision and adaptability.
Understanding Your Audience: Every paying gig requires you to write for a specific reader, which is a transferable skill for any type of writing.
Honing Craft: Whether it’s crafting compelling sentences, structuring arguments, or developing clear prose, every word you write is practice. Even “mundane” writing can teach you about flow, conciseness, and impact.
Building a Reputation: Delivering quality work consistently, even on commercial projects, establishes you as a reliable and professional writer. This professional goodwill can open doors later.

Sometimes, the very act of writing anything takes the pressure off. Your “serious” work can feel monumental, intimidating. A paying gig, while perhaps less creatively fulfilling, can be a welcome change of pace, a chance to simply put words on a page without the intense emotional investment.

3. Building the Foundation (and the Platform)

For many, the “money tales” are a strategic investment in their larger writing career.

Financial Runway: Earning money now means you might save up enough to take dedicated time off later to really immerse yourself in your passion project without immediate financial pressure.
Publishing Credits: Even if it’s not the type of writing you ultimately want to be famous for, any published work builds a portfolio. It shows you’re a working writer, capable of producing content.
Networking: Commercial projects often connect you with editors, publishers, and other industry professionals. These connections can be invaluable when you eventually pitch your more serious work.
Market Intelligence: Working on commercially viable projects gives you a direct line to understanding what sells, what the market demands, and how publishing houses operate. This insight, while not dictating your art, can be useful for strategising the release of your passion project.

4. The Creative Tug-of-War: Balancing Act, Not Betrayal

It’s natural to feel a pang of guilt or a sense of creative betrayal when you prioritise a paying gig over your deep-seated artistic ambitions. However, many authors view this not as an either/or, but as a strategic balancing act.

Allocate Time: Dedicate specific hours or days to your passion project, even if it’s just 30 minutes a day. Consistency is key.
Refuel Your Muse: Sometimes, the “light” work of a commercial gig can be less creatively draining than wrestling with your masterpiece, leaving you with more energy for your passion project when you do turn to it.
Remember Your “Why”: Keep a tangible reminder of your larger goal – a sticky note, a vision board, a printed outline. This helps combat the feeling of drift.

In essence, for many, working on money-paying tales isn’t a surrender of artistic integrity, but a practical, often necessary, step on the path to sustaining a writing life. It’s about building a solid foundation, sharpening the tools of the trade, and sometimes, simply ensuring you have the time and resources to eventually tell the stories that truly matter most to your heart.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and sometimes the best way to keep running is to earn a little cash along the way.

What’s your take on this writer’s dilemma? How do you balance the demands of paying work with your passion projects? Share your strategies and insights in the comments below!

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 141

Day 141 – Writer’s block

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The Blank Page Blues: Understanding the Real Effects of Writer’s Block (And How to Beat It)

Every writer, whether they are penning a Pulitzer-winning novel, a corporate newsletter, or a simple blog post, has been there. You sit down, open your laptop, crack your knuckles, and… nothing. The cursor blinks at you, rhythmically mocking your lack of progress.

Writer’s block is the universal enemy of creativity. But what actually happens when we hit that wall, and how can we climb over it? Let’s break down the mechanics of the “block” and, more importantly, how to get your momentum back.

The Hidden Effects: More Than Just “Stuck”

We often think of writer’s block as a simple pause in production. However, the effects are usually deeper and more taxing than just an empty page.

1. The Erosion of Confidence The longer you stare at a blank screen, the more your inner critic takes the wheel. You start to doubt your premise, your vocabulary, and eventually, your aptitude as a writer. This “imposter syndrome” can linger long after the initial block has passed.

2. The “Avoidance Cycle” When writing becomes associated with the frustration of being stuck, you naturally start to avoid it. You find “productive” distractions—doing the dishes, organising your email, or doom-scrolling—which only increases the anxiety you feel when you finally do return to the desk.

3. Creative Atrophy Writing is a muscle. When you stop writing for extended periods, the “creative flow”—that effortless state of articulation—becomes harder to tap into. The longer the blockage persists, the more you have to fight your own brain to regain that rhythm.

How to Break the Cycle

The good news? Writer’s block is not a permanent state; it’s a temporary neurological bottleneck. Here is how to unclog it:

1. Lower the Stakes

Often, we get blocked because we are trying to write something “perfect” on the first pass. Give yourself permission to write “garbage.” Write the worst draft imaginable. Once the words are on the page, you can edit them. You can’t edit a blank page, but you can always fix a bad paragraph.

2. The “Pomodoro” Trick

If the task feels gargantuan, break it down. Set a timer for 15 minutes. Tell yourself you only have to write for that long. Often, the hardest part of writing is the starting—once the gears are turning, continuing becomes much easier.

3. Change Your Environment

If your brain associates your desk with anxiety, move to a coffee shop, a library, or even your kitchen table. Sometimes a change of scenery, ambient noise, or a different chair is enough to signal to your brain that it’s time for a new mode of thinking.

4. Switch Mediums

If the laptop screen feels stifling, go analog. Grab a legal pad and a pen. The physical act of handwriting taps into different creative pathways in the brain and removes the temptation to delete, backspace, and over-edit as you go.

5. Use Prompts to Prime the Pump

If you don’t know where to start, stop trying to write the “masterpiece” and just write five sentences about anything. Describe the room you’re in. Describe your breakfast. Once you break the silence of the page, the transition to your actual project will be much smoother.

The Bottom Line

Writer’s block isn’t a sign that you’ve lost your talent; it’s a sign that your brain needs a different strategy. Don’t try to force your way through it with sheer willpower alone. Sometimes, the best way to move forward is to step back, change the environment, and lower your expectations until the words begin to flow again.

Remember: You are a writer because you write, not because you never get stuck.

So, close this tab, take a breath, and write one sentence. Just one. That’s how the block ends.

…

Searching for locations: Driving in ice and snow, Canada

This morning started with a visit to the car rental place in Vancouver. It reinforced the notion that you can be given the address and still not find the place. It happened in Washington where it was hiding in the back of the main railway station, and it happened again in Vancouver when it was hidden inside a hotel.

We simply walked straight past it. Pity there wasn’t a sign to let people know.

However…

We went in expecting a Grand Jeep Cherokee and walked out with a Ford Flex, suitable for three people and four large suitcases. It actually seats 7, but forget the baggage, you’d be lucky to get two large suitcases in that configuration.

It is more than adequate for our requirements.

Things to note, it was delivered with just over a quarter of a tank of gas, and it had only done about 11,000 km, so it’s relatively new. It’s reasonably spacious, and when the extra seats are folded down, there is plenty of baggage space.

So far, so good.

We finally leave the hotel at about half-past ten, and it is raining. It is a simple task to get on Highway 1, the TransCanada Highway, initially, and then onto Highway 5, the Coquihalla Highway for the trip to Kamloops.

It rains all the way to the top of the mountain, progress hampered from time to time by water sprays from both vehicles and trucks. The rain is relentless. At the top of the mountain, the rain turns into snow and the road surface to slush. It’s 0 degrees, but being the afternoon, I was not expecting it to turn to ice very quickly.

On the other side of the mountain, closer to Kamloops, there was sleet, then rain, then nothing, the last 100kms or so, in reasonably dry conditions.

Outside Kamloops, and in the town itself, there was evidence of snow recently cleared, and slushy roads. Cars in various places were covered in snow, indicating the most recent falls had been the night before.

We’re staying at the Park Hotel, a heritage building, apparently built in the later 1920s. In the style of the time, it is a little like a rabbit warren with passages turning off in a number of directions, and showing it is spread across a number of different buildings.

It has the original Otis elevator that can take a maximum of four passengers, and a sign on the wall that says “no horseplay inside the elevator” which is a rather interesting expression that only someone of my vintage would understand. And, for those without a sense of humor, you definitely couldn’t fit a horse in it to play with.

The thing is, how do you find a balance between keeping the old world charm with modern-day expectations. You can’t. Some hotels try valiantly to get that balance. Here, it is simply old world charm, which I guess we should be grateful for because sooner rather than later it’s going to disappear forever.

In my writer’s mind, given the importance of the railways, this was probably a thriving place for travelers, and once upon a time, there were a lot more hotels like this one.

In a word: Drink

Everyone loves a drink, and that interesting expression, ‘what’s your poison’ often resonates at a bar when among friends.

The thing is, we are supposed to know what our friends drink, me, for instance, I like beer, preferably in a bottle and not local mass-produced brew if I can avoid it.

But, some like white wine, no preference to type, some like cocktails like a Manhattan, or a Long Island Iced Tea, very dangerous if made correctly which quite often it isn’t, or champagne, the real thing not just leftover wine carbonated and given a name like ‘sparkling …’ something.

Every now and then we need to have more than one drink, and that desire is fuelled by our emotions. A celebration, it’s two or three, just enough to allow the euphoria to seep in. A tragedy of any sort means more than a few, usually prefixed with a statement like, ‘I need to get hammered’, but not literally.

Perhaps that’s why it’s called drowning our sorrows.

Of course, there are other meanings for the word ‘drink’ and often poets, and romance novelists will refer to a phrase such as ‘drink in…’ where it may refer to a loving gaze or a look of adulation. You could also, at a stretch, drink in the sight of a magnificent landscape.

Then, at the end of that drinking session, good or bad, where you may have had the opportunity to drink in looks or locations, you might, if you didn’t play your cards right, get thrown in the drink.

Not in the glass, that’s a bit small, but it means a much larger body of water such as a pool, a lake, or the ocean.

And lastly, but probably not the only context for the word ‘drink’, it could be said you were ‘driven to drink’, and I don’t mean by another drinker to the hotel, bar, restaurant or party.

Driven to drink means you blame someone else for your recently acquired desire to drink as much as you can so that it blots out something or someone.

I’m officially blaming my dog for my drinking problem. He drove me to drink.

And that’s all I have to say about it.

Pour me another drink, will you?

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.

Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.

They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?

When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.

When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.

Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

Find the Kindle version on Amazon here: http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

Searching for locations: Vancouver to Kamloops, Canada

We simply walked straight past it. Pity there wasn’t a sign to let people know.

However…

It is more than adequate for our requirements.

So far, so good.

We finally leave the hotel about half-past ten, and it is raining. It is a simple task to get on Highway 1, the TransCanada Highway, initially, and then onto Highway 5, the Coquihalla Highway, for the trip to Kamloops.

It rains all the way to the top of the mountain, progress hampered from time to time by water sprays from both vehicles and trucks. The rain is relentless. At the top of the mountain, the rain turns into snow and the road surface becomes slush. It’s 0 degrees, but being the afternoon, I was not expecting it to turn to ice very quickly.

On the other side of the mountain, closer to Kamloops, there was sleet, then rain, then nothing, the last 100kms or so, in reasonably dry conditions.

We’re staying at the Park Hotel, a heritage building, apparently built in the late 1920s. In the style of the time, it is a little like a rabbit warren with passages turning off in several directions, and showing it is spread across a number of different buildings.

It has the original Otis elevator that can take a maximum of four passengers, and a sign on the wall that says “no horseplay inside the elevator” which is a rather interesting expression that only someone of my vintage would understand. And, for those without a sense of humour, you definitely couldn’t fit a horse in it to play with.

The thing is, how do you find a balance between keeping the old world charm with modern day expectations? You can’t. Some hotels try valiantly to get that balance. Here, it is simply old-world charm, which I guess we should be grateful for because sooner rather than later, it’s going to disappear forever.

In my writer’s mind, given the importance of the railways, this was probably a thriving place for travellers, and once upon a time, there were a lot more hotels like this one.

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continued on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think, is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much of an idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years. Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mould of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Philip Marlowe, but he’s not.

But I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modelled Harry and his office on it. Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life. I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister. And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brothers’ Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then it went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and I am at the editor for the last reading.

I have high hopes of publishing it in mid-2026. It even has a cover.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 141

Day 141 – Writer’s block

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The Blank Page Blues: Understanding the Real Effects of Writer’s Block (And How to Beat It)