Category: Books

“Uncanny good luck shines upon me…” – a short story

I never did take advice very seriously.  Especially when they were issued by old man Taggard, a man of some mystery that we all, adults and children alike wanted to know about.

Everyone in the street knew him as he had lived in the almost derelict mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac forever, way longer than anyone else in the neighbourhood had.  In fact, it was rumoured he had owned all the land around and sold it off bit by bit over time, the reason why there were so many houses of varying age in the estate.

Ours was one of the older houses, a few doors up from it.  We were close enough to observe Taggard’s habit, like sitting on the porch on an old swing chair in the afternoons, to the late-night wanderings in the street.  Some said he was accompanied by the ghost of his long-dead wife, which led to stories being told of the house he lived in being haunted.

As children, we had been brought up on a diet of TV shows such as ‘The Munsters’ and ‘The Addams Family’, and had invented our own make-believe show called ‘The Taggard Mansion’, the house with ghosts, and the neighborhood center for strange goings-on.

And as children were wont to do, we had to ‘investigate’.

There was a ‘gang’ even though we didn’t refer to it as such, about seven of us who lived in nearby houses, and all of whom had very active imaginations.  We also met in the cubby house out the back of our house to plan forays to find out whether the rumours were true.  The thing is we never got very far as he seemed to know when we were sneaking in and scared us off, so for years, the rumours remained just that, rumours.

But as grown-ups, and by that I mean, middle teens, our plans became bolder and more sophisticated, based on a whole new breed of TV shows, where the seemingly impossible was no longer that.  And Andy Boswell, my older brother’s best friend, his father was a private detective, or so he told us, and he had managed to ‘secure’ some of his father’s tools of the trade; a camera on the end of a wire that could connect to a cell phone, a listening device that could hear through walls, and in-ear communicators.  We could now, if we were close enough, see under doors, and hear if anyone was in.  We could all keep in touch, though I couldn’t see how this would help.

But a plan was formulated.  All seven of us had a role to play.  My brother Ron and Delilah, his girlfriend, were taking point, whatever that meant, Andy and I were going to take point, while Jack, Jill, and Kim were going to run distraction.  The theory was, they’d make enough noise to keep the old man occupied chasing them.  No one had been inside the house, ever.  Andy and I were going to be the first.

Andy had drawn up a plan and it was up on the wall.  He had charted the house, and had a very accurate picture of the house’s footprint, where doors and windows were, likely entrance points, including a hatchway down into what he assumed was a basement, though he preferred to call it the dungeon, and a layout of the grounds.  Apparently under the undergrowth were paths and gardens, even a large fountain that once graced the grounds of the three-story mansion made of sandstone, and built sometime during the middle of the 1800s.

Andy had done some research, mostly from old newspapers, and also discovered that the old man had once been married, they had a half dozen children, three of whom had died, the others scattered around the world.  It explained why no one ever visited the place.

The distraction team would be going in through the front gate, easy enough because it had come off its hinges and just needed a shove to open.  The old man usually emerged from the house via the driveway, or what was once a drive where cars could enter one side of the property, stop under a huge canopy, and emerge onto the road further along.  But it’s overgrown stare, the width of the pathway was now about six feet.  The fact it was once an amazing feature was the roadside lights, now all but disappearing behind the undergrowth.

Andy had found a photograph in the paper of it, and it had looked magnificent, as had the gardens, the overhanging canopy, and all the lights.  To think such magnificence was now lost.  And having seen it for what it once was, it was not hard to imagine any number of scenarios, my favourite, rescuing a damsel in distress from the tower.  Yes, it even had a tower, two, in fact, at each end of the house.  My brother always said I had an overactive imagination.

Andy and I would be going in by the less-used car exit, and heading for the left side of the building where Andy said were several floor-to-ceiling windows that looked to him like French doors.  Of course, none of us knew what French doors were, and my brother cut Andy short when he tried to explain.

Failing that, there was a door at the rear that seemed to be open, and we’d try that next.  We would get into position, advise the distraction team, and the operation would be a go.  The only debate was about what time of the day were we going to do it.  My brother preferred late in the afternoon.  Andy said it was better at dawn, or soon after if we were looking for maximum confusion about the target.

Dawn, confusion, tactics, target, Andy was in his element.  He was going to be a spy when he grew up.  My brother said he would never grow up, but then, my brother said I was a dreamer and would never amount to anything.  We ignored his advice, well, we pretty much ignored everything he said.

We were going in at dawn.

At 5 a.m. on Saturday morning, we gathered at the cubby house ready for action.  We all took a communicator and put it in our ears, and then had fun saying stupid stuff, and hearing it through the earpieces.  It was weird but added an exciting element to the adventure.  I know my heart was beating faster in anticipation.  Andy was pretending to be cool and failing.  I suspected my brother and Delilah had other plans when we left them alone in the cubby house.  The distraction team was ready to go.

Shortly after the sun came up, it was cool and the air still.  It was going to be a hot day, and in that first hour, everything was almost perfect.  It seemed a waste to do anything but let the early morning serenity settle over us.  Not today.  Andy and I went to our position, slowly feeling our way through the bushes, taking bearings from the light poles, and every now and then seeing the guttering and what looked to be a concrete path.  Beyond that was once a garden, and I tried, more than once, to imagine what it was like.

In my ear I could hear the others in the distraction team setting up at the start of the driveway, ready to go.  We reached our position, about twenty feet from the so-called French windows, the view into the house blocked by curtains, but beyond that, what we could see was darkness inside the house.  Taking in the whole side of the house, there were no lights on behind any of the windows.  If we didn’t know better, we could have assumed the house was empty.

I heard Andy say, “Ready.  Start making noise.”

A minute later we could both hear the distraction team in the distance and through the communicators.  It took two minutes before we heard the old man, yelling, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  Their job done, getting him out of the house, all they had to do was retreat.

Time for Andy and I to go.

Working on the basis that no one else was at the house, and the fact we had no evidence there was, we were not overly worried about making a stealthy approach.  I could hear in my earpiece, the gasping of those in the distraction team, having just made it outside the gate, and to tell us the old man had stopped them at the gate.  I doubt he had been running, but his yelling was just as effective.

That had stopped, and a sort of silence fell over the area.

We were now at the French doors, and Andy produced another tool that he’d forgotten to tell us about, a lock pick.  The fact it didn’t take long to unlock the door told me he was either very talented, or the lock was old and presented no problems.  Either way, he opened the door and ushered me in.

I brushed the curtains aside for him to follow, then moved in as he followed, closing the door behind him.

I’d taken five steps before I heard a woman’s voice say.  “Uncanny good luck shines upon me.  My knights in shining armour.  You’ve come to rescue me, no?”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

It’s all about how you are going to ‘sell’ your book

There’s the cover, and, of course, the description.

Probably one of the hardest things for a first-time author is not so much the writing but what is needed after the book is written.

You need a good description.  Short, sharp, incisive!

There’s a ream of advice out there, and I have read it all.

And, still, I got it wrong.

Then there is the cover.

I wanted simplistic, a short description to give the reader a taste of what’s in store, and let the story speak for itself.

No.

Apparently, a good cover will attract the reader to the book.

When I tendered my books on various sites to advertise them, sites such as Goodreads, and ThirdScribe, all was well with what I had done.

Then I submitted my books to a third site and they rejected the covers as too simplistic and the descriptions mundane, and wouldn’t post them.

Wow.

There’s a huge blow to the ego.  And just the sort of advice that would make a writer think twice about even bothering to continue.

But…

Perhaps the person who wrote that critique was being cruel to be kind.

At any rate, I am changing the covers, and rewording the descriptions.

Will it be a case of ‘what a difference a cover makes’?

This, in one case, is the old cover,

And this is the new.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 49

A matter of diplomacy

…

I had to wonder, in that brief moment standing there, how I had come from a contented life plying space in a nomadic cargo vessel, to this, in charge of over 2000 crew, on a spaceship the size of a small town, on a mission to find new life out beyond the known edge of space.

And succeeding beyond all expectations without the loss of a single life, or perhaps that wasn’t quite true, the previous captain had become a casualty in exceptional circumstances.

I looked over at the head of Diplomacy.  “Have you given any thought to my suggestion?”

After coming back from the alien vessel, I had immediately gone to the head of the Diplomatic mission and told him to pick a team to go down to the alien planet, telling him that we had been given permission to learn about their culture and others in their galaxy.

There had been no shortage of volunteers, and they had left not much more than an hour after I arrived back on board.  It was an opportunity not to be missed.

The other matter was about leaving some people there until we came back, or the next earth vessel arrived.  It was not what had been considered back on earth before the mission left, but to me it had some merit, perhaps setting up what might be a galactic embassy smoothing the way for other vessels like ours.

A sea of expectant faces, only one asked the question on everyone’s mind, giving my diplomatic chief a little more time to come up with an answer.

“Who are they, and are they like us?”  The fourth officer had finally appeared from his room in engineering where his interest lay, but from a practical standpoint, was there in case the bridge was lost.

“No.  And yes.  They are consciousness in an artificial body that looks like us, but I imagine it would take the form of any being they came in contact with.  I suspect they have evolved beyond the need for a body that wears out over time, which it seems is our problem, and we are only at the threshold of robotics as replacement parts, even bodies.  I don’t know the whole story, but that’s one for the medical people.  But…”

I turned back to my diplomatic expert, “we are going to have to talk to these people and not only that, we need to understand them and their customs before more of us blunder into their territory and do everything wrong.  You have permission to send two representatives to the planet to talk to their scribes, which I believe are most likely historians.  They are going to tell us about the peoples of this galaxy and perhaps beyond.  It will at least give us something to work with before as they rightly put it blunder our way into possible diplomatic nightmares.”

“Do you think they’d let us set up a diplomatic outpost?”

“You could work on a proposal, but for now we have about six days or so to get as much information as we can.  Anything else is your department, and for you to decide.  I understand there are some in your department who signed on in the hope they might get to stay in a new world, but, again, you will have to make a threat assessment based on all of the contacts so far.  I have endured all of the recordings of our encounters are available.”

“How long have I got?”

“Until we reach the Princesses home planet in about three days’ time.”

Not a lot of time to review and assess given most of the encounters were hostile.  But an arrangement with these people would be considered advantageous as a first stop on the way to other galaxies.  And I had no doubt they had a vast store of knowledge of other alien life forms which would be invaluable.

“How did we get stuck with taking the Princess home, and how do we know they will want her back?  We don’t know the precise circumstances of how she got there in the first place.”

The second officer was not backwards in voicing concerns.  He was the ship’s resident Mr doom and gloom.  But for all that, his was a view that could be used as a counterbalance when making a decision.

“A good question and one I intend to get answers to right after we finish here.”

That left general business on the table, departmental reports, crew statuses, and the all-important ship systems.

Good to know the crew was reasonably happy, all performing their duties through the various crises, and systems had only minor failed that the skeleton shipbuilders crew were able to fix, one way or another.

Best of all, the chief engineer was happy, so far.

An hour later, it was time to visit the Princess.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 6

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

The first section or part is done. I think.

I had intended it to be longer, but as it pans out what follows belongs to the second part, and I have begun working on this.

There are 8 chapters so far in Part One.

This may change depending on what happens in the second part.

Of course, there are moments while I’m working on this part, and checking the plan, I can see a fork in the road coming up. It feels quirky, but then I just dropped a huge plot twist and will play this out and see what happens.

At the same time, after completing my day’s quota, I have to resist the urge to write more, but that’s just a fear in the back of my mind that I might run out of words and be staring at a blank page tomorrow.

So, looking at the plan, the third section looks like it will need a rework, and I’m playing around with several angles that might be pursued.

I think it’s time to stop overthinking it.

Searching for locations: Lake Louise, Canada

I was not sure what I was expecting to see when we first arrived at the Fairmont Hotel at Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada.

I’d seen endless photographs both in Winter and in Summer, and the problem with photos is that they never quite prepare you for reality.

That’s not to say that our first impression was of incredible scenery, it was of the front door if it could be called that, where we pulled up in the car, and then, if the sub-zero temperatures, a mad rush to get the baggage out, and get into the warmth of the foyer, which was almost the size of several football fields, and then some.

Check-in was quick and easy, and then to our room on the first floor.  I had hoped to be higher up but, being a corner room, when we got there, the views could not be more majestic.

I could not believe there were people who were willing to take a sleigh ride in the minus degree temperatures.  Don’t let the sunny aspect fool you, it’s freezing cold, literally, outside.

The lake had frozen over, and a closer look showed there was a skating rink an ice castle, and a hockey rink as well.  People were skating, and walking over the frozen surface of the lake.

No skating, or walking, on thin ice here.

Venturing outside into the cold, you have to be rugged up, and definitely, have both a hat and gloves.  It was minus six degrees.

There’s this amazing hotel, just like you would see in the movies

A frozen lake where you’re half expecting to open up and a huge spaceship, or something else, come out

Mountainsides to climb, but only if you are stark staring mad.  And, of course, if you don’t freeze to death before you get there.

Our room, believe it or not, is on the extreme right-hand side, just above the first roofline.

Tomorrow we will venture further out onto the lake.

Tonight, it’s dinner in the main restaurant.

This is beginning to sound a lot like…

It’s odd how art sometimes imitates life, but it’s much, much worse when life imitates art.

I mean, in a sense, it’s good that life imitates Star Trek because we need lasers to ward off unfriendly aliens when they finally arrive, as well as having intergalactic warp-speed vessels.

But it’s very, very bad when a contagion pops up, and the scenario that follows is right out of the script for the movie Contagion.

Or Outbreak, not that any President would ever nuke a US City, which was the premise in that film.

Or follow along the lines of The Omega Man, where a virus turns everyone into a zombie-like creature, with the last surviving human finally running out of luck.

There’s been quite a few doomsday scenario films, the most interesting one involving walking plants (The Day of the Triffids) but scary as they might be, what’s happening now is equally scary.

And the thing is, with the benefit of hindsight, the COVID pandemic was predicted, so it seems sci-fi writers, and screenwriters knew long before us what was going to happen.

So, what’s the next thing sci-fi writers have in store for us?

Time travel?

It’s been getting a lot of reports, and photographs of people in the 1930s or 1940’s supposedly with mobile phones in their hands.

Were they just ‘visiting’ or were they there to change the course of history.  It doesn’t seem like there have been any changes so maybe it’s just about interpretation.

How about travelling through portals, one minute you’re in Sydney, and the next you’re in New York, on the other side of the planet.  That would be good, but then we’d be upsetting the plane manufacturers, so if there was such technology, wouldn’t they buy it and shelve it?

It’s what the oil people did every time someone invented a car engine that ran on water.

What else is there that people with vested interests have shelved – a cure for cancer maybe?

I guess that’s why we have science fiction, and how some authors’ ideas become reality.  I’m guessing somewhere in a laboratory there is a spaceship with a warp engine capable of travelling at the speed of light.

And there might be colonies of humans living on the moon, or on Mars – we just don’t know about it yet.

Or that aliens from other worlds live on earth, or that a select group of people on earth have met people from other planets, not necessarily in this solar system, because we know there are livable planets out there.

But the thing is if they told us the truth, would we believe it?

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 17

A trip back home

…

“Should I draw any conclusion from you hiding in the bathroom?”

Cecilia was awake and sitting up when I came back into the room.

“Just needed to be away from any distractions.”

“Should I take it as a compliment you think me a distraction.”

“I meant it in a good way.  I’m glad you’re here, and I appreciate your perspective.  It means there’s a new plan.”

The bedside clock glowed at 4:15.  I climbed back into bed.  A plan formulated, it could wait a few hours to fill in the details.  “Get some sleep.  You’re going to need it.”

When I woke 4 hours later, Cecilia was gone and my phone was ringing.

“You’re in luck.”

Alfie.

It took a moment to register who it was, and what he was saying.

“How?”

“Rodby wants a meet, but we’ve been informed there’s going to be a raid on Larry’s girlfriend’s premises and they’re taking her in for questioning.  We’re arranging for you to visit.  You’ve got an hour to get to the airport.  I’m sending the details now.”

Rodby of old, summoning agents mid-mission, almost having to break cover, or upset the mission at a delicate point just so he could tell us something that very easily could be said over a secure line.

I had not missed him at all.

I got to the airport with ten minutes to spare, taking Cecilia with me to fill her in on the overall plan.  I told her to go off-grid until I returned.  Now she was in Juliet’s sights which meant Larry might target her, and even though she was quite able to look after herself, she didn’t need to take unnecessary risks.

The plane was not a commercial flight but a private jet Rodby had sent for me.  It was not subject to loading passengers or baggage both of which could go missing or be subject to late arrival of the incoming flight, or missing crew members on other such flights, all of which had happened to me many times in the past.

Urgency and commercial airlines didn’t seem to get along.

In these cases, it was simply a matter of getting on the plane, taking a seat and departing, all of which took a little more than 30 minutes.  Two and a half hours later I was on the ground at London City airport.

Rodby himself was there to greet me.

In the back of his ancient Rolls Royce, chauffeur-driven, of course, he smiled at me as he opened the door.  Beaumont was his name no first name just Beaumont.

He closed the door and then went back to the front of the car.  A few minutes of private conversation, even though I was sure he never listened.

“It is nice to see you again.  I’m surprised though you deigned to come considering your aversion to these meetings.”

“I’m not at a critical point in the mission, so why would I pass up a chance to fly in a Citation?  Send, for the record, I was hoping never to see you again.”

He smiled, well, maybe mother a smile but a smirk.  He once said I was the only one to tell him exactly what I thought and I corrected him the only one to say it to his face.

“If wishes were water.”

His favourite analogy though it took a while before I worked out what it mean.

“I’d need a boat.  Yes.  I know.  Now, why am I here, other than to see Denise.  Stupid question, if the police are aware of her activities, why did it take them so long to shake her down.”

“No concrete evidence.  As you are aware with these new lawyered-up criminals’ we have to be very precise when laying charges.  She’ll be very happy to learn her new best friend Larry has dropped her in it.”

“And I’m here to see her for?”

“Just to shake the trees and see what falls out.  She’s a tough cookie so you’re going to have to leave Mr nice guy at the door.”

Rodby never liked my interrogation style even though it got results.  I didn’t think he’d appreciate me saying I didn’t like violence which was to him an odd thing to say for one in this line of business.

I shrugged.  “I’ve made a note.  Anything else?”

“What are you intending to do now that Violetta has passed?”

“Not come back to rejoin your merry band of misfits.  I was thinking of living on an island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific ocean, one that doesn’t have an airstrip.”

“Well, if you change your mind, the door is always open.”

Conversation over, he waved to the chauffeur.  It was time to go.

© Charles Heath 2023

Searching for locations: Vancouver to Kamloops, 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 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.

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

 

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

 

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 6

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

The first section or part is done. I think.

I had intended it to be longer, but as it pans out what follows belongs to the second part, and I have begun working on this.

There are 8 chapters so far in Part One.

This may change depending on what happens in the second part.

Of course, there are moments while I’m working on this part, and checking the plan, I can see a fork in the road coming up. It feels quirky, but then I just dropped a huge plot twist and will play this out and see what happens.

At the same time, after completing my day’s quota, I have to resist the urge to write more, but that’s just a fear in the back of my mind that I might run out of words and be staring at a blank page tomorrow.

So, looking at the plan, the third section looks like it will need a rework, and I’m playing around with several angles that might be pursued.

I think it’s time to stop overthinking it.