This book has also been written for some time, like The Document, and the manuscript was also sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.
And so it begins…
…
It’s the end of the first week
Is it plain sailing? No.
We’ve circled back to Chapter 9 and it is problematical. I read it, and I don’t like it.
So, I went to one of my beta readers, gave her a copy, and asked for an opinion. I knew that fishing with crocodiles was going to be more fun, but I couldn’t afford to go to Florida.
Two days later I got a three-page critique.
She could have sugar-coated it. You know, yes it suits the flow but there are a few tweaks required, not the last paragraph in capitals saying, IT NEEDS REWRITING.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
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 realizes 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.
Time now to bring in the police and this is in the form of Chief Inspector Gator, an odd sort of man who fits the mold of those ubiquitous policemen who don’t look like policemen but have a very sharp mind.
I guess watching too many Columbo episodes has had an effect on me.
…
The police officer who came to interview Aitchison arrived as I was leaving. He nodded at me and announced himself as Chief Inspector Gator as I closed the door behind him. My only thought of him was that he didn’t look like a policeman, and didn’t give him another thought.
Merrilyn’s expression had transformed into one of dismay, like the moment the sun went behind a cloud, and no doubt the result of learning Richardson’s fate.
“Shocking news isn’t it?” she said.
“Not good for the company. Who found him?”
“One of the building security guards doing his rounds. He literally fell over him, or so I heard. There was a blackout or power failure and the lights failed to go back on. We have been advised it was something to do with a circuit breaker.”
“So there was power everywhere, except that floor?”
“I don’t know. But news has also just come through advising there was a burglary attempt in the basement computer storeroom. No one can tell if any equipment has been stolen yet. I’m sure you will be informed about it soon.”
“Another excuse for Benton to pester me,” I sighed. “Security must have had a rough night last night.”
“That, and pleading that they are understaffed. Mr. Aitchison thinks they are trying to use that as an excuse to draw attention away from their lack of responsibility.” She looked at me with a serious expression, and lowered her voice, “I have to organize an emergency board meeting, and to be honest, I don’t know where to start. On top of everything, Mr. Halligan is also dead, in tragic circumstances. I could not imagine dying at home, alone.”
“It’s a terrible business. By the way, I didn’t get that promotion. You were right. There’s a very long list ahead of me. Until I am summoned again, try not to let it upset you.”
She tried to smile, but her heart was not in it.
When I stepped into the elevator and reached for the 18th-floor button, I realized I had acquired a case of the shakes. Aitchison’s fear was infections, and perhaps I should have had a drink before I left his office.
As the doors closed, I felt a shiver go down my spine as a thought came into my head, the ramifications of which had many possibilities. In the greater scheme of things, it would not have registered, not until now.
There was an instance when this new, or other, network could have been installed.
Some months ago we had the telephone system re-engineered to move away from the conventional land-based systems offered by the major Telcos and moved to VOIP, a less expensive option. These new desktop phones, though looking exactly like those they replaced, used the network connection to run.
I had not been asked to supervise their installation, which had been done by a team of experts from the United States, flown out especially to do the work, and at the time, the whole building had been closed off for the entire weekend in order to carry it out. I came in, just to make sure nothing on our network system had been compromised, but it would have been a perfect opportunity to lay down the foundations of another system.
Whether it was the case or not, the installation crew had given me full access to look over their work, and I’d not seen any indications of anything other than the installation of the telephones. Of course, I was not looking for anything else, and it was possible they could install almost anything, and I would be none the wiser, simply because I was not a wiring expert. Even if I looked now, I was not sure what I’d be looking for.
And then there was the ongoing office refurbishment, where whole floors were being evacuated, gutted, and rebuilt. It had recently been our turn, but our renovation had one minor difference. The refurbishment had worked around the server room. It could not be moved or taken offline.
But during the renovation our movements to that floor and the server room had been restricted, and, at times, we had not been allowed near it.
Planned, coincidental, or something else.
Now away from Aitchison, I was able to think more rationally and consider the points he made.
It was common knowledge Halligan had a bad heart and scheduled to have surgery soon. His death would not surprise some considering his workload and stress factor, and it was understandable he could have died of a heart attack. The fact it had occurred now was probably the only reason why it appeared suspicious.
The question was, did Aitchison know more about Halligan than he was letting on?
The elevator arrived on my floor, and I sent those thoughts to the back of my mind. I’d worry about them later.
I’m working on the latest book and it is not going well. I don’t have writer’s block, I think it is more a case of self-doubt. It’s why I can’t concentrate.
It’s why I’m thinking about the next story and not staying on track. And that pesky outline, or synopsis, or whatever it wants to be called has gone missing under a pile of paper.
Next resolution, clean up this goddam mess!
This leads me to be over critical of what I have written and much pressing of the delete key. Only to realize that an action taken in haste can be regrettable, and makes me feel even more depressed when I realize the deletions are irrecoverable.
Damn. Whatever happened to ‘undo’?
I think I’d be happier in a garret somewhere channeling van Gogh’s rage.
Lesson learned – don’t delete, save it to a text file so it can be retrieved when sanity returns.
If it returns…
I was not happy with the previous start. Funny about that, because until a few weeks ago I thought the start was perfect.
What a difference a week makes or is that politics?
Perhaps I should consider adding some political satire.
But I digress…
It seems it’s been like that for a few weeks now, not being able to stick to the job in hand, doing anything but what I’m supposed to be doing. I recognize the restlessness, I’m not happy with the story as it is, so rather than getting on with it, I find myself writing words just for the sake of writing words.
Any words are better than none, right?
So I rewrote the start, added about a hundred pages and now I have to do a mass of rewriting of what was basically the whole book.
But here’s the thing.
This morning I woke up and looked at the new start, and it has inspired me.
Perhaps all I needed was several weeks of teeth gnashing, and self doubt to get myself back on track.
The view in the front of me, and everyone else, didn’t change. I didn’t expect it to. It was dark and sometimes eerie out in space, and like us, eventually, hurtling towards the unknown.
But, that was yesterday.
That all changed a little over an hour ago when we made the first contact with another race. Admittedly it was not the ideal way to start a new relationship, but it was a start.
I had no doubt the diplomatic team was hard at work coming up with ideas on how we were going to approach these new people.
But in the meantime, we were, quite literary, hurtling through space faster than any human’s had before.
The chief 3ngineer was right when he said the problems were fixed, and the main drive was online and ready to go.
At first, it seemed like nothing had happened when Mr. Saville pressed the button. Then, gradually, the speed indicator moved, from 3.5 to 5, then to 7, and finally, 9. Nearly three times faster than anyone before.
Which brought a new set of issues. We would be arriving at the two ships, apparently waiting for us, a lot quicker than the original estimate of 7 hours.
It was now down to about 45 minutes, and we were going to need a plan of action.
There was a platoon of special soldiers on board, an odd addition to what was supposed to be peaceful exploration, but their inclusion was non-negotiable. I knew the previous captain was not very happy with them being on board, and the one conversation between the captain and their leader was quite acrimonious.
I hoped to improve relations and stepped off the bridge to go visit the commander.
They had a separate section of the ship, where they had quarters, training, and planning facilities. The commander, Lieutenant Colonel Baxter, had an office, and his 2ic met me at the elevator and escorted me to it.
“Not the best was to become captain of a ship,” he said.
“If I had a preference, no. I assume the Admiral had spoken to you.”
The Admiral seemed to have spoken to everyone, perhaps to ensure that I would get the support I needed. Captains were generally a lot older than I was and commanded respect through years of service and experience.
Though I didn’t lack years of service, I did lack experience in running a ship like the one I was now on. But, I told myself, I would not have been made number one if I didn’t merit it.
“We’re going after the people who took the captain and one of our scientists, yes. I see we’re about a half-hour before we encounter two alleged sentry ships.”
“Possibly. But you will need to supply a four-man team in case we have to go off ship, for security purposes only.”
“And if diplomacy doesn’t work.”
His shoot first and ask questions later policy was not going to go down well, it certainly didn’t with the previous captain, and it wouldn’t with me either.
“I’m sure we all know what that will mean when the time comes. The official book on this vessel doesn’t mention anything about armaments, but if I know anything about the military, I’m sure there are defensive weapons installed. I know you told the captain that there were none to your knowledge but we both know this ship would have never left the dock without some form of defenses.”
I could read between the lines. I had a lot of spare time on those interminable cargo runs and read a great deal about the space program, and the hopes and aspirations of a lot of countries in exploring, but not with the means to do it on their own.
Where sport was once the means to unite the world, now it was space, and I had wanted to be a part of it.
In all that reading, it was the obscure references that told the real story. Nothing could get off the grounds without military cooperation, and to get that, some concessions had to be made.
Like Baxter and his men. And for the installation of a host of new weapons, specifically for space. A little further reading showed the advances made in adapting laser technology, and I suspect this ship had a few, as well as other weapons. I hadn’t seen any ray guns, but there were prototypes, and they’d been around for several years.
“I couldn’t say, even if I wanted to. You know how it is.”
“Well, let’s hope your desire for secrecy doesn’t imperil the mission because if it does, you’ll be the first visitor in the brig.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No. That’s just a fact. Now, once more, is there anything you need to tell me, that will be useful in any negotiation with the two ships we were about to encounter.”
He looked at me with what I would have guessed was contempt, but that was how he viewed everyone. There was no doubting his capability, his service record, or his loyalty. But space was different to anything else he’d encountered.
“If they give you any trouble, you let me know. That spare console on the bridge, it controls the ship’s defenses.”
I was smart enough not to ask what those defenses were. We’d all find out soon enough if it came to that.
“Then you’d better send someone up. We might need him.”
“Her actually. Gunnery Sargent Walker.”
Going back up in the elevator I looked at my hands and they were shaking. The first day out, and I was all but ready to go to war.
Not expected, not wanted, but sadly a fact.
When I stepped onto the bridge, the viewing screen showed the two ships, very close, and very detailed.
The second officer was saying, “We arrived early, and if I may ask, why didn’t we just go around them?”
“I’m curious about what they might have to say.”
“And if they shoot at us?”
“I’m sure Baxter will have something to say about that. Is the spare console manned?”
“Yes. By a Gunnery Sargent, part of the military team on board.”
“Good. Now let’s see if we can strike up a conversation.”
This book has also been written for some time, like The Document, and the manuscript was also sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.
And so it begins…
…
At last, the story is coming together.
…
The first seven chapters, with the necessary revisions and additions to provide stepping stones for later events, have been amended.
The next chapter has been slightly revised.
Chapter 9 is still under construction and can be written later. The information on the characters in this chapter will be drawn upon for later events, and it doesn’t have to happen straight away.
Chapter 10 is now done and has tied up several loose ends.
I have now been able to sit down and do the forward plan for at least three more chapters, and I know what will happen next.
Stay tuned, anything can happen between now and the next report!
I’m sure a lot of people have considered the prospect of whale watching. I’m not sure how the subject came up on one of our visits to New Zealand, but I suspect it was one of those tourist activity leaflets you find in the foyer of motels, hotels, and guesthouses.
Needless to say, it was only a short detour to go to Kaikoura and check out the prospect.
Yes, the ocean at the time seemed manageable. My wife has a bad time with sea sickness, but she was prepared to make the trip, after some necessary preparations. Seasickness tablets and special bands to wear on her wrist were recommended and used.
The boat was large and had two decks, and mostly enclosed. There were a lot of people on board, and we sat inside for the beginning of the voyage. The sea wasn’t rough, but there was about a meter and a half swell, easily managed by the boat while it was moving.
It took about a half hour or so to reach the spot where the boat stopped and a member of the crew used a listening device to see if there were any whales.
That led to the first wave of sickness.
We stopped for about ten minutes, and the boat moved up and down on the waves. It was enough to start the queasy stomachs of a number of passengers. Myself, it was a matter of going out on deck and taking in the sea air. Fortunately, I don’t get seasick.
Another longish journey to the next prospective site settled a number of the queasy stomachs, but when we stopped again, the swell had increased, along with the boat’s motion. Seasick bags were made available for the few that had succumbed.
By the time we reached the site where there was a whale, over half the passengers had been sick, and I was hoping they had enough seasick bags, and then enough bin space for them.
The whale, of course, put on a show for us, and those that could went out on deck to get their photos.
By the end of the voyage, nearly everyone on board was sick, and I was helping to hand out seasick bags.
Despite the anti sickness preparations, my wife had also succumbed. When we returned and she was asked if the device had worked, she said no.
But perhaps it had because within half an hour we were at a cafe eating lunch, fish and chips of course.
This activity has been crossed off the bucket list, and there’s no more whale watching in our traveling future. Nor, it seems, will we be going of ocean liners.
Perhaps a cruise down the Rhine might be on the cards. I don’t think that river, wide as it is in places, will ever have any sort of swell.
Today I decided to take some time out and read a few blogs, to see what the rest of the world is doing leading up to CampNaNoWriMo, and sometimes read some news that’s usually a few days old, not that I’m complaining.
And still working on the James Bondish piece that set my mind on fire. Last I heard, he has almost completed a successful, almost suicide, mission. There’s just a small matter of a rebel helicopter with air-to-air missiles trying to shoot down the escape plane.
I try to keep away from the news if it’s possible, but it comes at you from everywhere. My browser somehow decided to allow notifications and every few minutes a little popout slides out from the bottom right corner and tells me what’s gone wrong.
Never any good news by the way.
And yes, I have Windows 10, but I can’t be bothered reading the manual to find out how to stop them. Maybe, subconsciously, I don’t.
I never thought one man could generate so many headlines. We had one, given the nickname, the human headline, but Trump, he is in a class of his own.
I used to like watching him on The Apprentice, believe it or not.
But again I digress…
I saw the word selfish popup in a number of posts, and it reminded me that, at times writers have to be. There are only so many hours in a day, and after emails, blogs, reading, news, life, there’s very little time left to write.
So, we need to be selfish at those times. I am because when I sit down to write, there shouldn’t be any distractions. As a writer, I’m not seeking popularity, maybe one day that will come, but I’m in this writing thing because I have stories to tell and I want to get them down. Nobody may ever read them, I may never rise above mediocrity, but I am doing something I love, and very few of us out there can say that unequivocally.
Most of us have a day job or something else that consumes a great deal of our time.
Oh to be a successful author like James Patterson? But how does he do it? I guess it comes down to hard work, and a little bit of luck.
And maybe, one day, if I work hard enough, some of it might come my way.
