John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly, he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
I really am leaving, really
…
A lot can happen in a week.
After leaving the mall carpark, we drove past a scene that could have been right out of a movie, it seemed that surreal. There were 6 police cars, lights flashing, and officers everywhere.
Cossatino was up against his car, with two officers standing over him. Both the sheriff and Charlene were not far away, and I had no doubt Charlene’s career was about to take a huge leap, bringing down members of both crime families.
His two bodyguards were on the ground, looking like they’d just gone ten rounds against the reigning heavyweight boxing champion.
Nadia didn’t slow down when passing, and unless he recognized the car, Cossatino would not have seen us, so dense was the tint she had on the car windows.
One of the other cars had both Alex and Vince in the rear, both looking very forlorn. At that moment in time, I felt like Boggs would get the justice he deserved, in a manner that didn’t require bloodshed, and had to admire the planning and forethought Nadia had put into the operation.
We didn’t go back to her hotel, she suspected the arrest of her father, brother and Alex would not go unnoticed, along with her part in it, despite Charlene assuring her she’d try to keep it under wraps. Instead, we headed out of town to a small motel that few knew about, and an owner who wouldn’t recognize her, or me.
The room was dingy, with a musty aroma that comes from lack of use, but the sheets were clean, the water in the bathroom hot, and the company perfect.
We didn’t speak, there was no need to, and in the end, everything was just perfect.
Of course, expecting the serenity to last was a forlorn hope.
It wasn’t just the thunderstorm that passed through around midnight, but more a sense of foreboding left hanging in the air.
We were woken, firstly by the rhythmic sound of light rain on the roof, which in a way was quite soothing, but then by the sound of the TV news, part of an early morning show that I had only seen a few times, and disliked because of the presenters.
This morning they sounded positively garish, one reporting, in a tone that might have been used to report an end-of-world event,
“This morning we are waking to the news that the two largest crime families in the county have been finally brought to justice.”
It was a tag team event.
“Yes, John. We are learning that the head of the Cossatino clan has been charged with conspiracy to murder and that his son Vincent, had been charged over the murder of a local boy, Anton Boggs.”
To the other presenter,
“Yes, Alice. We understand that the Boggs family hasa rather infamous connection to the search for Captain X, long believed to have stashed a large cache of his plunder somewhere along the coastline. This treasure hunt was first started in earnest by another local identity, X Ormiston, who, like the victim’s father, disappeared mysteriously, some years ago.”
Back again,
“We also understand that the son of a businessman and long believed to be involved in a number of suspect activities, none of which have been proved, I might add, Alexander Benderby, has also been arrested as an accomplice in the murder of Anton Boggs.”
There was a momentary break, just enough time to turn to the TV in our room. As the picture came on, “Just a moment,” the man held a hand to his ear, no doubt listening to someone updating the situation or reporting something more important.
Then, “we have breaking news, and we’re crossing to the Sheriff’s office where he’s about to make an announcement.”
The picture changed, coming live from outside the sheriff’s office, with a row of microphones and more standing in front, waiting.
“This is not looking good,” Nadia said.
I think she thought the same as I did, and exactly what I’d told Charlene a few days before, that money trumps justice.
“You think the sheriffs sold out and will recant the charges?”
“Given how much money both of them have funnelledone way or another his way, I wouldn’t be surprised. I honestly thought that Charlene was different “
“She means well, but you have to remember she is subject to the will of the sheriff first, and her father second, though those lines may be blurred at times. Had it been anyone else, justice would prevail.”
No time for any more discussion, the sheriff came out to address the media pack.
“At 5:45 am this morning, Vincent Cossatino was found deceased in his cell, along with a suicide note asking for absolution for his crimes.”
“Here it comes,” Nadia muttered.
“The note also stated that he alone was responsible for the death of Anton Boggs, that Alex Benderby had taken no part in it and therefore has been released from custody, innocent, and all charges dropped.”
Nadia turned off the TV. “There’s no way in hell Vincent committed suicide or wrote such a note. He was made the scapegoat so all the others could go free. Something had to be done about Vince, and this was Dad’s way of cleaning up the mess he left behind. Bastard.”
Deals were done, there was no doubt about it. I wondered what Charlene thought about it?
So did Nadia, who had her phone in her hand, and no doubt calling her.
If I were Charlene, I would not answer, but she did.
Nadia put it on speaker and put it between us. “What the fuck was that all about?”
“I was taken off the case for obvious reasons. Is Sam there?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You were right. A deal was done last night, but I had no idea what the outcome was until the same time you just heard. This isn’t justice.”
“Nor what we agreed,” Nadia said.
“And for that, I’m sorry, but I stupidly thought that the law was the law, but apparently it isn’t. I’m about to hand in my resignation, but that won’t change anything. Alex will get away with it, despite the confession. Apparently, the recording was damaged when it came to anything he said.”
“Alex might like to think he has, but justice has a way of catching up with the guilty.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Nadia. They’ll be expecting you to do something.”
“Yes, I guess so. Maybe Sam and I will just leave. This place no longer has anything to keep me here. I’m sure my father will get off with lesser charges, and seek to make my life hell for what he perceives as disloyalty.”
“Like I said, I was deliberately sidelined. There’s not a lot I can do, and even if I tried, I’m sure they’d do something about it and then ruin my chances of getting another job. I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” Nadia said, then disconnected the call.
She sat still for a minute, maybe more, before she looked at me. “How long will it take you to pack a bag?”
“Italy?”
“Anywhere but here. Unless you have a compelling reason to stay?”
I thought about it for all of a minute. There was nothing. If my mother were staying with Benderby, then she would be acquiring a new husbandand losing a son. There was no way I was going to be associated with the Benderby’s, and less so, a stepbrother to Alex.
“None that I can think of. I just have to go home and collect a few things.”
“You do have a passport, don’t you?”
Since I had never travelled out of the country, and never looked like I ever would, a few months ago, the answer to that question would have been an emphatic no. But my mother had floated the idea of going to England, where her ancestors came from, and, having mentioned a recent death of a relative I had not heard of before, decided that we might take the first step, and get passports, essential items if one wanted to travel.
The plan had not been mentioned again, not since getting the job in the warehouse, and the treasure hunt started with Boggs, but the passport had arrived a few days before we disappeared, and she left it on my bedside table.
I was not sure how I was hoping to pay for my airfare, but that was a bridge to cross later.
“I do, as a matter of fact, all shiny and new.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your place when you’re ready. Just send me a text.”
I can see how it is that a writer’s life can be a lonely one. That’s why, I guess, so many writers have an animal as a pet, someone to talk to, or just feel as though you are not alone in this quest.
I’m often sitting in front of the computer screen, or in a large lounge chair with my trusty tablet computer, writing the words, or staring into space!
Sometimes the words don’t make any sense, sometimes the thoughts leading to those words don’t make any sense.
Sometimes the most sensible person in the room is the cat.
I’m sure his thoughts are not vague or scrambled, or wrestling with the ploys of several stories on the go, getting locations right, getting characters to think and do their thing with a fair degree of continuity.
The cat’s world is one of which chair to lie on, where is that elusive mouse be it real or otherwise, and is this fool going to feed me, and please, please, don’t let it be the lasagna. I am not that cat!
Unlike other professions, there is no 9 to 5, no overtime, no point where you can switch off and move into leisure time. Not while you are writing that next masterpiece. It’s a steady sometimes frustrating slog where you can’t just walk away, have a great time, and come back and pick up where you left off.
Stories have to be written from beginning to end, not a bit here and a bit there.
It’s a bit like running a marathon. You are in a zone, the first few miles are the hardest, the middle is just getting the rhythm and breathing under control, and then you hope you get to the end because it can seem that you’ve been going forever and the end is never in sight.
But, when you reach the end, oh, isn’t the feeling one of pure joy and relief.
And, yes, perhaps you’ve just created another masterpiece!
I just spent a week away in one of our favourite places, in a cottage in the hills not far from the Gold Coast in Queensland.
The location is in a valley, at the bottom of which is a small creek. There is nothing but farming land in every direction, and it’s a place where you can luxuriate in the silence, when not being interrupted by the sounds of wildlife and farm animals.
The serenity is simply amazing.
You can use it as a base because everything you could want is no more than two hours in any direction, but for us, there is no reason to leave the cottage. We come for relaxation and to wind completely down, away from everything.
The good news is there’s no TV, and the internet and phone coverage are terrible at best, which means you need to find alternate ways of relaxing.
I can’t tell you how good it is not to be addicted to TV news, not to have the internet calling you via social media, and not have the phone ring once in four days. After you get past that first day of withdrawal symptoms are nearly as bad as coming down off drugs.
Except…
This time I had a mission, to take the time to finish off one of my books. The Enchanted Horse, a story I’ve been promising my grandchildren I’d finish for the last five years.
There just never seems to be time at home with all the distractions, you know those trappings of modern life, the phone, the internet, TV.
And, the good news is I managed to review, collate and generally structure the 700 odd pages I’d already written, and comprehensively outline the last few remaining chapters so I can finally finish the first draft.
The other job that became apparent about one-third of the way through, was that the story is too big for one book, and now it is three, each instalment about 300 pages long, and it gave me the opportunity to write bridging chapters, a sort of the story so far, which will also serve as synopsis I can send to prospective publishers.
All in all, huge progress was made.
Pity I could stay for a month. I have so much that needs doing without distraction
Hitting the Wall: How to Rescue a Book Series When You’ve Literally Lost the Plot
You had a vision. Book one launched with a bang. Book two built the world and deepened the character arcs. Book three delivered a satisfying, breathless climax that left readers clamouring for more.
And then came book four.
You’re halfway through the manuscript, and you’ve hit the ultimate writer’s nightmare: you have quite literally lost the plot. The pacing is dead, the characters are wandering around a narrative wasteland like confused tourists, and staring at a blank Word document makes you want to take up competitive knitting.
If your series was going gangbusters and has now slammed head-first into a brick wall, take a deep breath. You aren’t the first bestselling author to face the dreaded “middle-book slump,” and you certainly won’t be the last.
Here is your emergency guide on what happens when you hit the wall, both figuratively and literally—and how to fix it before your readers jump ship.
Phase 1: The Anatomy of the Collapse (The “Literally” Part)
First, let’s address the physical and mental reality of hitting the wall. Writing a sprawling series takes a massive cognitive toll. By book four, you are no longer just writing a story; you are managing a fictional ecosystem.
When you lose the plot literally, it usually looks like this:
The Spaghetti Plot: You’ve introduced too many subplots, and they are now tangled in a knot so tight even Alexander the Great would reach for a pair of scissors.
The Character Drift: Your protagonist is doing things purely because the plot requires them to, rather than making organic choices based on their growth.
The Middle-Book Swamp: You know where the book needs to end, and you know where it started, but the 40,000 words in the middle are a foggy morass of conversations in coffee shops and hallways that lead nowhere.
When your brain hits this wall, it’s waving a white flag. It’s telling you that your current blueprint is broken.
Phase 2: Stop Digging (The Power of Stepping Back)
The worst thing you can do when you’ve lost the plot is to force yourself to churn out 2,000 words a day of absolute nonsense just to hit a daily quota. That’s how you end up with a manuscript that requires a ruthless, tear-soaked page-one rewrite later.
1. Give Yourself Permission to Pause: Step away from the keyboard for 48 hours. Seriously. Go for a walk, read a book in a completely different genre, or binge a TV show. Let your subconscious untangle the wires without your conscious frustration getting in the way.
2. Conduct an Autopsy: Print out what you have so far—yes, actual paper. Grab a red pen and a highlighter. Read through the manuscript from chapter one of book four (or even the end of book three) to see where the train officially derailed. Ask yourself:
Where did the momentum stop?
Which character choice felt forced?
Did I introduce a shiny new plot element just to keep things moving, and did it actually ruin the pacing?
Phase 3: Rebuilding the Roadmap
Once you’ve identified the crash site, it’s time to rebuild. If you’re a “pantser” (someone who writes by the seat of their pants), congratulations: you have officially reached the limits of pure intuition. It’s time to borrow a few tools from the outliners.
Triage Strategy A: The “Back to Basics” Reset
Look back at the promise you made to your readers in books one through three. What is the core engine of this series?
Is it a romance where the tension has stalled?
Is it a mystery where the wrong clues are taking up too much oxygen?
Strip away the shiny subplots and refocus entirely on the main conflict.
Triage Strategy B: Up the Stakes (or Change the Cost)
Often, a plot stalls because the characters are safe and the conflict is abstract. Introduce a ticking clock. Force your protagonist into a corner where they have to make an impossible choice. If a scene doesn’t change the characters’ status quo or advance the central mystery/conflict, cut it.
Triage Strategy C: Bring in the Wrecking Ball
If the middle is truly unsalvageable, ask yourself the most dangerous question a writer can ask: What is the worst possible thing that could happen to my characters right now? Blow up a safehouse. Have a trusted ally betray them. Force them to abandon their current mission and pivot entirely. Sometimes, introducing a narrative earthquake is the only way to shake the plot back to life.
Phase 4: Crossing the Finish Line
Writing a long-running series is a marathon of endurance. The first three books benefited from the initial adrenaline rush of creation—the honeymoon phase of world-building and character introduction. Book four is where the real work begins.
Hitting the wall doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer; it means you’ve outgrown your current structure.
So, forgive yourself for the mess. Roll up your sleeves, grab your red pen, and go find your plot. Your readers are waiting on the other side of the wall, and they are rooting for you to break right through it.
One Day in Rome: Making the Most of the Colosseum Experience
Rome, a city where ancient history and vibrant culture collide, can feel overwhelming in a single day. With countless landmarks vying for your attention, how do you choose just one place to make your stopover truly memorable? The answer lies in the heart of the Eternal City—The Colosseum. This iconic monument is not just a structure; it’s a portal to the past, offering a day packed with history, architecture, and a touch of Roman magic. Here’s how to turn your one day into a timeless memory.
Why the Colosseum?
The Colosseum is Rome’s most enduring symbol of imperial grandeur. Built in 80 AD, this ancient amphitheatre once hosted gladiatorial battles, epic hunts, and spectacular spectacles. Visiting it is like stepping into a living museum of Roman engineering and ambition. Unlike sprawling sites like the Vatican, the Colosseum allows you to delve deep into a singular, monumental narrative. Plus, it’s centrally located, making it a gateway to other historic treasures.
Start Your Day with a Skip-the-Line Tour
Beat the crowds and start your adventure early. Booking a skip-the-line guided tour in advance (like the Colosseum, Roman Forum, and Palatine Hill combo ticket) ensures you maximise your time and access exclusive areas like the Gladiator Hypogeum, where you can imagine the chaos of the underground staging area before battles. Early mornings (before 9 AM) are ideal for fewer crowds and cooler temperatures.
Pro Tip: Opt for a VIP tour or evening tour for a more intimate experience. The Colosseum under a sunset or moonlit sky? Unforgettable.
Explore the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill
Adjacent to the Colosseum, the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill are a must. Once the political and social heart of Rome, the Forum’s ruins—from the Temple of Saturn to the Arch of Titus—tell stories of emperors, senators, and citizens. Palatine Hill, where emperors like Augustus and Nero lived, offers a glimpse into imperial opulence. Let your imagination wander as you walk through marble colonnades and crumbling temples.
Hidden Gem: After your guided tour, stroll outside the Colosseum’s walls to the Appian Way or Circo Massimo Park for a quieter moment. The Colosseum’s silhouette from a distance is a photo opportunity you won’t want to miss.
Break for Lunch Like a Local
Rome isn’t just about history—it’s also about food. After your ancient adventure, indulge in a Roman classic at a nearby trattoria. Try Supplì al telefono (fried rice balls) or Cacio e Pepe near the Colosseum. The Centrale Food Market, just a 10-minute walk away, is perfect for a quick, authentic bite.
Afternoon: Hidden Treasures and Winding Alleys
Post-lunch, explore the neighbourhoods surrounding the Colosseum. Wander through Piazza Vittorio Emanuele II, an underrated square with fountains and modern flair. For a quieter alternative, visit Basilica di San Clemente, a stunning church with layers of history beneath its church (a Roman house church, and even a 1st-century Mithraic temple).
Evening: Sunset and Stories
End your day with a romantic walk around the Colosseum at sunset. The golden light casts a magical glow on the arches, and the atmosphere is electric. If time allows, catch a night tour—the guided stories under torchlight add a dramatic edge to the Colosseum’s tales.
Final Thoughts
While Rome is a city of endless wonders, the Colosseum offers a concentrated dose of what makes it unforgettable. By focusing on this singular icon—along with its nearby treasures—you’ll gain a deeper appreciation for Rome’s legacy while leaving with memories of grandeur, history, and a touch of local flavour.
So, whether you’re a first-time traveller or a returning explorer, let the Colosseum be your anchor. With a bit of planning, even a fleeting day in Rome can become a chapter of your eternal story.
I’ve stayed in a few places where ghosts were purported to be roaming the passages at night, but apparently not the night I was staying.
And that’s something else that I have a problem with, why is it ghosts only come out at night, or is that just the perception I have got from reading up on the subject.
Maybe my view of ghosts is somewhat stilted, after all, I think my first introduction to ghosts was watching The Centerville Ghost, a movie I saw on t.v. when I was very young.
You have to admit Hollywood’s perception of ghosts is quite interesting.
But…
Do you think they are real? Do I think they are real?
I think I would have to be presented with some fairly solid evidence they exist, but perhaps not to the point of meeting one.
There are, it seems countless examples of ethereal forces, you know, wind blowing where there’s no wind or draught outside, room temperatures dropping for no apparent reason, knocking, rattling of chains, strange noises like low moaning.
And yet…
There are hotels you can stay in such as the Chelsea Hotel in New York, where it’s possible to run into Sid Vicious.
Sorry, not staying there any time soon.
Then there’s the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel in Los Angeles where it’s possible to run into Marylin Monroe, who lived in room 229.
That could be an interesting encounter.
Another is the Westin St Francis in San Francisco where the actress Virginia Rappe died while attending a party held in Fatty Arbuckle’s room, Arbuckle’s room, who was later accused of assaulting and murdering her, and whose career tanked after the incident.
Her ghost is seen moving about the hotel tearing her hair out. It seems all of the spectral activity occurs on the 12th floor.
Good to know if I decide to stay there. I wonder if they have a 13th floor?
Perhaps in too old to be running the gamut of paranormal experiences, the old heart is not as strong as it used to be.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
A Day in Venice: Making the Most of Your 24-Hour Stopover
Venice, the City of Water, is a place that has captivated the hearts of travellers for centuries. With its stunning architecture, rich history, and unique culture, it’s no wonder that Venice is a top destination for many. But what if you only have a day to spend in this enchanting city? Is it possible to make the most of your 24-hour stopover and create unforgettable memories? The answer is yes, and it all starts with visiting one iconic place: St. Mark’s Square.
The Heart of Venice: St. Mark’s Square
Located in the heart of Venice, St. Mark’s Square (Piazza San Marco) is the city’s most famous landmark and a must-visit destination for any traveller. This stunning square is surrounded by breathtaking architecture, including the magnificent St. Mark’s Basilica, the Doge’s Palace, and the Campanile di San Marco (St. Mark’s Bell Tower). As you step into the square, you’ll be struck by the sheer beauty and grandeur of your surroundings.
Why St. Mark’s Square is a Must-Visit
So, what makes St. Mark’s Square the perfect place to visit during your one-day stopover in Venice? Here are just a few reasons:
Unparalleled Architecture: The square is home to some of the most stunning examples of Byzantine architecture in the world, including the intricate mosaics and golden domes of St. Mark’s Basilica.
Rich History: St. Mark’s Square has been the centre of Venetian life for centuries, with a history dating back to the 9th century. You can almost feel the weight of history as you walk through the square.
Cultural Significance: The square is a hub of cultural activity, with street performers, musicians, and artists adding to the lively atmosphere.
Accessibility: St. Mark’s Square is easily accessible by vaporetto (water bus) or on foot, making it a convenient destination for travellers with limited time.
Tips for Visiting St. Mark’s Square
To make the most of your visit to St. Mark’s Square, here are a few tips to keep in mind:
Arrive Early: Get to the square early in the morning to avoid the crowds and enjoy a more peaceful atmosphere.
Dress Modestly: Remember to dress modestly when visiting the basilica, as it’s a place of worship.
Take a Guided Tour: Consider taking a guided tour of the square and its surrounding attractions to get a deeper understanding of the history and culture.
Enjoy the Views: Don’t forget to take in the stunning views of the square from the top of the Campanile di San Marco, which offers breathtaking vistas of the city.
Conclusion
In conclusion, St. Mark’s Square is the perfect destination for travellers with a one-day stopover in Venice. With its stunning architecture, rich history, and cultural significance, this iconic square is sure to leave a lasting impression. By visiting St. Mark’s Square, you’ll be able to experience the essence of Venice and create unforgettable memories of your time in this enchanting city. So, make the most of your 24-hour stopover and head to St. Mark’s Square – you won’t regret it!
Hitting the Wall: How to Rescue a Book Series When You’ve Literally Lost the Plot
You had a vision. Book one launched with a bang. Book two built the world and deepened the character arcs. Book three delivered a satisfying, breathless climax that left readers clamouring for more.
And then came book four.
You’re halfway through the manuscript, and you’ve hit the ultimate writer’s nightmare: you have quite literally lost the plot. The pacing is dead, the characters are wandering around a narrative wasteland like confused tourists, and staring at a blank Word document makes you want to take up competitive knitting.
If your series was going gangbusters and has now slammed head-first into a brick wall, take a deep breath. You aren’t the first bestselling author to face the dreaded “middle-book slump,” and you certainly won’t be the last.
Here is your emergency guide on what happens when you hit the wall, both figuratively and literally—and how to fix it before your readers jump ship.
Phase 1: The Anatomy of the Collapse (The “Literally” Part)
First, let’s address the physical and mental reality of hitting the wall. Writing a sprawling series takes a massive cognitive toll. By book four, you are no longer just writing a story; you are managing a fictional ecosystem.
When you lose the plot literally, it usually looks like this:
The Spaghetti Plot: You’ve introduced too many subplots, and they are now tangled in a knot so tight even Alexander the Great would reach for a pair of scissors.
The Character Drift: Your protagonist is doing things purely because the plot requires them to, rather than making organic choices based on their growth.
The Middle-Book Swamp: You know where the book needs to end, and you know where it started, but the 40,000 words in the middle are a foggy morass of conversations in coffee shops and hallways that lead nowhere.
When your brain hits this wall, it’s waving a white flag. It’s telling you that your current blueprint is broken.
Phase 2: Stop Digging (The Power of Stepping Back)
The worst thing you can do when you’ve lost the plot is to force yourself to churn out 2,000 words a day of absolute nonsense just to hit a daily quota. That’s how you end up with a manuscript that requires a ruthless, tear-soaked page-one rewrite later.
1. Give Yourself Permission to Pause: Step away from the keyboard for 48 hours. Seriously. Go for a walk, read a book in a completely different genre, or binge a TV show. Let your subconscious untangle the wires without your conscious frustration getting in the way.
2. Conduct an Autopsy: Print out what you have so far—yes, actual paper. Grab a red pen and a highlighter. Read through the manuscript from chapter one of book four (or even the end of book three) to see where the train officially derailed. Ask yourself:
Where did the momentum stop?
Which character choice felt forced?
Did I introduce a shiny new plot element just to keep things moving, and did it actually ruin the pacing?
Phase 3: Rebuilding the Roadmap
Once you’ve identified the crash site, it’s time to rebuild. If you’re a “pantser” (someone who writes by the seat of their pants), congratulations: you have officially reached the limits of pure intuition. It’s time to borrow a few tools from the outliners.
Triage Strategy A: The “Back to Basics” Reset
Look back at the promise you made to your readers in books one through three. What is the core engine of this series?
Is it a romance where the tension has stalled?
Is it a mystery where the wrong clues are taking up too much oxygen?
Strip away the shiny subplots and refocus entirely on the main conflict.
Triage Strategy B: Up the Stakes (or Change the Cost)
Often, a plot stalls because the characters are safe and the conflict is abstract. Introduce a ticking clock. Force your protagonist into a corner where they have to make an impossible choice. If a scene doesn’t change the characters’ status quo or advance the central mystery/conflict, cut it.
Triage Strategy C: Bring in the Wrecking Ball
If the middle is truly unsalvageable, ask yourself the most dangerous question a writer can ask: What is the worst possible thing that could happen to my characters right now? Blow up a safehouse. Have a trusted ally betray them. Force them to abandon their current mission and pivot entirely. Sometimes, introducing a narrative earthquake is the only way to shake the plot back to life.
Phase 4: Crossing the Finish Line
Writing a long-running series is a marathon of endurance. The first three books benefited from the initial adrenaline rush of creation—the honeymoon phase of world-building and character introduction. Book four is where the real work begins.
Hitting the wall doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer; it means you’ve outgrown your current structure.
So, forgive yourself for the mess. Roll up your sleeves, grab your red pen, and go find your plot. Your readers are waiting on the other side of the wall, and they are rooting for you to break right through it.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 